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"Look at me, not them," Sokolov said, tilting her chin back up. "You studied Klimt. What was it about him that you liked?" He reached down and unclasped her bra, removing it. "His frank eroticism. The sexual tension of his pieces. Perhaps there is a different side to my little Lottie."

"Stop," she cried, covering her breasts with her hands. "Please."

He took her elbow, standing her up. His hand skimmed the length of her body as he pulled down her underwear. "He liked to paint the female body. Was obsessed with it."

"That's because he saw women as superior to men. They were ethereal, unattainable creatures to him. Please stop."

He ran his hand between her legs. "That's not true, though. You're always attainable." He led her over to the table. "Lie down."

"No." She struggled to back away, but Nicholai blocked her.

"I don't like to repeat myself, and I know you don't want me to hurt Imogen anymore," Sokolov said, pointing to the table. She did as she was told and lay on the table. The man that carried it in strapped her feet to the bottom and wrapped a belt around her chest, securing her in place. Her arms were last to be tethered. "I, myself, am particularly interested in object trouvé or the found object. Are you familiar with this art form?"

"Yes, found art."

"Very good, Lottie. Art made with ordinary objects or random junk. Art that seeks to challenge the concept of what constitutes fine art."

"What are you doing?"

"You are going to be our canvas," Sokolov said. "And at the end, you, yourself, will be the art. You can say I've found you." The smaller man opened his wooden case and pulled out a sharp scalpel.

"What are you going to do?" she cried, only now realizing what he intended. "God, please don't."

"Since you won't give me any information, I'll send you back with a message."

"What would you like?" the small man asked.

"Since Lottie won't help me decide, you can do this, Ivan." He handed the man a paper from his pocket. "We'll let them figure out the meaning." His hand brushed her stomach and she flinched. "Here will be fine."

She screamed as the knife cut into her tender flesh, the pain both violent and assaulting. Tears poured form her eyes. Every slice of the razor-sharp blade erupted in a new terror. "Stop crying," Sokolov said, wiping her face. "The best art is born in pain. You can handle it."

Ivan was hesitant at first, his strokes slow and methodical, dragging out the torture. Her body was shaking from the shock of the attack and her screams continued to come. "Shh," Viktor said softly as he gently stroked her cheek. "There is a link between pleasure and pain. Give in to it."

"P-p-please stop," she begged. "I'll do whatever you want."

"Soon your central nervous system will release endorphins which will act to block the pain and induce feelings of euphoria." He continued to caress her cheek. "It's the same area in the brain that is activated by looking at beautiful art, listening to music or passionate love affairs."

Her body fought against the tight restraints. "Rise above the pain, Lottie. You can do it. Do it so I don't have to hurt Imogen anymore. We haven't even reached the hardest part." He shoved a cloth in her mouth, gagging her until she choked on her own anguish, raising the level of her suffering by blocking its escape. And then the worst did come when Ivan began to peel back her skin. The assault came thick and fast as he flayed the picture into her, leaving her raw and wounded. It was in that moment, a feeling of wellbeing came over her as if she had left her body and the vulgar violation against it behind, floating far above, suspended in time, no beginning nor end and no way to conceptualize it. She just was, as if the effect of her understanding preceded the cause.

Sokolov whispered in her ear, "Good girl. Now you know what beauty is. What it feels like and where to find it. Imogen will be safe for now. You bought her some time."

She smiled at him. "Yes." Relief flooded her as she was filled with warmth and a feeling of safety. Sokolov would keep her safe. He had shown her the worst and brought her through it.

"Pain is a uniquely human indulgence, and through it we can see beauty in the most free and pure form." He kissed her forehead. "I've given you a gift. Now you must repay me."

She nodded.

"Sleep, Lottie." She felt herself drift off in a vaporous delirium, halted, as the past flew forward and the future back.

Somewhere in the fevered haze, she heard voices, distant and distorted.

"I gave you your information. Please, I don't owe you anything else."

"I'm afraid we're not done with our business. You'll see it through to the end."

"I've already risked too much. I can't."

"There is no such thing as can't. You have kissed your friend on the cheek. Your betrayal is mine and the passion will play out. I've spared you your life for now."