by Amarie Avant
With the most sought-after P.I. in Russia and forensic engineer, I have all the answers conceivable. All of them point to Anastasiya.
The investigator arrived on the scene about an hour after the politsyia departed. He and his crew were provided all the details the sergeant left behind. The handmade bullet in Luka’s dome was a precise match to either one of Anastasiya’s custom Colts. Now, the rest of my faith rests on the forensic engineer’s last assessment of the clunk of crap Luka was removed from.
I’m seated at a desk in my office. Crash photos lay scattered atop it. My eyes are weary from processing hundreds of them. More to go. Fuck, this looks bad. My head tilts up toward the vaulted ceiling. I issue out a long heave. “What the fuck happened, baby?” I mumble, refusing to believe the love of my life is dead. She didn’t kill Luka either.
But from the outside looking in, Asya murdered blood, a Resnov. But she’s my Tsarina. This has to be a setup. The Table of seven, nix my mother, had no qualms with any of the moves I’ve made over this past year. Anatoly’s termination wasn’t my lightning in the bottle or tied to my security as leader. Dominicci’s downfall was a turbulent move. I pushed the limit, reaped the rewards. Now, the only woman I will ever fall in love with is missing.
“She’s my enemy.” The foreign statement settles around me. I wrestle the desk drawer open, grip the neck of a bottle of Resnov Water, and open it. The vodka becomes a smooth scorch to my throat.
She has to be somewhere, afraid . . . but . . . what if? Maybe she did do something stupid. She’s crazy, but she’s always been my kind of crazy. I tell myself the day I placed a crown on her head and called her my little Tsarina didn’t overwhelm her. It did not result in this catastrophe. I force myself to believe someone else tossed a literary red herring into our love story.
My mind is reeling. I swig more vodka. At the knocking at the door, I grunt.
Dot enters and bows before me.
“Dah?” I growl.
“Dominicci is recuperating as expected. None of our byki stationed in Italy can attest that he had a single hand in this. I’ve reached out to our brotherhood, none of our enemies are bragging—”
“Or acting in a manner which would imply they have Anastasiya,” I cut in. Beam slinks into the room, positioning himself next to his twin. My eyes seer into Dot’s, and I growl, “What of your president, Chutin?”
Dot clears his throat. “We-we have hackers attempting to infiltrate security videos at his homes—”
“And?” I cock a brow. I lift my gun, weighing it in my palm.
“His vacation homes are impenetrable, let alone his political offices,” Beam interjects.
I point the barrel at him. “Was I addressing you, Beam. Dah or nyet?”
His voice lowers. “Nyet. I apologize.”
I gesture with my gun, and the twins arise. Aside from Kirill, who’s conveniently sedated, these two mudaks are my best. As they exit, Mikhail hesitates at the threshold.
I target his forehead. “Do enter, Kazen.”
He rolls his eyes, takes a few uneasy steps before stalking into the room. “I was about to give Kirill another dose when your door finally opened.”
“Did I request updates?”
“Can you put that thing down, please!”
I cock the hammer, and a bullet flies from the chamber. Catching it, I hold it up for Mikhail. “These are custom-made hollow tips, Mikhail. Do not insult me. Where were you today?”
His blue eyes narrow slightly, then he teeters out a chuckle. “I’m a suspect now? Or have you forgotten I’m family? I’m concerned about finding Anas—”
“Don’t,” I growl from deep in my abdomen. “It’s Tsarina to you, Mikhail.” And to everyone else, therefore, I need to find her and straighten this situation out.
“How can I help, Simeon?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Oh, sure, about my day.” Mikhail plops down in the chair across from my desk. “I bought flowers in town, saw my mother’s grave. Thought to head home—”
“Dah. You had a flight.” I glance at my Rolex. “Leaving in approximately twenty-three minutes.”
“Why question me? How about you find our Tsarina?” He sighs. “Listen, you’re my cousin, Simeon. We’ve never engaged in a real disagreement until last week. We had a simple misunderstanding. How can I help?”
“Doctor Resnov, you have no skills here. No benefit unless it’s saving a life. When I find out what happened to Asya, you’ll become necessary via keeping the tortured alive. You may go.”
Something flashes in Mikhail’s eyes. I’m about to threaten his life when Kirill stumbles into the room. He falls to his knees. “Tsar, I have to make a request.”
“Don’t speak.” I start out of my seat. If I were to have a full-blooded brat, I’d mirror Kirill. Nobody harms a single hair on the head of someone I love.
“What’s wrong, Cousin?” Mikhail asks.
Kirill looks from him to me, biting back hard tears. His loyalty to the throne is wavering.
I stand before him and help him up. I plant my hands at the back of his neck. “Kirill, you’re my right hand, dah?”
“Dah.” His chest rises, skin burning hot from the rage.
“You had to take a short nap after witnessing our little Luka, and you know how much I love my kazen, dah?”
His thick neck becomes more constricted as he nods.
“And I know how much you love your brat, and you require justice. We all do. If I let you stay awake, will you assist in finding Anastasiya? She must not be touched, Kazen.” My hands swing from around the back of his neck to his throat.
“What the fuck are you doing, Simeon?” Mikhail gasps.
I squeeze tight. “Because if my Anastasiya returns harmed in any way under your orders, Kirill, I will bring you back to life after a thousand times of me killing you and kill you again.”
“Sim, Kirill would never . . . We all love the Tsarina.”
Mikhail, a good doctor, a bad judge of character. Men like Kirill and I feed on vengeance. I let Kirill go, pushing him back. He doubles over, rubbing at his throat and hitching air into his lungs.
“Tsar, you will always have my honesty,” Kirill grumbles. “If I see Asya, I’ll kill her.”
My eyes close briefly. Nyet! You’re my most efficient asset and most trusted byki, Kirill. Seconds later, the ponytail elastic holding Kirill’s hair falls off. He hits the ground, unconscious. Gritting my teeth, I shake the sharp needles shooting through my knuckles. Our eldest cousin blinks a few times.
“Mikhail, I stand corrected.” I gesture toward our insensible cousin. “Utilize your capabilities. Keep him asleep.”
His eyebrows pull into a line. “He’s angry with Nas—Anastasiya?”
“Mistakenly confused, albeit very angry.” I wave him out of the room. Mikhail grips Kirill’s limp hands and starts back toward the door.
Chapter 14
Anastasiya
Mutism, as a child, stopped me from staring into the empty pits of the Invisible Thing’s eyes. It restrained the need to vomit the entire lining from my throat when Oleg conquered Kosta. Once Simeon came along, I, instead, died of the shyness of his presence. His confidence. His capabilities. All of him enraptured me.
Now, I’m incapable of crawling into the corners of my mind.
Now, this fucking nightmare descending around me won’t break.
No waking.
No hiding.
A female servant uncuffs me. The two bodyguards who were outside the door hold guns targeted in my direction. The servant removes what’s left of the white, lace dress, leaving me bare and ashamed before Irek’s hungry eyes. Oleg gawks, not tearing his gaze away even to blink.
“Enjoy the sight of her,” Volk warns Oleg. “This is the last time you will see my Anastasiya undressed.”
Oleg has yet to speak. Zealous glee glints in his eyes. Though older, he still has a build like Simeon. His suit drapes over fine cut musc
les. Manic intensity surrounds him as the servant slides a thermal over my shoulders. Her touch is delicate. Oleg’s eyes follow her movements, stopping on my nipples as the material brushes past there.
Resisting my body’s urge to run, I square my shoulders and stare into the eyes of the man who ruined Kosta. He almost ruined me too. Irek clears his throat, detesting the connection Oleg and I share.
Again, Oleg’s eyes square at the apex of my sex as the servant slips a pair of panties on me.
“Lady, you disgust me,” I murmur, lifting one foot after the other to accommodate her.
Her eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, yet I’m the one who glances away. Years ago, I allowed Oleg to harm Kosta. I never fought for her with the same vigor she fought for me. Oleg plundered her mouth on many occasions and screwed her in my presence. I was about as complacent as the maid who’s finishing me off in jeans and boots.
The maid reaches for a goose down jacket when Irek clears his throat. With submissive, tiny steps, she exits the room.
“For the next month or year,” Irek licks his lips, “let us all hope not an entire three hundred and sixty-five days transpires with you under Oleg’s wing. Anastasiya, you will spend your time in training.”
A bodyguard moves forward and places handcuffs around my wrists. The click echoes in my ears.
“Year, with him . . .” I stare at Irek, horror reflecting in my gaze.
The president lifts the back of his knuckles to stroke my cheek. I flinch. His eyes narrow. “Precisely why you must follow Oleg’s training and return to me sooner.”
He steps back, nodding to my old headmaster.
Oleg stands the same height as Simeon yet lacks his soul. The man I love has these gorgeous dark eyes filled with depth. Oleg’s mirror a churning, deadly ocean.
He removes coins from his pocket and drops them at my feet.
“This is the price of a Resnov Castle Girl when I make a bargain with a Chutin.” He bares all of his teeth in a sinister smile. “For decades, the Chutin men purchased the finest the Resnovs had to offer. Some of their chattel were a worthy investment. Some were not.”
Irek laughs. “There’s no such thing, Oleg. My grandfather, father, and I coveted our little games. Even when our Castle Girls depreciated from $20 mil, or so, to being worth mere coins, as Oleg indicated.”
“A Chutin handpicked another Castle Girl, purchased her, allowed her to live in the Castle. While I,” Oleg bows for effect, “had a little fun with his chosen.”
“Sought how breakable you were,” Irek says. “The reason you’re here now, Anastasiya, is because you passed the test. Had you caved to Oleg’s advances; you’d have failed. I’d have discreetly signed over my contract to Oleg. The Resnovs don’t take kindly to tampering with their product. It was a stipulation in the contract. Who would I be to have Oleg tortured until the end of time for reneging on his previous employer’s requirements? Thus, once the contract with the Resnovs ended, and—”
“I was taken from the mansion for good,” I murmur. “You would’ve sold me to Oleg.”
“Dah and nyet. You would’ve appeared to have left the Castle at the end of the contract timeframe. But were sold to Oleg for a mere dollar.”
I gulp down bile. “You’re so rich. You’d buy a woman for enough to feed a third world country, then allow Oleg to harass and frighten her. If she doesn’t have the will to stop his advances and caves to Oleg’s desires, you’d throw her away. Give her to this mudak! Well, technically, I broke, Irek.”
“You did not!”
“Kosta redirected his tormenting!” I chortle. “You think of me more highly than you ought to.”
Irek cocks his head, a flabbergasted smile on his face. “You do not understand the game, Anastasiya. I’m rich as sin, beautiful. This ritual was initiated by—”
“Your piece of shit father and piece of shit grand—” I snap.
Oleg’s fist stops a fraction away from my mouth. I’m no longer staring at the barrel of two machine guns. The guards have leveled their weapons toward him. One even nudges his jaw for effect.
“Remember, Oleg, we’ve changed the rules for her. No touching.” Irek wags a finger. “Sweetheart, you were my first Resnov possession. I was about the age you were when we met, eight or nine, when I learned of my father’s amusements.”
“Shut up,” I groan. Venom swims through my veins.
“I had no idea which I preferred when we crossed paths, breaking you or my first dollar. I’d never seen such a futile amount of money. Then I fell in love with you, and you loved me too!”
“Never.” I yank at the handcuffs. Irek’s thumbs glide down between the metal and my torn wrists.
“You remember the first time I touched you—”
“Fuck you,” I scream.
“We were at a gala. You’d torn tiny moons into your palms—”
I jolt my foot out. Irek is diverted by one of his guards, while the other wrestles me back onto the bed. His knees plant onto my thighs, and his upper body levels into mine.
Irek continues, “I allowed the Young Resnov to have you because you stopped seeing me, Anastasiya! You stopped being you!”
“Fuck you! Die!” I shout, as his guard warns me to calm down.
“I went on to other girls. Spent millions. Received a few dollars for defectives, which left Oleg satisfied as well. Our discreet arrangement worked, Anastasiya. I’d have left you alone for the rest of your life except for Kosta. She convinced me that the Young Resnov manipulated your brain. Which is evident!”
I hiss, declaring my hatred of him.
“I’m here to save you. The sooner you learn under Oleg’s direction, we can return to the life we built. Visit galas, make love under the stars—”
“What about your wife?”
Irek pauses for a moment. The creature holding me down shuffles out a breath.
“What about your wife?” I groan, voice dry.
“What about her?” He starts toward the door and stops. He heaves a sigh, appearing much older than his years. “Anastasiya, you’ve disappointed me. Now, you must depart. You have my word, Oleg will under no circumstances harm you. Nor will he be alone with you. A detail will protect your person at all times.”
“Who will protect you from me?” My voice trembles.
Irek’s hands claim the intricate doorknobs. Flickering candles near the double doors dash into nothingness as he leaves me in the hands of the devil.
Chapter 15
Simeon
Half-past midnight, light bleeds across the palace corridors. Servants and byki alike are completing a clean sweep of over one hundred rooms. All staff received strict orders not to enter the bedroom I share with Anastasiya for all of two nights. Stepping into darkness, I pull the doors flush behind me. My hand finds the light switch, and then I’m drowning in a few token memories.
An image unfolds where Anastasiya is in our bed, awakened by a nightmare and panting for oxygen. Then I see us on the floor, me fucking her so good her shouts break into mewing sounds.
Visions of her fade. Four years ago rushes to the forefront. I watched tortured bodies, inhaled the stench of burning flesh. The unquenchable rage takes over. I owned the deaths of Rudolf and a select few of my byki. But I was never satisfied.
My fist slams into the marble slab wall, each hit pounding at my knuckles.
“Where the fuck is she?!”
I should’ve coveted peace. When I wasn’t Pakhan, revenge didn’t matter. My life was of no importance as long as Anastasiya was around me. Vindicating my mother shouldn’t have taken precedent. Blood smears across the marble. I bash my fist again, hearing myself agree to my father’s Black Dolphin mission.
“Shouldn’t have gone.” I slide down the wall next to the masterpiece of chaos I’ve created. Massive chest heaving, jaw clinched, I consider my options. The obscurity around Anastasiya’s disappearance, this time, is overshadowed by politics. Once aware of this catastrophe, the Seven will require
revenge, and I demand the truth.
“How can I play fair?” I slide my mangled, bloodied knuckles across my bristled jawline. Finding answers and ceasing the Seven’s interest in how Luka died will cause me to become . . .
“Don’t fucking become that mudak,” I grit out. To my left, my blood trickles along the veiny marble slab to the ground.
Anatoly had no qualms with murdering a byki without cause. I’ve always justified my reasoning.
Anatoly annihilated his own blood, no hesitation.
If Kirill or anyone else in my bloodline sets Anastasiya in their crosshairs . . .
I.
Will.
Slaughter.
Them.
Uncle, aunt, kazen, half-siblings. Anyone.
A psychotic laugh vibrates against my abdominals. “Well, you’ll have to find her first, Sim. Find her, to keep her safe.”
Gripping the ground, I start up. My vision slightly blurs from the disequilibrium and vodka coursing through my veins.
“I’ll find Asya,” I say with a grunt, standing tall.
Sticky blood dribbles on the ground as I pull out my phone. I dial Beam.
He grumbles a greeting.
“Line everyone who was on the grounds yesterday out front. Firing squad style.” I click the off button, sauntering along the side of the bed. I press my hand against the marble. Be a little like Anatoly . . . get shit done. I consider the motto as the wall protracts. Before me are military-grade weapons.
“Too much like your fucking father,” I murmur, breath imbued with vodka. My hand trails over a bazooka. With Kirill comatose and only a select few aware of Luka’s death, I can bide my time with the doctored evidence targeting Asya for his murder. However, too much firepower will pique the Seven’s interest. I still have to believe whoever abducted her wanted to cause discord.
An IWI Negev settles in my arms. The light-weight machine gun was a gift I received a few years ago. When I step back a few paces, the wall zips shut.
I’m starting to turn toward the door when I notice a slip of paper on Anastasiya’s nightstand. I lean the machine gun nozzle on the ground, handle against the ledge. The neurons in my brain fire in rapid succession, eating the words faster than I’m able to decipher them. My head tilts, eye twitches, and I start from the top.