by Amarie Avant
“This isn’t the Castle, Tsar. I’m in love with your son,” I rambled. Simeon had shared one of his psychology books with me. Build connections with your tormentor. That would be my tactic. “I love Simeon, with all of me . . . and he loves me.”
“Does he?” Still clinging to me, Anatoly closed the door behind him. Over his shoulder, I glimpsed a traverse of byki in SUVs outside. “Fuck words, Chak Chak.”
I glared at him. Because of my caramel complexion, he was comparing me to a dessert. “I’m not sweet.”
Sharp, white teeth chomped close to my nose. “I bet you are. Now, how has our abomination shown you his love? What has he done for you, Chak Chak?”
“Support and understanding. Simeon cares for me, Anatoly. I know everything about him, and he knows everything about me.” It was sort of a lie. Simeon never needed to know about Oleg; however, I had a point to drive home. “Simeon shows his love. You know, like a parent is there for their child. Love, support, guidance. By the way, he’ll arrive soon.”
Anatoly ran the backs of his knuckles over the side of my breast, gripped my hands before I could run, and spun me around. Oh God, I’d dressed like a whore. Sofiya would applaud my attire was it her son and not her brother who snared me.
Our movements became a dance. I would lash out. He would grip my wrist, kiss my knuckles, suck my fingers into his mouth and bite. My leg lifted in a fit of rage, and I found purchase to run off. Anatoly grabbed my thigh. He lifted it and slid it over his hip, pressing his groin into me.
“You want to pound my cock, Chak Chak?” Anatoly’s hand claimed my hip harder.
“Anatoly, your son and I are in love—”
“You sound so innocent.” Hand gripping my throat, he slammed me against the wall. The edges of my vision hazed over. “You will love this.”
Crying had stolen me from this sordid reality. Only my dreams didn’t offer me amnesty. I sleep in a puddle of urine. Humiliation marinates into my flesh and settles there. Tears salt across my cheeks. I’d awoken before Simeon arrived.
The side of my body, having laid on a cement slab, aches when Chip arouses me awake.
“Girl,” he calls out. “Girl . . .”
My eyes flicker open. His shiny boots are before me, outside of the realm of my shame, and Oleg’s drying urine pool.
“Can you?” He gestures for me to rise.
“She can’t. Not with her cuffs behind her.” Baldy grunts, hefting my bicep. Chip reluctantly grabs the other. The two soldiers drag me across the tiny bedroom into the en suite bathroom. I step onto the cold, porcelain square tile with grimy grout. Chip turns on the shower with caked dirty rings around the tub. He folds his lean arms and rests his shoulder against the wall, refusing to look at me.
Baldy settles on the cover of the toilet. My mind taunts me. All I do now is dream or think. I have all the time in the world. My thoughts keep going back to before all of this—before I woke up with Chutin. What happened? What had I been doing? I had finally remembered that Luka and I had been to see Sofiya. Or was that another day, when she cut her wrists? Time is hazy in my brain. A thought comes, then it is muddled and slides away.
Where the fuck is Luka? My brat and I were together before—
Something’s wrong with my brain. I wrestle with my restraints, desiring to yank at my haggard tresses.
“The longer you’re here, little Tsarina, we are here,” Baldy declares. “I have a daughter your age! Comply, so we can all return home.”
“Home?” I sneer. “Not until I kill him.”
Baldy grips my chin in his hand. “Implying I have a child your age doesn’t mean I give a shit about you. You might have been the Resnov Tsarina. But before that, you were owned by them. Castle Girl! You’re a sex slave. This is your calling. Lucky you, Chutin’s giving out second chances.”
“Fuck Irek.” I grit, fighting at the cuffs holding my wrists behind me. “The second I set eyes on him, he’s dead!”
Shaking his head, he yanks me up by the shoulder and forces me back. My calves hit the porcelain tub, and my ass falls into it. Hot water soothes my tattered ego. The stench rises from my skin.
Chip clicks his tongue. “Don’t.”
Baldy flinches toward my face, and I offer an unbothered blink.
“Your patience is wearing thin, same for Oleg,” I say. “Which one of you mudaks breaks first? The second either one of you lose control, that’s when I’ll have your fucking head!”
“You have superpowers?” Baldy grits out. “I hit you, and a supernatural force aides you in retaliation. Is that it, huh?”
Chip clears his throat, and Baldy stands at ease.
Holding out a bar of soap, Chip mumbles, “To wash. You comply, okay?”
I nod. Baldy removes my restraints as Chip hands over the soap. The bastard made a mockery of superheroes. They were never a source for my daydreams as a child. But now, I know my way out. Shower time affords me the most freedom. I’ll use it to my disposal.
Chapter 18
Simeon
Glass crashes to the ground, and shards scatter across the room. A priceless, oddly shaped artifact that has been in the palace longer than my life is no more.
“You’re telling me you went to Abuli ten days ago. Not a fucking trail leading to Anastasiya. Nothing?” I grit out, glaring at Beam.
“After a few days, I leveled with the Sheik.”
I point my gun at him. “You shared with that mudak why we were there?”
“Dah. Might sound illogical, but he was growing suspicious, and I trusted him.”
“All that air in your fucking brain.” I shake my head, cackling at the thought of how dead this mudak would be if I followed my father’s lead. “You trusted him, Beam?”
“I did. He handed over access to airline files: commercial and private. He gave us access to satellites. I combed over the security footage. He used the Resnov Castle service for thirty years and asked if I needed anything else. Tsar, the crew and I didn’t find anything suspicious, and no one resembling the Tsarina entered or exited his country.”
Chewing on my knuckles, I contemplate other means for the Sheik of Abuli to hide the woman I love. Then I laugh a little, shove a hand through my dark hair.
“That mudak likes young virgins,” I tell myself, fingers curling around an almost empty vodka bottle. The Sheik does not need Asya.
I see Anastasiya, and all of me falls to my knees, psychotically bewitched by her. Like a fucking drug, I’ll never get enough of her. Sure, she left a letter.
Fuck her letter.
Fuck her.
She will forever belong to me, and I will have her returned to my possession. I deserve the truth from the woman I love. Why she left, and why she killed her brat. But I have to use my brain.
I glare at my team. Daily and nightly updates have been provided. Still, I placed all my eggs in one basket. I banked on the Sheik. But I still have Chutin.
“Does anyone have anything essential to finding Asya? Any-fucking-thing?” My unhinged gaze tracks back and forth. “Where is Dot? I called a meeting, where is that mudak!”
A byki catches my gaze. Flicking my wrist, I give him consent to speak.
“He has a hacker in one of the guest rooms. She’s viewing script. Has almost broken through Chutin’s firewalls.”
I smile.
He gulps.
Two days ago, Dot had a potential hacker here.
The mudak left in a body bag, unable to fulfill his obligation.
Later in the evening, the Armenian whom I had the urge to meet ten days ago has arrived from Syria. The textbook on the Armenian history of torture I’m skimming through is discarded. I fist the highlighter in my hands as his tanned body falls to his knees on my rug.
Removing my cufflinks one at a time, I fold the sleeves of my linen shirt, watching him squirm. The gag in his mouth doesn’t concede to the begging and pleading his wild eyes are doing.
Standing before him, I pop the tip of his nose with the highlighter. “
Don’t be so afraid,” I click my tongue. “I will not have your death today.” Anastasiya requested that I wait for her before finishing off Rudolf’s friend. I’ll keep you barely alive until that very day.
Gripping the back of his hair, I pull until his Adam’s apple lulls uncomfortably in his throat. “I dedicated my time to reading about the Ottoman Empire. How the Turks almost obliterated your people.”
He cuts me with a hard gaze.
Before I can reprimand him for glaring at me, a knock comes at the door. I shrug a little.
Dot enters, the widest grin on his face. “Tsar, we have access to Chutin’s videos.”
“Where?”
“All over—”
“Nyet, you fucking idiot! Where is the laptop?”
“My hacker is working her magic, saving aerial views as we speak. I’ll take you to her.”
I turn toward a byki. “Feed the Armenian his eyes. If he shares any pertinent info about what happened to Asya four years ago, you may stop with one eye. Nevertheless, one or two, make him eat them. Dah?”
Without awaiting a response, I head out of the room. In the elevator, Dot mentions the girl is retracing data from Chutin’s security systems, and how it’s easier to dissect real-time videos.
We enter a guest room, a small figure in a hoodie hovers over a laptop. Various wires are twisted around, connected to a bevy of television monitors.
My hard gaze scans each video, displaying various areas of different homes. There is footage of the outdoors, some of which is tropical, some desert. The mudak appears to have residences on every continent. A lump forms in my throat.
My obsession is somewhere . . . hidden by Irek Chutin, and I will have her back.
“Where is she?!”
“No facial recognition,” a tiny, very young voice snaps. “Based on this photo.” A dark brown hand lifts up said photo while the other one continues to type. “Can’t chat. Square Head, update him. I’d rather not be murdered for insubordination.”
I gather that Square Head is Dot by the way his lips bunch together. Then he shares how half the screens are in real-time, and the others are “rewinding,” per the girl.
“See these timestamps?” Dot narrows his eyes. “The lettering is tiny as fuck—”
“Move. Language!” the hoodie says again.
My jaw clinches. Were she not tapping into Chutin’s database, I might consider having her head for the snarky responses. I move around, glance at the screens for the timestamps. The twenty-four-hour clock is sliding back swiftly on one.
I catch the kid’s side profile. She’s African descent and young.
Too fucking young to correct for her mouth.
“I’m fourteen. Stop staring, or I will leave my zone.”
It had been on the tip of my tongue to offer her the fucking stars, the moon, the sun for information on Anastasiya. Instead, I step back a few paces. This is not the proudest moment of my reign as a Pakhan.
“Maybe you should return to the Armenian?” Dot suggests.
“Great suggestion,” she retorts. “Maybe the two of you should follow through with that.”
“I’m not leaving, kid, and if . . .” You’d like to see another day. I close my eyes. The bully Asya made me out to be when she gave her ultimatums in Los Angeles slams to the forefront of my mind. “You will be greatly compensated, girl.”
“I know.” She has the last word.
For the first time in ten days, my mouth curves at the edges. Anastasiya, I refuse to let you go. Give me a fucking sign, moya milaya, because I will have you happy with me.
I contemplate on the letter, and how her disappearance may not revolve around anyone but us.
Dah, happy with me. Or dead with me.
Chapter 19
Anastasiya
The cold chill of night frames the soggy wet clothes sticking to me. Oleg’s aim had been to strip my pride. I’d held onto my convictions even while showering fully dressed. Look where it’s gotten me, sniveling and sneezing.
A tiny space heater on the ground clicks on and off, further cutting into my affliction. Each click a boisterous taunt. Warm air floats in the opposite direction, toward a snoring Chip, sleeping on the chair near the door.
“Haaaa—” The sneeze begins to tear through my soul. I jolt my hands toward my face. At night, the manacles are re-secured with my arms in front of me, offering my stiff muscles some rest. A pain like a match strike sparks fire along my restrained wrists from the force of shoving my hands to my sniveling face. Teeth chattering, I fall back to Anatoly.
Simeon’s father entered the house. Unrequited delight glimmered across the predator’s face. While I struggled, he continued to pull me flush against him.
The devil’s lips crashed down around mine, sucking all the air from my lungs. My neck became putty in his hands. My tonsils pulsed to his powerful grip. He spoke. “Shhh . . . Asya, I’m tallying every second of your insubordination. Shut up about love. You haven’t convinced me that you’ve been fucked. So, I’ll do you the honors.”
Anatoly’s clutch between my legs began to rip and tear my panties to shreds. My throat had swollen shut. Every fearful breath hitched through my nostrils. His teeth bit my tongue, forcing his entry. A finger strained past my tight resistance.
“You’re not even wet!” he gritted, twisting his finger deeper into me. His nail scraped at my insides. “Oh, but as I suspected. Untouched. My cock will break you in half at this rate.”
Anatoly pulled out of me, and I sucked on air. His finger slammed down my throat.
“Get you wet for me,” he growled. My teeth latched onto his filthy finger. The back of his other hand sailed across my face. The force sent me reeling into a glass-vaulted cabinet. Gripping my bicep, Anatoly jerked me hard enough to loosen my spinal column. Blood dripped from a cut at my lip. He situated my legs around his waist and crushed me against the wall again. He slipped his wounded fingers in his mouth.
“Nyet,” I groaned, throat throbbing, head pounding.
“If you continue to cry, I won’t make it feel good for you too.”
The tender petals between my thighs lit on fire at Anatoly’s attempts to stretch me wide.
“Stop. Sofiya will—”
“Never mention her!” Anatoly’s head reared back. His temple started toward my face, issuing enough force to break my nose. As his forehead was meant to slaughter my entire face, an arm claimed his throat.
“How many times have I told you that you’re dead to me, Father.” Simeon’s bicep strained around Anatoly’s throat. A terrible rage burned across his mottled, taut skin. Not toward me, but toward his father, and toward this dark world that almost claimed me before he had. His eyes were on me, and yet, I doubt he saw me. All he saw was another life to claim, this time, not on behalf of his father.
“You knew I’d kill you.” The left side of Simeon’s mouth curved in a sinister smile. “Don’t fear, Father. Not yet. You die when I say so.”
He sent Anatoly’s body reeling away. Jeweled hands clamored to the floor. Anatoly wheezed and sputtered, much as I had before. Simeon’s boot crunched against the side of his rib.
“Okay, moy syn.” Anatoly spat up blood.
Simeon slammed his foot into Anatoly’s back. “In what world is it okay for a son to claim his father’s life, huh?” He kicked Anatoly’s rib. “Turn over, suka. LOOK AT ME!”
Anatoly rolled onto his back, lips inflamed, face a mask of blood. Simeon’s foot slammed down onto his face. My body shook so hard that I flailed, catching myself at the wall again.
The man I loved wiped the bottom of his boot on his father’s suit jacket. “You’re staining my motherfucking boots, Anatoly. You undeserving, mudak. How dare you.” He shoved a finger in his face. “I can’t even stomach your presence long enough to consider torturing you.”
Simeon slid a knife from his back pocket, his knees landing on his father’s shoulders and arms. One hand around Anatoly’s neck, he held the blade against hi
s throat. “A shame. You deserved my worst—”
“Sim,” I shuttered out a breath. “You can’t.”
Lashes fluttered upward. Cool eyes glinted in my direction. “Stop me, moya milaya.”
“He has men outside! So many of them. The second he dies.” I shook.
“She-she’s right, moy syn,” Anatoly gritted. “Your mother isn’t here to save you.”
Simeon snarled, “You think I need my ma to save me?”
“I’ve always said,” he gulped in consternation, “Moya Sofiya—”
The knife glided into the side of his neck like butter. Simeon cocked a brow, “Milaya?”
“Don’t,” I called.
“Ha, Sofiya calls you the smartest motherfucking Resnov there ever would be. The day you came into this world, I should’ve tossed your little ass into a ditch. See how long you could fend for yourself!”
Anatoly’s hand gripped the knife, chewing near his carotid artery. He chucked up blood with a wide-toothed, crimson smile. “Moya Sofiya kept you alive.”
I don’t know how I floated over to Simeon, but I fell to my knees. “You had a plan, Simeon. Now isn’t the time to execute it. You’re smarter than all of these mudaks. Continue to work on your plan.”
That plan had always diverged from the Castle Girl, who craved a knight to whisk her away.
That plan always included Simeon murdering his father.
This was not that plan.
This was all our executions if Anatoly didn’t walk out of the house.
“Dah,” Simeon closed his eyes for a second. His forehead was resting against my face. “But he had his fucking fingers inside of you. I’m executing my plan today, Asya.”
A hand jars at my shoulder. I want to return to the dream, maybe try to rewrite its course. Because seconds later, men broke through the doors and beat Simeon half to death. My eyes bite shut. I concentrate on Simeon.
This time, I’ll fight with Simeon. He almost died. I didn’t care if I died for him. I would fight.