Even though she knew what he was about to say before he said it, when he said it, it became real, unbearable. The weight of Dmitry’s words tore at her troubled soul and all that she could manage to get out in between the wretched, helpless sobs was her daughter’s name.
“Anya,” she moaned in sheer agony. “Oh, God. My baby,” she wept.
Dmitry did little to comfort his poor wife at first, but finally he came to his senses. Snapping out of his own shock, he held her close to his concrete chest that was now freezing from being exposed in the cold Czech air while he searched for his daughter. His large, dirt-stained hands rubbed through her hair as he carried her back up the many stairs to the second floor, but his eyes were cold like the icy lake lining the back of their property. The lines on the sides of his face showed as he frowned and his age was suddenly apparent as he strained to hold it together, when all he wanted to do was explode.
When he arrived back to their bedroom, he placed her on the bed slowly.
“I want my boys,” she said, trying to get back up from the bed. At this point, she didn’t want anyone out of sight, not even Dmitry.
“They don’t need to see you like this,” he said, holding her back.
“And where is Davyd? What did he do in all of this?” her eyes were wide with curiosity.
Dmitry looked away. “Davyd is dead. He lost his life trying to save Anya’s.”
“No,” Royal cried again. “No, Dmitry…” Even in the pain that she felt for her own daughter, she knew well how much Dmitry had loved Davyd. They were like brothers, more so, Davyd had been the only father that Dmitry had truly ever known. Now, he too was dead. It was all too much. Feeling as though she was suffocating, she tried to move again, to get to her boys and hold them tight, make sure that they were okay.
“Wait,” Dmitry said in a deep baritone that shook the room. He swallowed hard and kneeled down in between her legs to talk to her. His dirty, wet pajamas left smudges on their plush crème Venetian rug as he did. Holding both of her arms in his rigid hands, he adjusted his tone, knowing that she needed to be soothed, not further agitated.
“Look at me,” he said, lifting her chin to see into her worried pupils. His eyes, a pale blue now, barely blinked. He took another breath as he tempered the growing chaos inside of him. “I know that right now your faith in me has all but disappeared, but you have to believe me when I say that I will get her back…or I won’t come back. I love Anya with my entire being.” He fought the tears that pushed against the back of his tired eyes. “And I will find her. I will search the ends of the earth for her, leave no stone unturned, but I need one thing to do that…” His seductive voice was void of anything but raw strength.
Royal frowned, confused at what he needed – a man who had everything needed something from her.
“What?” she asked sincerely. Tears ran freely down her neck as she sat up a little straighter.
He turned his face towards her and batted his eyes. A single, painful tear fell to his cheek. “I need you, baby. I need you to stand by me, trust me. I need you to know that what you see in the upcoming days isn’t really me. I need you to look over it, no matter how hard it is on you. I need you to trust that what I do is for us, for our child.”
Royal sat back a little. She knew her husband’s potential. He was an aficionado of pain and torture, capable of the most heinous and painful things known to any man. And now in order to get the child that they both dearly loved, he would have to summons everything evil in him to get the only thing good left inside of him.
Shaking her head, she placed her trembling hands on his face and wiped away the dirt. “I will be there for you until the very end. Just promise me that you’ll bring her home safely at any cost and that you’ll make whoever is responsible for this pay with their life,” she cried.
Dmitry rested his forehead on hers. “Thank you.”
Royal did not understand truly what she was allowing to be unleashed in her husband, but she could sense its incredible power as he rose from his kneeling position. He rose and rose and rose until all seven feet of him appeared to be much larger. With a stone face, he wiped the single tear that he had shed for his daughter and made a promise to himself that it would be the last.
Suddenly, she had hesitation. Suddenly, Royal was afraid of the man whom she had shared a bed with for so many years. His eyes grew hollow, his face void of emotion. Heaving heavy breaths from his thick, muscled chest covered in tattoos, he stepped away from her. “Da, da. Everything will be alright,” he promised. “You’ll see,” he said, running a hand through his blonde tendrils.
Royal believed him strangely enough. What man in his right mind would stand against Dmitry Medlov and expect to live? She had honestly seen none.
Standing up from the bed, she walked behind him and pulled off his silk robe. “Let me get you ready,” she said dutifully in a soft voice. Touching his back where the stab wound scar from Ivan still mangled the skin, she took a deep breath and allowed the tears to flow. They had been through so much together, now this.
God, what else could their family suffer?
She wrapped his robe in her hands and went to the bathroom to run his shower. Slowly, in thought, he followed behind her. Royal checked the water and gathered his towels and shaving kit. Turning around to face him, she kneeled before him and pulled down his pajama pants to reveal his taut, long muscular legs. Looking up at him, past his hanging manhood, she helped him move his legs.
He did so slowly, watching her every move.
Taking off her own clothes, she stepped in the shower with him and began to wash his body. She stepped up on the permanent step made especially for her and lathered her towel with soap. Occasionally, as she washed him, he would move the strand of hair from her face or kiss her forehead, but she bathed him in absolute silence, letting the stillness of the moments resonate for those long nights ahead when she would surely miss him and be forced to grow used to the silence.
When they were done, she dried him fully and dressed him in one of his finest black suits, put on his watch, combed through his hair, sprayed on his cologne, slipped on his dress socks and shoes and helped him slip on his infamous four-gun leather holster under his suit jacket.
“Well, you look ready to me,” she said, wiping tears still.
Dmitry kissed the crown of her head. “You can’t leave this house for any reason. The children have to sleep with you every night. Renee and Bridgett will be here soon to comfort you in my absence.”
“Where will you go?” she rasped in a thick voice.
Dmitry hunched his shoulders. “Where ever she is,” he said, leaving her alone in the bathroom.
When he left and closed the door, Royal crumpled under the gravity of the situation and fell to the floor. Pouring out her heart in an angry sob that left her drained, she tried to utter something, but words were too difficult. The cold tile against her skin numbed her face and soaked up all of her angry tears, but when they were gone there was still no solace.
Normally, the maids would have come to help her, but Dmitry had called everyone downstairs to the dining hall to begin interrogations. So, she was left alone with her fears and pain. Eventually, when she could cry no more and the echo of her sobs became too much, she curled into the fetal position and began to pray.
Chapter 7
Dubrovnik, Croatia
The jostling of the wooden cart in the back of a black windowless van that she was being escorted in helped pull Anya from her drug-induced sleep into a groggy reality. Opening her eyes slowly, she peered out of her box to a group of men surrounding her, all sitting with guns and wearing black tactical uniform. They ignored her as she sat up and continued to talk in a funny language – one that she was certain that she had heard before but just couldn’t place at the very moment.
Trying to sit up, she placed her small hands under her and pushed her body up. Her head hit the top of the box when the truck hit a bump in the road, so she stuck her little f
ingers out of the openings and held on to keep from falling back. Feeling claustrophobic, she pushed back salty tears and clenched the wood tighter. “I want my daddy,” she said in a loud, commanding voice.
The men finally stopped talking and looked over at her, unsure of how to take her little tantrum.
“You get to see your daddy when he pays,” one man replied, looking back at her from the passenger seat up in the front of the van.
She turned to face him. “How much?” Anya asked, raising her chin. Her father had told her once about kidnappings. He had, in a way, guided her on how to behave and what to look for if she were ever captured. That had been one of their private conversations – ones that her mother was not privy to.
“How much for what?” the balding, blue-eyed man asked with a grin.
“How much do I cost?” she asked again.
“Millions,” the man answered. “Many, many millions, my dear.”
The men erupted in laughter around her as one from the back said something in the funny language again.
Anya didn’t like to be mocked. Pushing further up against the constricting box, she stared the man in the passenger seat down. “Daddy has more than millions. Why don’t you just tell him how much I cost, so I can go? This truck stinks.”
The man was instantly intrigued by her persistence. She had such an authoritative presence for a five year old. Adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses on his long, broken nose, he chose his words carefully. “It’s not that simple. You’ve been relocated so that negotiations can begin with your father about the money, and until he pays, you won’t be delivered. So, you’re going to be staying with me…your uncle Balthazar.”
Anya cut her eyes at him. She didn’t like that name or that idea in the least. “You’re not my uncle,” she corrected. “I only have one uncle and his name is Davyd.”
The man cut his eyes back at the little girl and gave a wicked smile. “Your Uncle Davyd as you call him is dead. Consider me his replacement.”
Tears welded up in Anya’s eyes, but she refused to cry. Letting go of the sides of the box, she plopped back down in the far corner and put her head against the crate. “Do you know who I am?” she asked as she looked up at the top of the box.
“Of course…you’re Dmitry Medlov’s first child. And you’re going to make me a very rich man.”
The tears finally began to fall down Anya’s face as she thought of Davyd. “I am the daughter Czar Dmitry Medlov, and you are going to be a very dead man,” she said, repeating the words she had heard whispered around her house since before she could understand them. “My father is going to come and collect me and while he’s at it, I’m sure that he’ll also collect your head.”
The conversation was getting serious. The men in the back guarding the girl suddenly became quiet. Her knowledge was far too in-depth for a child her age. But Balthazar was unmoved by the little girl’s performance and his greed was far too great to stop now. “You seem like a very smart girl. So, if I were you, I would try not to make trouble. Just because I have to return you, doesn’t mean you have to be all in onepiece . You could lose an ear or one of those pretty little eyes before you get home. And for what? Because you had a smart mouth? Is it really worth it?”
The thought silenced Anya and put fear into her heart. Pursing her lips together, she wiped the traitor tear falling down her cheek and hid her face in her lap. Rocking back and forth, she quietly sang the lullaby to herself that her father sang to her every night before bed. It was then that it hit her. She knew that language. Her classmate had spoken it. Croatian.
The trip down the bumpy road didn’t take long. Before Anya knew it, the truck had stopped, and she and her box were being pulled out in a very small garage by two men who carried her up the stairs into a dark room where she was sat down on the floor and left alone.
She listened carefully and could hear the rumblings of men’s voices and then the distinct bell-like voice of a woman. Anya strained her head against the box, trying to hear the conversation but all she could gather was that she was speaking French. And while Anya did not speak a lick of Croatian, she did speak French. Brigitte had taught her before she left, and several of the girls at her school spoke French.
The woman was saying something about her father, her brother, but she was speaking far too quickly to understand all of it. Frustrated, she sat back and heaved a defeated sigh. She missed her mother’s arms, her father’s voice, she missed home.
Dmitry had told Anya that if she were ever kidnapped to pay attention to everything and everyone. She was trying to do just that. The room that she was in, however, was pitch black. Not a single light was on and the only illumination came from the bottom of the door. She knew that it was daylight, but that was all.
Finally, she heard footsteps coming towards her. The door creaked open and the light flickered on.
Anya looked up to see a tall woman with blonde hair emerge in a pair of jeans, long, pointy boots and a sage-colored turtleneck. She bent down to the crate that Anya was housed in and gleamed in at her with piercing blue eyes.
“Bonjour,” the woman said with a grin.
“Hello,” Anya replied, astonished at the familiarity in the woman’s face.
The woman could see the recognition in the little girl’s face. Reaching into the crate with her gloved hand, she touched Anya’s cheek and wiped away the tear. “Such a pretty little Medlov.”
“And who are you?” Anya asked curiously.
The woman waited for a minute. A million emotions flashed on her face before she finally replied. Getting up off her knees, she looked down at the box and ordered the men to open it. “She’s not an animal. Take her out of there.”
“But we must keep her contained,” Balthazar protested.
“She’s a five-year old child in a country far from her home. I think that she’ll be fine in this room,” the woman said, wanting to get a better view of the girl. “Now open this fucking box.” Folding her arms, she waited.
One of the men in tactical gear quickly took the key out of his pocket, unlocked the box and opened it for Anya to stand up. She did so gratefully, stretching her body after many long hours of being locked down like an animal.
“Now, isn’t that better?” the woman asked softly as she went over to Anya.
“Yes, thank you,” Anya said, looking over at Balthazar. She had been playing her mother and father against each other for years to get what she wanted, so she knew just how to have these two at each other’s throats in a matter of hours.
The woman was much taller when she wasn’t crouching. Hair as golden as sunlight, eyes as blue as the Caspian sea, full rose-colored lips, high cheek bones, long legs that seemed to stretch a mile-long, she looked more like an angel than a demon.
Anya was drawn to the mysterious woman, like they knew each other. Why? She wasn’t sure, but there was definitely something there in the twinkle of the woman’s eyes.
“Why don’t we get you something to eat and some new clothes. Just because you have to stay here with us, doesn’t mean you have to be treated like an animal, da?” the woman said with a glimmer in her eyes.
“Oh no. I’m not changing the little crumb snatcher’s clothes. I may be a villain, but I’m not a monster,” Balthazar said, stepping back.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The maids will do it. I wouldn’t let you touch my dog,” she answered with the role of her eyes.
“Whatever. We need to get ready to make first contact, now that you’re done with your little reunion,” he said, turning and bolting out of the door.
“Don’t pay attention to him. He’s just anxious,” the strange woman said to Anya. She smiled once more at Anya and tapped her on the head before she left also. Saying something to one of the guards as she pointed outside of her door, Anya knew that she was being held hostage, but she was also developing a plan to make a few allies while she was here.
Chapter 8
The police had already been escorted off the
Medlov property many hours ago. After a call to the chief, and a quick investigation, the higher-ups had agreed to give Dmitry any assistance needed – even though they knew that it wouldn’t be.
The local government knew Dmitry Medlov well. And they knew their city even better. No fool in his right mind would hide the daughter of such a dangerous and powerful billionaire in plain sight there. It had been agreed upon by all involved that Anya Medlov was gone, probably to another country by now, if she was still alive. And while Dmitry Medlov was on the surface just a business man, every politician who had ever been on his payroll knew that he could and would take care of this matter himself.
However, Anya’s profile was now on the wire. International governments and law enforcement officials knew that she was missing and there was no way possible to get her into a country through the normal means. They also were awaiting a hellacious and nearly untraceable war. It was inevitable. Officials everywhere were just waiting for the bodies to start dropping, surprised that there had not already been any reports.
But Dmitry was waiting.
Within 21 hours of Anya’s abduction, every Medlov family member that had been dispatched from around the world had landed in Prague.
Arriving in private jet to the main airport, they were all quickly carted off in helicopters to Dmitry’s chateau outside of the city.
Stepan was in-charge of coordinating not only arrangements but transportation for getting everyone to the chateau. He did so without error and as efficiently as possible.
On the home front, the Medlov chateau had been transformed into a paramilitary headquarters and the entire farm had been placed on lockdown.
Bodyguards lined the perimeter and set up check points while others stood post on the tops of the mansion and on its various floors. The entire place had been turned into a fortress.
All support staff including maids and yard hands had been sent home indefinitely except for Stepan, while helicopters of trained men from Dmitry’s short list of assassins kept landing every few hours in the front yard. They came from all over the world. Tall, short, muscular, lean, menacing and well-dressed, they poured into the home. Each looked the part of the role he was about to play.
Saving Anya Page 6