The Volkov Affair

by Taylor Lee

  She took Nicki’s hand in his hers and stroked her palm.

  “I can see the toll it takes, Nicki. And so can Rafe.”

  Nicki blinked at the tears stinging the backs of her eyelids.

  “Thanks, Katya. Thank you for understanding. I’m not surprised that you know what it takes, but I think that’s the last thing Rafe would understand. He didn’t get where he is by being soft, weak.”

  “Ah, Nicki, you are the strongest woman I’ve ever known. And not only because you kicked my butt and put me in the infirmary!”

  Nicki laughed. One of the most engaging things about Katya was her outspokenness. More times than she could count, Katya had surprised Nicki with her insights and naughty sense of humor.

  They sat quietly for several minutes gazing over the verdant hills. Only the rustle of the breeze in the trees, and the chirping of birds broke the peaceful silence. The compound with all its intensity and edgy danger seemed blessedly far away.

  Katya broke the silence.

  “Speaking of that sexy-assed leader of ours, what’s going on between you and Rafe?”

  Nicki jerked up, startled. Pulling her hand away from Katya, she scooted back.

  “Nothing! What do you mean? There’s nothing between us.”

  Katya laughed. She shook her head and grinned at Nicki.

  “Nothing, huh? Is that why your face is as pink as the thong I am wearing and you’re trembling like those Aspen trees?” She waved her hand at the expanse of forest below.

  Katya huffed. “Really, Nicki. Don’t insult me. Good grief, girl. The sparks between the two of you could burn down this forest.”

  She wheedled. “C’mon, Nicki. Out with it! I’m going crazy without my hot man making wild sweaty love to me all night long. At least let me enjoy some vicarious pleasure.”

  Nicki shook her head fiercely.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Katya. But there is nothing between Rafe and me.”

  She hesitated, then added, “At least until last night and… well…the other night….”

  Katya jumped up, clapping her hands in glee.

  “See!” She shouted triumphantly. “I knew you were lovers. I knew it!”

  Nicki frowned and shook her head.

  “No, Katya, we’re not. Not really.”

  Seeing that Katya didn’t understand, Nicki felt an overwhelming need to tell her what had happened. To confess what she’d done, what she was feeling. But she couldn’t She was too confused. Too ashamed.

  She closed her eyes against the pain. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself not to cry.

  “You don’t understand.”

  Katya reached out and pried Nicki’s clenched hands loose and held them in hers.

  “Try me.”

  Nicki was quiet for a moment wracked with indecision. Katya’s sympathetic gaze galvanized her. Restored her courage.

  As much as it hurt, she needed to speak the painful truth. Her voice was firm.

  “We’re not lovers, and I don’t think we ever will be.”

  She took a deep breath then repeated the words that had been tormenting her.

  “Rafe told me I’m not the kind of woman he fucks.”

  Katya shrugged dismissively.

  “I should hope not! Of course you aren’t.”

  Nicki was shocked, too surprised to speak.

  Katya continued in a breezy voice.

  “The kind of women our bad ass fucks is the kind he takes once at his convenience and never sees again. You, my lovely fire-haired friend, are not a convenience kind of gal. Not hardly. No wonder you scare that stud silly. He knows if he makes love to you, it is all over.”

  She added with a wicked wink, “Notice I didn’t say if he fucks you. Although that can be fun too.”

  “Look honey, you and I both know Rafe’s reputation. Let’s face it. He’s earned every bit of it. Women line up three deep to be in his bed. But he makes it clear that is a one-night-only privilege. No expectations on either part.”

  Nicki struggled with the enormity of what Katya was saying.

  “You think that Rafe thinks I have expectations?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Nicki shrugged then said softly, “I love him, Katya.”

  Katya put her arm around her and hugged her close.

  “I know you do, Nicki. If it’s any consolation, Rafe is gaga over you.”

  Katya pressed her lips together with a knowing look.

  “Once he lets loose with you, Nicki, and stokes those red hot coals simmering just below the surface, he knows there’s no way he can control that fire. Yours or his.”

  Nicki sat quietly trying to absorb what her friend was saying. When she looked up at her, the hooded look in Katya’s eyes frightened her.

  “What is it, Katya?”

  “Nicki, I’ve known Rafe since I was a teenager. Grayson and Caleb are the only people closer to him than Vlad and I are. And, of course, your father knows him best of all. Vlad’s referred a couple of times to something that happened to Rafe in Rwanda. Something bad. Something that shook Rafe to the core.”

  Katya gave her a troubled frown.

  “There isn’t much hope in Rafe’s worldview, Nicki. I think he sees hope in you. And honey for a big tough badass like Rafe Boudin, that must scare the hell out of him.”

  Chapter 23

  “Please don’t hurt me.” She hated to beg. And she knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  “That is entirely up to you, or to be more precise, your father.”

  The cruel man named Aiden raked his eyes over her naked body and sneered.

  “Come now, Sophie. You know how to work your father. What did you do when you wanted him to raise your allowance? Did you swish your chubby ass and give him a big smile? A big smack on the lips? Or did you pout and cry, saying how all the other girls in your little clique had a new dress for the party, or a newer car, or two weeks in Belize instead of the measly 10 days you got to spend?”

  Aiden gripped her arm and dragged her up on the small stage in the center of the empty room. He ordered her to stand on the x in the middle of the platform and look straight ahead. One of the big tattooed men stood behind a video camera propped up on a tripod. There was a full length mirror off to the side.

  Sophie tried not to cry. She wanted to be brave. She thought she’d cried as much as she could. But she couldn’t stop the tears. She shuddered at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were almost swollen shut. Her nose was red, snot ran down her face. Her body looked ugly. She hated that this was how her father would see her. It would kill him. Crush him. She prayed he wouldn’t show the tape to her mother. She couldn’t survive it.

  The shiny gloss on her nipples gleamed in the bright lights they shone on her. Her hands were tied behind her back. The jeweled collar around her throat attached to an ominous chain would terrify her parents. They would think that she’d been raped. But the men had orders not to touch her. She heard them say she was going to be in an auction, and that she had to look good. That wealthy men would be bidding on her. She was a special prize because she was a virgin.

  Remembering the blond man’s excitement when he reached between her legs, she flushed with shame. The scene and his horrid words burned in her brain.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. This little slut still has her cherry. As I live and breathe, will miracles never cease?”

  He’d warned the men guarding her that they would be beaten and tortured if there was so much as a scratch on her. That hadn’t kept the black man they called Jamal and his buddy Pedro from whispering all the dirty things they were going to do to her once she’d been sold.

  Aiden stepped up on the stage and began to position her for the camera.

  Yanking her hair back, he lifted her chin so that she was looking straight at the camera. He stood behind her and jerked her shoulder back. Reaching around her body, he tweaked her shiny nipples and chuckled when she cried out.

  “Tits up, little slut. That’s a goo
d girl. Stick them up as high as you can. Be proud. They’re your best feature. They’re going to earn us almost as much as the unpopped cherry between your legs.”

  He pressed his cheek against her and leered at their reflection in the mirror wagging his eyebrows in a comic display of arrogance. He hopped off the stage and nodded to the man behind the camera.

  “Okey dokey. Show time!”

  He motioned to Victor to begin.

  “Victor, we’ll lay in Boris’s introduction after we get her on tape.”

  Moving to the side of the stage, he spoke off camera to the terrified girl but his words were meant for her father and any others who viewed the tape. His voice was unctuous, eerily pleasant. His agreeable words mocked the reality of the shivering naked girl on the stage, and were certain to send torrents of fear through her father.

  “Sophie, tell your daddy how much fun you are having here. Tell him how many nice men there are who are keeping you company. How they are watching you day and night. Tell him that you miss him and mommy and want to come home. BUT, remember Sophie, you can’t go home until daddy sends the money he promised Volkov. And, honey, be sure and tell daddy that time is running out. There are a lot of men like Jamal, and Pedro and Victor who like innocent little girls. They’re eager to show you how much fun you can have with ALL of them.”

  Sophie did her best to choke back her sobs. Through raspy breaths she begged her father, “Daddy, please do what they say. Please! I…I’m scared. I want to come home. Please…Daddy…Please!”

  Her voice cracked and she burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Cut!” Aiden’s triumphant voice rang out. “That’s a wrap. Victor, get that processed and sent to Mr. Schwartz ASAP.

  Aiden sauntered over to stage and smirked at Sophie.

  “Excellent work, little slut. That was exactly the mix of fear and shame I was looking for. Why, you would think that you are terrified, and that you understand that if daddy doesn’t get his money here damn fast his precious little fairy princess will be begging for more than mercy.”

  He jerked his head at Jamal and Pedro who leapt up and dragged the sobbing girl off the stage.

  Aiden loped back to his spacious suite, eager to work on the final preparations for Friday night’s party and the auction the following evening. As he passed by Boris’s modest office, he poked his head in the door.

  “Evening, Boss Man Boris. You gotta see the tape we just made of the international money bag’s virgin daughter. Couldn’t have staged it better if I tried. She cried her eyes out begging daddy to send his million dollars pronto.”

  Grinning at the strained expression on his partner’s face, he chuckled.

  “Too bad for daddy. No matter how quickly he gets us the cash, all the money will do is buy us time until we complete the auction. Won’t do a damn thing to get his little baby girl back. Nope, by Sunday morning, she’ll likely be winging her way to some Arab sheikdom to join a harem of little sluts just like her.” He added with a self-satisfied smirk, “Ah well, even billionaires need to learn that sometimes having more money than God isn’t worth the pot they piss in.”

  Looking back over his shoulder at Boris, he frowned at the sweat beading up on the big man’s ruddy face and grimaced at the damp circles staining the armpits of his dark shirt.

  “Hey, Big Guy. You ain’t looking too good. Sure you’re up for the party on Saturday? But don’t worry. Me and my men will be there making sure that you don’t make any mistakes or do things that might upset Jamal. You’d never know it, but Jamal’s a sensitive guy. Doesn’t like the way you keep referring to him as an animal.”

  The corner of Aiden’s mouth jerked up derisively.

  “But, hey, Big Guy, don’t apologize. You’re more right than you can imagine. You shoulda seen what Jamal did with his knife to the last guy who insulted him. Hell, being chewed up by a wild animal would’ve been a walk in the park.”

  His contemptuous laughter rang through the hallway, reminding Boris that the entire project was unraveling before his eyes and that Boris had about as much control over the outcome as Bernie Schwartz did.

  ~~~

  Yuri listened to his friend’s careful explanation, knowing that there was as much information in what he did not say as in the words he spoke.

  “Yes, moi dorogoi droog, we are quite aware of the shenanigans of this Vory imposter who calls himself Volkov. You know, Yuri, I would never lie to you. We have shared too much in this lifetime, most of it good, some of it painful, for me to mislead you. After you called I contacted every clan involved in the procurement of young girls and none of them owned up to this Volkov affair.”

  Yuri thanked Karl, and debated if he would tell him what had been tearing at his soul since Rafe first called. He decided he could trust his long term friend to be honest with him and prayed Karl would dismiss his fears as that as of a man consumed with the anguish of the past.

  “I will tell you Karl, when Rafe first called me asking for information about the Volkov, it was not the river that came to mind.” Yuri hesitated then confessed in a hushed tone. “It was what happened in that warehouse on the banks of the Volkov that was a fresh stab in my memory.”

  There was a long silence. When Karl responded, his tone as grave as Yuri’s. “Now that you say that moi droog, I can see why you might think that. But it is a long shot at best. For better or worse, there were no survivors that tragic day. Besides, my friend, after Leonid’s betrayal, everyone associated with Leonid’s treachery was ostracized from the Vory.”

  Yuri let the silence lie between them for a long moment. He wanted to believe Karl, to convince himself that once again the painful memories were clouding his judgment as they had for twenty-five years.

  Knowing that Karl likely thought he was being irrational, Yuri could not dispel the nagging tentacles of doubt tugging at his gut.

  “I admit, Karl, I have spent my life reliving that hideous day. Perhaps it is just my sense of doom that convinces me someday it will come back to haunt me—or more specifically, my daughter. I have spent my life putting as many barriers between my daughter and my past as is humanly possible. I admit I’m a superstitious old man consumed with guilt. But I cannot let go of the thought that the angels of revenge have not yet determined my final punishment. As you know I have put my daughter in the protection of Rafe Boudin. When Rafe called to tell me of a case he is working that involves the ‘Volkov,’ every nerve in my body jangled a warning.”

  Again, Karl’s silence was compelling and oddly comforting. At least his friend didn’t think Yuri was crazy, deranged with guilt.

  “I understand moi droog. It was a terrible day, a tragic day. As we both know revenge is the heart’s blood of the Vory code. But I have discovered nothing that suggests a connection between you and this elusive ‘Volkov.’ Granted, all of the information I gathered came from my Russian sources. I will reach further. Most of our brothers have tried to emulate your success and now operate internationally. Some of the most prosperous are based in the United States, specifically New York City. But that is the crux of the problem, Yuri. While the crime you describe has a Russian imprimatur, it flies against everything we believe in. Kidnapping prominent girls? Asking for ransom? Pshaw! The mark of amateurs! Street thugs! Not accomplished professionals. Idiots! Vory wannabees.”

  Yuri managed a wry smile at his friend’s offended vehemence.

  “Yes, Karl. I agree and so does Rafe. But I cannot allow anything but the utmost vigilance. I will appreciate you scouring every possible lead, particularly those in the United States. Anything to help quiet an old man’s irrational fears.”

  Karl’s voice was low, tinged with concern.

  “You are not irrational, Yuri. Not then, not now. If your gut is sending warnings, we must take them seriously. What does that fearsome warrior you plucked out of the depths of hell have to say about your concerns?”

  Yuri sighed, an audible troubled sigh.

  When he didn’t s
peak, Karl broke in, surprise coloring his response.

  “Ah, Yuri, moi droog. I see. But still, I do not understand. You have not told Rafe Boudin of the hideous events surrounding your wife’s death? But, why not? From the stories I have heard about Boudin, there isn’t a scoundrel alive stupid enough to tangle with him unless the idiot has a death wish. More specifically a death wish that involves gruesome violence. If anyone would understand the extent of your wrath on that day, it would be Boudin. Moreover, from what you have told me and my contacts confirm, he is the son you never had.”

  Yuri’s voice was gruff.

  “All true, Karl. Rafe is a son to me. But, until today with you, who knows my terrible past, I have not spoken of the massacre precipitated by my wife’s murder. I cannot explain my silence. Shame? Fear?” He sighed, a long hard breath. “No, Karl, more likely it is the knowledge that speaking of it makes it more real. As it is, the memory consumes every waking and sleeping moment of my pathetic life. Words are not necessary. And it is a burden I cannot place on those I love the most. My beloved daughter and her protector, my adopted son.”

  ~~~

  Following the perfunctory farewells and mutual assurances that they both would continue to ferret out any possible connections between Yuri and the “Volkov”, Yuri settled into his chair before the blazing fire. Mellowed by the comforting numbness of the vodka he sipped, he wrestled with Karl’s words. Why hadn’t he told Rafe of his wife’s death? Surely he had a right to know. If anyone would understand the pain of past actions it was Rafe.

  Yuri allowed himself to remember the night that Rafe came into his life. He was convinced, then as now, that his wife had reached out from the grave and sent him the son who died in her womb that awful day. That Rafe saved Yuri’s life—albeit unwillingly—had cemented the image in his mind.

  Yuri reflected often on that day; leaving a fancy Parisian restaurant audaciously located at the edge of the banlieues, Yuri and his men were set upon by one of the many gangs of hooligans that ruled the slums. It didn’t take long to see that while they had all the earmarks of the North African immigrants that ruled the banlieues, with its mix of races and cultures, this gang was different. In minutes, Yuri’s troupe of body guards was decimated. Not by the gang of ruffians, but by its leader. The handsome young man—not much more than a boy, really—was striking; his lighter skin tone, and orders shouted in impeccable French, marked him as a Pied Noir, normally a certain impediment to acceptance among the darker skinned immigrants. But it quickly became apparent that while French might have been his native language, the leader was able to rule his multi-racial gang by shouting to each of them in their own language.