Anatoly's Retribution: Book One (The Medlov Men 5)

by Latrivia Welch

  His assistant passed Anastaysia a pamphlet as she sat down beside her friend, Mary, and pulled off her coat. She scanned it as she listened.

  “This is an opportunity of a lifetime,” the man promised. “Mission work in Haiti is on the rise, because there are so many loss souls and even fewer who are willing to walk away from their daily lives to do the work. We’re in the process of building new schools for the children, a new sports ministry and several new churches.” Pictures of the Haitian children playing soccer, people working at construction sites and people working in food lines flashed on the television behind him as he went through the prompts. “We also are building new homes for those who have been displaced and developing new sustainability projects.”

  Anastaysia’s eyes widened at the prospect of going to Haiti and being a part of something so magnificent. She had dreamed of leaving Russia and exploring the world to spread God’s word. It was all that she and her church friends talked about. Confined to Kapotnya for the whole of her life, all she had ever known was here. Few chances had come her way to experience something different, but she was ready now to take this chance and be greater than she had ever been before.

  Times were getting harder here, and she felt herself drowning under the financial pressure of just keeping her little apartment on her meager salary. This new career change would mean a change of scenery and a chance to do something meaningful while getting paid.

  “You’ll be well taken care of as a part of your mission work. We’ll provide food, clothing, shelter and a modest stipend for your six months of service,” the man promised.

  “How modest?” a woman in the pew behind Anastaysia asked.

  “For those who sign up tonight, we’ll give a $500 bonus. That’s American dollars.” The man saw the group’s eyes light up.

  “Cash?” another woman asked.

  “Cash,” he answered, knowing that in itself would persuade many. “And a monthly stipend will be paid of $2,000 while you are in Haiti. Now, we do ask that you sign up for at least six months, but most of our missionaries have been with us for years.”

  Anastaysia had never been paid that kind of money in her entire life. Oh, what she could do with $2,000 a month. Her heart began to race with ideas. If she did well in Haiti, maybe they would ask her to go to other places. Many people had made a lifelong career of being a missionary. Who was to say that she couldn’t do the same.

  “When would we leave?” Anastaysia asked, pushing to the end of the seat.

  “You came in late. What’s your name?” the man asked.

  “Anastaysia Fedrov,” she answered.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Anastaysia Fedrov. I’m Robert Ashbrook with the Power of Healing Global Ministries.” With his hand held gently against his heart, he dramatically shook his head. “She really touches my heart.” He noted quietly that she was still wearing her baby blue maid uniform. “Coming in from work, tired and hungry, asking how and when she can answer the call of the Lord.” He nodded toward her. “Well, Anastaysia, we will leave in the next week.” He raised a hand to silence the whispers. “I know it’s soon, but after the recent tropical storms there is so much work that we need to do. Our benefactors have given us a deadline. We have to take the people who can go now.”

  “Will there be other opportunities?” another woman asked, disappointed in the short timeline.

  “I’m not sure,” Robert said with a shrug. “We have recruiters all over the world. We may not be back to Kapotnya.”

  For Anastaysia that was enough. If it were possible that she’d never get this opportunity again, she’d take this one and not look back.

  Robert finished giving his presentation and then closed the deal. “Who’s with me?” he asked, raising a hand full of volunteer forms.

  Only a few hands raised at the end of his presentation, but it was more than he had expected. His quota was for five women, however, eleven were interested. At $10,000 per body, he’d make a killing when he got to Haiti and put the women on the auction block. Russian girls were always high in demand, especially Russian girls who looked like Anastaysia. He had sold over forty girls from the Eastern bloc in the last year. As long as they had no real ties back home, no family with any influence and no children, he could make them disappear in a matter of hours once they were out of the country.

  “Count me in,” Anastaysia said, taking one of his forms as he passed them out. “I’m ready to serve.”

  “We’re ready to have you,” Robert said with a wink.

  Chapter Four

  A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing…

  Memphis, TN

  The Medlov Compound

  N adei’s heavy footfalls echoed against the shiny limestone floors as he made his way to the meeting. The dirty blonde Czech brute boasting a bulky muscular frame and menacingly attractive features had been a stickler for punctuality in his old life. But tonight, he was a few minutes late, which wasn’t like him. However, nothing was like him lately. In a period of adjustment that one could only describe as purgatory, he was learning to survive on little sleep and the expectation of having saint-like patience, while still being expected to operate as a Vor.

  Standing on both sides of the door were two of the Medlov house bodyguards, quietly watching both ends of the corridor for passing traffic. When they saw Nadei stalking forcefully down the hall, they straightened up a little to receive him. Nadei might have stepped down a few pegs on the food chain, but he was still higher on it than either of them.

  “Am I the last one?” he asked, grabbing the brass doorknob.

  One of the men nodded a confirmation, but didn’t speak.

  “Shit,” Nadei cursed, stepping inside.

  He looked at the eyes as they landed on him – some judging, some sympathetic. A table full of anxious women awaited his consultation. He had to get used to this new life in all its glory, like being a full-time, single father and being moved to help this new council instead of serving at the behest of the one he truly loved. But that was his fault and this was penance. It was a small price to pay for what he had done.

  “Sorry, I’m late, ladies,” he said in a Russian baritone that cut through the silence as he closed the door behind him.

  “Have a seat,” the mistress of the house said, voice soft and calm. She noticed the spit up on the front of his shirt and the tiredness in his eyes. Both were familiar to her, being a mother of three.

  With a nod, he obediently sat down at the table, choosing a seat close to the door. The wait staff had put out snacks and coffee, which he was grateful for after hours of trying to put his little girl down for bed himself instead of letting the nanny do it. He pulled a croissant from the pile and bit into its soft center. Women were very thorough. They thought of everything all at the same time.

  Sitting in the sound-proof conference room on the first floor of her expansive mansion, Royal Medlov sipped on a steaming cup of freshly brewed Columbian coffee sweetened with just enough Jameson to give her a small, unnoticeable buzz. She knew her husband wouldn’t have approved. Drinking while planning something so ballsy might have come off as careless, but she needed the liquid courage tonight. People were counting on her, even if they didn’t know it.

  After four teenage black girls from the same area of Memphis went missing in a very short period of time, Royal decided to take it upon herself and her newly formed council to find them. She had waited patiently to see what the police would produce. The Amber alerts went out on the cell phones. The news reporters did their stories. The families posted on Facebook, but there were no leads and no movement. The council, however, had a theory. The girls had not been necessarily kidnapped from their homes or snatched out of their beds in the middle of the night like traditional victims. Instead, they had been coerced to willingly leave home only to be forced to stay where they were. Such was the new tactic for human traffickers.

  Well, the human traffickers who had stolen these girls were in luck, because it just so happe
ned to be Royal’s new mission in life to rid Memphis of them.

  “I apologize for pulling everyone away from their evenings so spur of the moment,” she said sincerely. “Trust me, I know we are all tired, and we have our children to tend to, but our dear Peaches is going to move on those bastards tonight.” The news brought a devious grin across Royal’s face. “She just got word to me about thirty minutes ago. I called you here to make sure that we are ready, if she needs us.”

  Royal had intended to curl up in bed with the kids and watch the fight tonight, but after receiving a call that her girl had successfully infiltrated a new cell of human traffickers, she had called an emergency meeting of the newly formed Medlov Women’s Council to ensure that the operation was carried out successfully. Since they were in the early stages of their council, it was important to be thorough and vigilant, and because the work that they did was very important to so many people who could not fight for themselves, they had to be brutal.

  Joining her at the table and equally as tired were Lilly, the wife of Vasily Kavlov, Valeriya, the wife of Gabriel Medlov, their newly acquired lawyer, Lauren Malone, and a consultant to their cause loaned from Dmitry’s own camp, Nadei.

  Many years ago, Royal had been raped by her husband’s psychotic brother. Lilly had been beaten and nearly killed by her first husband. Valeriya had lived in a world of horrors and Renee simply did not want to sit idly by and do nothing in a world that was literally burning around them. The council was the only thing that made sense. Their husbands were billionaires with unbelievable resources around them.

  Valeriya sat to the immediate right of Royal at the long wooden conference table in her pajamas. When she first got the text from Royal, she was about to get into the tub after putting her infant son down for the evening. Deciding against wasting time, she came from the west wing of the compound as she was, much like everyone in the room based on the other nightclothes and robes in the room.

  “That was quick,” Valeriya said, pushing back in her wing-backed chair. Peaches had only been on the case for a week. “Are we absolutely sure that they haven’t made her?” she looked over at Nadei, since he had been quarterbacking most of this.

  Valeriya was a freedom fighter, used to life or death situations in much harsher terrain, but she also knew when to lead and when to follow. This council only asked that she follow, which was fine by her. At least she still got a chance to fight back against the world’s evil doers in some way. When Royal first came to her with the idea of the council, she thought it ingenious and had been excited about it ever since. Plus, it gave her access to resources to help those still fighting in her home country of Ukraine.

  “She hasn’t been made,” Nadei answered, quickly. “We made sure to cover our bases. Peaches has been trained well.” He wouldn’t get into it now, but he had seen the girl’s wet work skills, and she was nothing, if not lethal. He was certain that she could do this job with her eyes closed.

  “How many of them is she targeting tonight?” Lilly asked, feeling the need to chime in, even though she wasn’t sure that she had anything to offer at this point in the conversation.

  “All of them,” Royal answered, brows raised. “She said that all four of the girls are there for the time being, but she’s not sure after tonight if she’ll get another opportunity to save them. They go on the auction block tomorrow.” She ran her index finger down the shiny wooden surface of the table. “It’s now or never.”

  “Well, then if we can’t do anything but sit here and wait, the least we can do is pray,” Lilly said, making the sign of the cross as she bowed her head.

  ***

  Memphis, TN

  Elvis Presley Boulevard

  The Black River Hotel

  Some hotels on Elvis Presley Boulevard were cheap but clean with patrons from out of town who simply wanted to be in walking distance of Graceland and other local tourist stops. The businesses boasted neon signs, well-lit parking spaces, clean rooms and often guarded-entry to ward off the criminal element.

  Other hotels on the strip were reserved for the more illegal variety and didn’t bother with being tidy or respectable. They rented by the hour, spot-cleaned the rooms intermediately, rarely advertised and never bothered their sullied guests with things like identification checks or house rules. When things got out of control on their property, the cops were called only after the shots were fire, the witnesses left and bodies were cold.

  The Black River Hotel was one of those seedy hotels. Known city-wide for its rampant prostitution and cheap drugs, no one who wasn’t looking to get laid or score even darkened the doorsteps of its business. It was the perfect breeding ground for pimps, whores, druggies and runaways – right off the expressway, close to several truck-stops and only miles away from the state line. In an effort to curtail crime, it had been shut down by the district attorney a few times over the years for being a public nuance, but it always seemed to reopen after a month or two under a new owner who saw the potential in the prime real estate of not only the land and buildings but also the human collateral.

  The newest owner of the hotel was no saint. Paid by local pimps to be a facilitator of their transactions and pimps across the country to be on their circuits, the Indian businessman fresh in from New Delhi, looked the other way when girls came in bloody and crying, checked in by their pimps and bottom bitches to be tuned up before she turned her next trick.

  He had made a killing off human trafficking since he bought the establishment, nearly tripling his investment in less than a year. Every time he booked a room, all he saw was cash to the bottom line – most of which went unreported to the IRS, which was why when the four missing Black girls that the entire city of Memphis was looking for came rolling in with a notorious female pimp named Tenisha who had made him thousands of dollars over the last year, he turned his head and gave them a room key with no questions asked.

  The small crew had been holed up for nearly a day in the double-queen room toward the back of the hotel away from prying eyes and curious wanderers who might have reported them to 525-CASH for the money. It was tight sleeping quarters but the four teenage girls slept on the floor in huddle along with a straggler they had picked up on Third Street who was running renegade until Tenisha recruited her the night before.

  The bodyguards traded turns on the bed closest to the door and Tenisha slept alone.

  However, as the hours passed, the tension grew. What was meant to be an exchange that would take place in eight hours had turned into a full day.

  “These motherfuckers be playing too much!” the twenty-five-year-old Tenisha Griffin said, throwing down her cell phone on the bed. Her contact was supposed to have been here nearly an hour ago, but they continued to be held up by business across the river in Arkansas. “I’m losing money by the hour having these girls locked up in this damn hotel room. Shit, I could at least put them on the kiddie stroll for a few nights to make a little change.”

  “Mane, Tenisha, just chill out,” one of her bodyguards, Rico, said, stretching out his palms to her. He had known her for years, worked the streets with her, served time for her. The least she could do was trust him. Standing six feet four inches tall with a wall of a chest and skin as a dark as night, the failed football player tried to reason with her before she got out of control. “They said they coming, they coming.” He knew how she could get about her money, but he also knew that his contact would come through. “Keith said he had some other girls to pick up in Little Rock. Once he’s done, he’ll be here to get these girls. We can cash out and move on, but you need to chill.”

  What could she do at this point but wait? The missing girls were on everyone’s radar. To try to move them through some other connection might mean a setup, thus jail time, which she had avoided completely so far. And if she got rid of the girls – dumped them in a ditch somewhere or in the Mississippi River, she’d be down significantly in her cash flow.

  Frustrated with her options, she ran her long, spiked na
ils through her blonde box braids and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yeah, well, they better not be fucking me off. I passed up two other trade ups on these bitches to sell to your boy. Keeping it hundred, if he don’t come through, it’s on you,” she seethed, casting Rico a dirty look.

  Tenisha was known for one thing – making good on her word. And family or not, if she lost out on this deal, she was going to take it out on Rico’s ass. She’d been in the business since she was ten years old. Her mother sold her to a pimp for crack before she had her first period. Later, the man who once was her Daddy had become her mentor and showed her all the tricks of the trade.

  After she was able to pay her exit fee at seventeen, she swore one thing – that she’d always be in control of her own destiny. Instead of going to college and choosing to get out of the game, she instead built her own stable and start selling off girls across the country.

  In short, she knew what she was doing. It was only a fluke the girls she had recruited this time had families who were pushing their daughter’s stories to the media. Before Facebook became a weapon, her job had been easy. Girls didn’t suspect someone so young.

  Tenisha trolled local high schools, often pretending to be one of them, to gain their trust. She’d get the girls hooked on hanging out late nights, drinking and drugging when they were supposed to be in class, and defying their parents at every turn. If need be, she’d even slip them in to local clubs and introduce them to older men with money. After a few interactions, she’d suggest that they run away from home and stop listening to their parents all together. She’d paint some story of freedom and excitement where they were the authors of their own stories, but in actuality they were entering into a world of slavery.

  When the girls finally left home, Tenisha had an iron-clad model that she used. She’d let the girls spend the first night partying. The second night, she’d hook them up with a sexual encounter for money without their knowledge to see if they were capable of having sex with a stranger. The third night when the girl wanted to go home, she’d bring in her boys and inform them they weren’t going anywhere. This normally was a reality check for the naive teens. They would have run up a tab with the local drug dealer and owe her for clothes, room and board. She’d throw some numbers at them and tell them they could leave if they settled up first. Not one teenage girl she had met so far could afford the hefty tab. When the girl tried to leave, she’d suffer a head cut, better known as a beat down. Bloody and scared out of their minds, the girls would suffer the wrath of her boys by being passed around and forced to do the unspeakable. By the fifth night, they were scared as hell and unwilling to try to flee. By then, Tenisha would have bids already out and within hours, the girls would be sold off to a pimp or a john in another city and become someone else’s problem.