Trey

by Shandi Boyes

  He’s not here for Vladimir’s throne.

  He came to help Nikolai seize it, knowing Nikolai’s reign is the only chance he’ll have to live the remainder of his life in peace. If I had the same comradery with my sibling six years ago, I’m reasonably sure my father’s bid to seize control of Prague would have been successful.

  Alas, not every man who carries your blood is your ally.

  With sirens growing stronger, Nikolai guides Justine to the first fleet of SUVs while I finish loading up the ones that will follow him. We’re looking at piling over a dozen women into three SUVs.

  With figures not stacking up, I take advantage of the situation. “You can travel with me.”

  The petite blonde’s eyes rocket to mine when I stop her from entering the vehicle on the heel of the woman she hasn’t let out of her sight for a minute. Dirty blonde hair falls in front of her face when she vigorously shakes her head.

  I can see the denial in her eyes, smell it pumping out of her, but what can I say, I’m an arrogant prick who doesn’t like taking no for an answer. “I wasn’t asking.”

  After shoving a woman with more meat on her frame than the one standing in front of me, I slam the door shut, tap on the roof to signal for Nikolai’s fleet to commence moving, then shift on my feet to face the unnamed blonde.

  I’ve barely cranked my neck halfway around when the crack of her fist on my jaw thrusts my head back further than what’s natural. She swung at me so hard, my jaw will ache for a week.

  What did I tell you? She’s got spunk.

  Even though I usually retaliate to violence with violence, I don’t do that this time around. Not only are my fists not close to being clenched, the blonde is hightailing it away from me. For how fragile her legs look, they shouldn’t be able to pump as well as they do.

  She races up the stairs at the speed of lightning, only stopping when I growl out, “If you want to see your sister again, get your ass in my car.”

  Confident about my assessment of her desperateness, I jog around to the driver’s side of my car, crank open the door, then slide in behind the steering wheel. A voice inside of me screams for me not to be a prick, but it isn’t the only noise I’m hearing.

  My heart is also thudding in my ears.

  It hasn’t done that in a very long time.

  I stop assessing the rarity of my pulse beeping in my ears when the crank of a handle breaks through the oddity. The blonde slips into the passenger seat so soundlessly if her unique scent didn’t stir my cock, I wouldn’t have realized my ruse had worked. She doesn’t have a pure smell, but it’s most certainly enticing. It is roughish and dark and has me recalling a damp, obscure place where two people could cause a heap of trouble.

  With my hands wringing my steering wheel, I push out, “Put on your seat belt. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

  I don’t look at her, but I feel her eyes on me for eight long heartbeats before she does as told. Once the familiar click of a latch being locked into place sounds through my ears, I crank the engine, pull my car next to the stairs she raced up mere seconds ago, then grab a box of matches out of the glove compartment. Although I have no clue what the fuck my game plan is tonight, this feels as right as it did when I followed India into the butler’s pantry at her family compound.

  I can only hope it doesn’t end as disastrously.

  “Do you want the pleasure, or shall I?”

  When I shove the matches the blonde’s way, she peers at me with wide and apprehensive eyes. I’m dying for her to talk, to say one of the many thoughts I see in her head, but I also like her quiet. I get an immense amount of satisfaction from silence, and I won’t mention how it doubles the tension teeming between us, or you’ll think I’m as insane as Vladimir once was.

  “Go on,” I say with a nudge of my head. “Send the bastard to hell where he belongs.”

  With a faint dip of her chin, she pulls one of the matches out of the box before dragging it down the flint. I realize just how weak she is when she can’t run the matchhead down the side of the box with enough force to get a spark. Believing I was the only thing standing between her and freedom, she put all her strength into hitting me, so she doesn’t have an ounce left to give.

  “Here, let me.”

  When she grunts while snatching the matchbox back, a smile tugs at my lips. She wants Vladimir to burn in hell as much as she wants to take credit for helping with his demise. That isn’t the reason I’m smirking, though. Her grunt—Fuck. Me. I’ve only heard one noise more seductive than it. It was years ago, and it cost me everything, so a second-best noise shouldn’t make me as hard as it does, but it does. I’m so hard, my cock’s head is knocking at the zipper in my jeans, begging to be freed.

  After warning my cock to calm down, I say, “We’ll do it together.”

  With sirens growing louder, I grab her hands a little more roughly than intended. She stops shaking when our joint drag of the matchhead down the flint sparks it to life. She stares at the flickering flame for what feels like hours before she tosses it out the window.

  With Nikolai’s men being super friendly with their gasoline cans, it only takes seconds for flames to lick the walls of Vladimir’s private compound. They race up the wooden shutters before engulfing the thick rafters holding the roof up.

  Within minutes, the entire building is lit up with hues of orange and red.

  Confident no amount of water will douse the raging inferno, I plant my foot onto the gas pedal of my Shelby. With recent rain making conditions muddy, the tires slip and slide in the wet conditions before they eventually grip the tiny shards of gravel Vladimir laid to ensure none of his guests at his house of horrors would get bogged down.

  The knowledge of the courtesies he offered his ‘guests’ has my jaw working side to side. The woman seated next to me has clearly been used and abused, yet, I’m still putting my needs above hers. And for what? Because she reminds me of a girl I hardly knew and a past I’d give anything to forget.

  Clearly, I need to cut back on the drugs. My head is getting too fucked-up.

  Six

  Trey

  For most of our trip through the sloshy fields, the blonde in my passenger seat keeps her eyes fixated on the side mirror. She watches the black plumes of smoke rising from Vladimir’s compound until it becomes one with the pitch-black night.

  Although hues of orange are seen for some time, within minutes, her focus shifts from the past to the present. She stares at her reflection for several long seconds, moving closer the more the sticky night air combs the knots out of her hair.

  The wind whipping past her face from my fast speed makes quick work of her tears, but I don’t need to see wetness on her cheeks to know she’s crying. I can smell the saltiness of her tears lingering in my nostrils. It’s an addictive scent that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is.

  When I take a right at a T-intersection, I spot what the muted blonde wrote in the condensation her heavy breaths made to the side mirror. It’s the letter K.

  “Is that what your name begins with? K?”

  The tightness in my jaw grows when she scrubs her fingertips over the gleaming glass. I’m not frustrated she’s putting massive barriers between us. I wouldn’t have expected any less from a woman who’s been through what she went through. It’s the thinness of her wrist that has my molars grinding together. I could circle her wrist with my thumb and index finger, and I guarantee there’d still be a gaping hole between us.

  “When was the last time you ate, K?”

  She’s shocked about me calling her K, however, it’s barely seen through the truth on her face that it’s been a very long time since her belly has been full.

  Her bright blue eyes snap to mine when I slam on my brakes before completing an illegal U-turn. Although Clarks has enough food in its industrial confines to feed an army, it’ll take the once-whores a good twenty to thirty minutes to rustle something up. I can’t wait that long to put food in K’s stomach. If I do, guilt
will eat me alive, and we’re not going to mention the ghosts of my past, or I’ll force her to eat until her stomach pops.

  With the night still early for Vegas locals, I pull straight up to the Sonic drive-in speaker without needing to wait. “What do you want to eat, K? You can have any fucking thing you want. Beef, chicken, wings. You can have it all if you want.”

  K’s stomach growls in hunger, but she remains as quiet as a church mouse, only gasping when my desperateness to show her not all men are pieces of shit sees me placing an order for one of everything on the menu. I might be an asshole, but not even the hardest gangster could look at someone as frail as K and not offer them a bite of their sandwich—not even Nikolai. You’d have to be completely heartless not to feel some kind of remorse, and mine is ten times worse since I knew the game Vladimir was running, and I didn’t do anything about it.

  Yeah, I could be accused of treating the whores at Clarks like shit, but they’re there because they want to be there. K and the women currently being transported to Clarks never had a say in the matter. Even pimps treat their hookers better than Vladimir treated his captives.

  The bills I toss to the cashier at the window haven’t been laundered, but since I don’t see much of it landing in the cash register, I’m not worried.

  With my order obsessive, I anticipate for my car to be full to the brim with bags of greasy food. It would be if I didn’t tell the cashier to hold all the drinks bar two. I can’t guarantee K won’t hurl the instant one of the burgers reaches her stomach, so I’ll keep her drink selection to plain ole’ bottled water.

  “Are you going to eat something?” I ask K after tossing the final bag of food into the back of my car and recommencing our trip.

  I don’t get words, but she does shake her head. Her response frustrates me more than the whore who took herself for a ride on my cock yesterday morning. I’m finally capable of doing a good deed, but the person I’m testing the rarity out on doesn’t want my help.

  What the fuck?

  “Why not? You’re hungry, aren’t you?” A tick impinges my jaw when a reason behind her hunger strike pops into my head. “You won’t be expected to repay me for the meal. You don’t owe me shit. I can get my dick sucked without handing over a dime, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  I don’t know whether to be pleased or pissed when she continues clutching several grease-laden bags in close to her chest. I’m glad she isn’t holding back because the idea of sucking my cock repulses her enough she’d rather starve, but still, I wish she’d eat something. Just looking at me is making me hungry, and no, I’m not solely referring to the feast only women can serve me.

  K’s breaths come out ragged when I pull my car down the long driveway of the Popov compound. People usually drool over the thirty-plus room mansion. K looks far from impressed. She’s more panicked now than she was when she spotted my gawk from afar forty minutes ago.

  Her worry is warranted. P’s is elaborate, but no amount of glamor can mask the scent of desecration.

  The same can be said for my aftershave.

  I angle my head to hide my smirk while saying, “I need to drop something off real quick. You can come with me or stay here…” My words trail off when K tugs bags of food in closer to her chest, denying my request without words. “Alright. I’ll be back in a tick. Don’t go anywhere.” My last comment was more in jest than a demand. Manned guards are on every corner of P’s. Even if she wants to run, she won’t get far.

  After slipping out the driver’s seat, I hotfoot it up the side entrance most of the once-whores-now-maids use. Just as I reach the foyer, Nikolai and Justine enter from the other side. Considering she was sold tonight to a bunch of worthless pricks with more money than sense, she looks well put together… if you exclude her out-of-control body shakes.

  The same can’t be said for Nikolai. He looks a little lost—kind of like me. A weird sensation is bristling in the air. It could be because a new monarch just seized his throne as my brother tried to do years ago, but in all honesty, it feels more than that. It’s a strange sensation but highly addictive.

  I stop at Rico’s side just as he offers for Nikolai to leave business to us. “Go take care of Justine. Trey and I will get everything under control down here.”

  My lips quirk into a smile, smug-as-fuck Rico sees me as an equal. I doubt he will if any of the rumblings out of Nikolai’s crew the past eight hours reaches his ears. Supposedly, we’re each other’s biggest competitors. I thought our placement in Nikolai’s life would make us more allies than enemies. It appears as if Rico agrees with me.

  With that in mind, I lock my eyes with Nikolai and say, “We know where to find you if we need you.”

  He lifts his chin at our suggestion. “Take care of everything but her.” He strays his eyes from me to Malvina sitting wonky on a single-seater couch since her arms and legs are still bound. “We’ve got a few matters to discuss before she returns to Russia. If she returns to Russia.”

  With three sets of murderous eyes on her, Malvina’s throat works hard to swallow. It appeases Nikolai’s worries in an instant.

  Confident we’re more than capable of holding down the fort, Nikolai commences leading Justine to the stairwell. I wait for him to disappear down the corridor on the top level of the compound before shifting on my feet to face Malvina. The quicker I get her into lockdown, the faster I can return to K, who I’m hoping like fuck is still waiting for me in my car.

  My steps to Malvina halt mid-stride when Rico says, “You appear to have your hands full, so why don’t you leave Malvina for me.”

  When I peer at him, lost as to what he means, he nudges his head to the door I walked through only thirty seconds ago. K is peering through the spotlessly clean glass. It’s clear from the expression on her face she’s scared, but her fear isn’t high enough for her to place it above the person she’s seeking.

  It’s that side of her that intrigues me—her strong side.

  Even from a distance, I can’t deny my body’s response to her fragile, broken appearance. I don’t want to fix her. I’m fascinated as fuck to discover if she can fix herself. If an abused sex slave can claw her way back from the brink, who’s to say I can’t do the same.

  Upon spotting Rico and my gawking stares, K’s eyes pop so far out of her head, I’m certain they’ll feel the burn of her dehydration for days to come before she pivots on her bare feet and dashes down the stairs.

  “Shouldn’t you go after her?” Rico asks, concerned she’s running.

  I shake my head. “She isn’t going anywhere. I have something she wants.” And for the first time tonight, I’m not referencing the woman she wouldn’t let out of her sight.

  Broken people attract broken people because they know better than anyone that only when you’re at your best, do you attract your worst. K doesn’t trust me any more than the man standing next to me, but she isn’t scared of me. That’s why she hit me.

  You can’t fear someone who lives in the same shadow as you.

  Needing to end one injustice before taking up another, I dig a sheet of paper out of my pocket. It’s covered with dirt, but its importance is highly notable, even more so since a sex slave wrote a single letter into the fog of her heated breaths.

  “While you’re tucking Malvina in for the night, perhaps you could ask her about this.”

  Rico’s dark brows stitch when I hand a sale docket I found in the room Malvina was hiding out in during our raid. If I were to believe what it says, Nikolai purchased a whore by the name of Kristina Svoboda for one point two million dollars earlier this week—days after falling dick first for Justine.

  “Is this legitimate?” Rico asks, his tone pitched with annoyance.

  It’s obvious I’m not the only man in the room with a dislike for the sex-trafficking industry. I get it makes a lot of money, and to some men, that surpasses anything, but you’ve got more issues than a fucked-up head if you need to force someone to sleep with you. You must have a
dog’s ass for a face, or worse, a limp dick. There’s no other explanation. Clarks is swamped with whores willing to do anything to become one of my brothers’ old ladies, and they don’t get handed a dime, so if you’re paying for it, it’s time to check yourself.

  When Rico arches his brow, prompting me to answer him, I shrug. “I had Mikhail take a quick look at it after the raid. A matching set of funds left Nikolai’s bank account hours after Kristina’s sale.”

  Rico works his jaw side to side before telling me to leave it to him. “Even dead Vladimir is still fucking with Nikolai’s head.”

  I jerk up my chin, agreeing with him. “There’s something murky going on here. Nikolai is—”

  “As pussy whipped as the rest of us, so he’d never pay for a side-whore? Yeah, I get that.”

  Although I agree with most of his comment, I scoff about my inclusion in his equation. I’m as free as a bird and itching like fuck to get back to my car to check if K is back inside.

  Pretending his rile has no basis whatsoever, I play it cool while Rico guides Malvina toward the ‘dungeon’ half of the mansion. The instant he’s out of earshot, I hotfoot it to my car.

  I’m not surprised to spot K sitting in the passenger seat. However, I am as smug as fuck.

  With my cocky smile hidden by an angled chin, I slide into the driver’s seat of my Shelby and fire up the ignition. K keeps her eyes front and center when I tell her to put her seat belt back on, but I hear the nervous bob of her throat. She isn’t fearful she was busted being disobedient, she’s uneased about me calling her Kristina. That can only mean one thing. Either she isn’t Kristina, or she hates the name.

  Whatever the reason, I won’t use it again.

  Knowing her name won’t have me understanding her story any better.

  Only she can do that.

  We travel the four miles to Clarks in silence. It’s quicker to go over the rugged landscape than around it, but the lapse in time gives me a chance to get my head screwed on straight. Only one time have I acted this reckless. It ended disastrously, so I’ll do anything to skip another shit-fest.