The Russian Unleashed

by Red Phoenix

  When I see the two men, I call out, “Halt!”

  They glance back nervously. One turns to face me while the other drags the girl toward the parking lot.

  I rush the man, sending him flying into the air as I make my way to the girl. The other guy doesn’t stand a chance against me. I clutch his arm and whip him around, breaking the grip he has on the girl.

  Cocking back my fist, I punch him, sending him crashing to the ground.

  The girl cries out in warning, and I whip around in time to avoid the other man’s attack. My hatred goes so deep it almost blinds me, and I rain my fists down on him. Only the terrified screams of the girl force me to stop.

  I look down at his bloody face and spit on him.

  Getting up. I approach the girl. “It’s all right. No one is going to hurt you.”

  She hesitates a moment before running to wrap her arms around me.

  I close my eyes, holding her tight.

  Safe…

  I force back the tears as memories of Tatianna’s kidnapping flood my mind. I am grateful that that will not be this girl’s fate. “I will protect you.”

  A small crowd gathers around us, and I hear one of the kidnappers moan.

  “Call the police!” I bark.

  “Should I call an ambulance, too?” a kindly woman asks.

  I look down at the girl. “Are you okay?”

  She keeps her face buried against me as she nods.

  “It won’t be necessary,” I tell the woman.

  I stand there with the girl desperately clutching me. Relief flows through me, grateful that she is unharmed.

  “Would you like me to call your parents?” the woman asks her.

  She nods but says nothing.

  “I need their number,” the woman urges the girl.

  When the girl doesn’t speak, I tell the woman. “Give her time.”

  I don’t move. One thought keeps running through my mind as I hear the sound of sirens approaching.

  I wasn’t too late this time.

  It is both an empowering and damning realization.

  When the young woman pulls away from me, she wipes away her tears and looks up. “Thank you for saving me.”

  My heart constricts. What I wouldn’t have given to hear Tatianna say those same words.

  When the police arrive, they call for an ambulance for the men, and I watch in silence as the two are taken away. I overhear one of the policemen mention the Bratva, and I spit on the ground angrily.

  Human trafficking is quickly becoming a preferred crime of the Bratva because of the high profit margin. Unfortunately, the police have had little success in preventing it.

  One of the policemen offers to take me home. I take him up on it and tell him my address. He immediately apologizes for not knowing who I am.

  I shake my head. “I am just a man, no different than you.”

  But he can’t let it go. He’s far too excited at the idea of having one of the Durovs riding in his police car.

  I’m uncomfortable with the attention and instruct him not to mention my name to the press when I exit the car.

  “You’re a hero, Anton Durov!” he shouts from the car.

  “Nyet,” I say tiredly as I head toward the mansion. Once inside, I speak to no one as I make my way up the stairs to my bedroom and shut the door.

  Walking to the bed, I lay down in the dark and allow myself to cry.

  My Calling

  Despite my expressed wishes, I wake in the morning and find my name splashed all over the news, detailing what the old couple called my “death-defying rescue”. According to witnesses, I looked like a Kodiak bear on a rampage, making the kidnappers fly through the air when I attacked them.

  My staff is thoughtful. They know I am a private man, and refrain from asking me about it. However, to keep my sanity and avoid the press, I turn off my phone and instruct the servants not to answer the door.

  I’ve been unable to get the relief on the girl’s face out of my mind the moment she knew she was safe.

  But I am still haunted by the idea that if I hadn’t felt the urge to go to Sparrow Hills yesterday, and gotten off the train when I did, the young woman would have disappeared without a trace and suffered Tatianna’s fate.

  I wonder now if my little sparrow directed my steps…

  Whispering, I call out, “Are you with me, Tatianna?”

  I hear no answer, but I feel her presence.

  How ever I came to be on that platform, it saved a life yesterday. Knowing that has given me a new purpose.

  I know with certainty that the inheritance I control is not meant for me or my brothers. I was spared in the avalanche because I have a greater purpose to fulfill.

  It goes far beyond providing creature comforts to the Durov family, as my brothers insist I do.

  This money is meant to impact future generations—I know it in the depths of my soul.

  I will see to it that the Durov estate invests in rescuing those who are being bought and sold. I will also aid the authorities in eradicating those who profit from it.

  I promise to do whatever it takes to protect the victims, because I know personally how vulnerable they are.

  In direct opposition to my father and the evil he committed, I will use the resources of the Durov inheritance to save lives.

  The conviction I feel forces me to my feet and I make a solemn vow to God.

  “For every life my father has destroyed, I will save thousands.”

  Saying the words out loud recharges my soul.

  Given my new status as the sole beneficiary of the Durov estate, I now have a target on my back and must surround myself with an army of men I can trust.

  The first person I call is Titov.

  “I need you to come to the mansion. I have something to discuss with you.”

  The minute he enters the room he states with pride, “Everyone is talking about what you did yesterday, Anton.”

  “I was simply in the right place at the right time.”

  “That’s not what I heard. You risked your life to save her.”

  I know Titov will understand when I say, “I didn’t have a choice.”

  He nods. “It is good—this thing you have done. Tatianna would be proud.”

  It hurts to hear him say her name out loud, and I unknowingly wince.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I miss her…” I choke out.

  Titov’s expression changes to one of shared sorrow. “Every day,” he agrees as he pats me on the back.

  The two of us had a severe falling out after Tatianna’s kidnapping. I blamed him for her death because of his involvement with the Bratva. I had warned him repeatedly that they couldn’t be trusted.

  It wasn’t until the death of my mother that I learned the truth about my father’s involvement in Tatianna’s kidnapping.

  Titov and I witnessed the abuse Tatianna suffered at the hands of the slavers when we finally rescued her. Although our hearts were broken by it, we understood why Tatianna committed suicide after returning home. They shattered her soul.

  Although morose, Titov and I grew closer during the torture of my father. Truly, it wasn’t until we watched my father’s painful death that he and I felt any sense of closure—or justice.

  Titov and I bonded in ways no one else could understand.

  It is the reason I want him as my right-hand man now.

  “We talked once about you working for me.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Well, I have a proposition for you.”

  I pick up a bottle of vodka and pour him a shot, handing it to him.

  He looks at me expectantly as he takes it. “Go on.”

  “I want you to work for me as my right-hand man. I will pay you well for it.”

  Titov stares at me in shock.

  I pour myself a shot while I wait for his response. “Well…?”

  “I’m not qualified for such a position.”

  “The only requ
irement is being a man I trust implicitly.”

  He furrows his brow. “I have no experience, Anton.”

  I clink my glass against his. “You will learn.”

  He and I both share a profound love for Tatianna and a mutual hatred for anyone who would sell human lives for profit. As far as I’m concerned, he is the only man qualified for the job.

  We both throw back the vodka.

  He sets his glass down slowly. “What exactly does the position entail?”

  “You will be available to assist me on a moment’s notice and will take care of things whenever I am indisposed.”

  “Meaning I will be on call twenty-four seven?”

  “Yes. In exchange for your service, I will pay you this amount.” I write the number on a piece of paper and slide it over to him.

  His eyes widen when he looks at it. “I am not worth—”

  “You will take no less. What I am asking will require you to give up your life as you know it.”

  He shrugs. “It’s not like I have a life now. But, Anton…I’m not comfortable with that amount.”

  “Regardless, you will accept it.”

  He frowns and takes a few minutes to think about it. “What if you give my parents a portion? That is the only way I will even consider it.”

  I nod, smiling. “Your parents deserve some comfort after all they’ve suffered.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I will see to it,” I tell him, pouring another round. “But, there’s more.”

  He chuckles under his breath. “Of course.”

  “Yesterday was a wakeup call for me, Titov. I plan to actively support the police in going after these slavers, which could put both of us in danger.”

  He sits up in his seat. “Are you serious?”

  “Da,” I answer gravely, downing the second shot.

  “I’m all in,” he replies without hesitation, throwing back his shot.

  “You understand you could die in this endeavor.”

  He snarls. “If I can take one of them with me, it will be worth it.”

  I appreciate his attitude.

  “You will start assembling a team of bodyguards tomorrow. I want the best of the best. Money isn’t a concern. While you work on that, I will be drawing up a will. I must make certain the assets do not fall into the wrong hands, should I die pursuing our endeavors.”

  Titov stares at me thoughtfully for a moment. “You have changed.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s a fire in you I haven’t seen before.”

  “It’s Tatianna.”

  The mood in the room instantly changes when I mention her name.

  He only nods.

  “She was with me yesterday,” I confess to him.

  His gaze intensifies and he looks in my eyes as if he’s searching for her. He finally sits back in his chair and says, “I believe it, Anton.”

  “Fair warning. You will be exposed to things in my personal life that may make you uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I slap Titov on the back. “Good, because I plan to let it all hang out, balls and all.”

  Titov chuckles. “I’ve seen you before, Anton. Don’t you remember when we used to moon the boats on the Krymsky Bridge?”

  “Fuck, we were fools back then,” I say, laughing. “In all seriousness, though, I don’t just dabble in being a sadist. It is my lifestyle—something I indulge in constantly.”

  “I understand…” he begins. “Well, actually, I don’t understand it at all. The idea of it is foreign to me, but I know some of the women you ‘date’, and for some odd reason they all seem to adore you.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Have you thought of pursuing BDSM yourself?”

  Titov shakes his head, chuckling. “I would rather watch from the sidelines.”

  It strikes me that there was a time when I thought Titov would be my brother through marriage. Who could have guessed things would play out this way?

  “I’m honored to work with you, Titov.”

  He thrusts out his hand to shake mine. “The honor is mine. When do I start?”

  “Tomorrow. Our first priority must be the security team and the will. Considering the risks that provoking the Bratva will invite, I have to make certain the assets that make up the Durov estate don’t fall into the wrong hands if I die.”

  “I won’t let you die,” Titov vows solemnly.

  I appreciate his declaration, but I know how dangerous the Bratva can be, so I pour another shot of vodka and slap him on the shoulder.

  “Here’s to a lifelong partnership.”

  Needing to escape the responsibilities that have suddenly been thrust on me, I visit a dungeon outside the city limits.

  I need to shed off the tension caused by my new position in the family and the unwanted label of hero slapped on me by the media.

  I’m no hero.

  I failed Tatianna, and I am fighting to make her death mean something.

  I need this escape to the only place I can unwind and just be.

  “Rytsar Durov!” I hear the low bellow of one of the Doms when I enter the dungeon.

  The dungeons I frequent in Russia are strict on protocol. They do not follow the same practices as their American counterparts.

  Some have said that the Dominants in America are soft and the submissives highly undisciplined. However, I believe it is simply a different style of D/s and feel no need to compare the two.

  Regardless of style, I require only two things—a willing submissive and my cat o’ nines.

  I walk through the dungeon, looking for a sub to play with. I have been out of the country for several years pursuing a degree in the States, and I see several fresh faces who have yet to experience my ’nines.

  Shurik walks up and points to a girl I failed to notice because she was kneeling. Her extremely long, black hair completely covers her face.

  “This one would please you,” he assures me.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Her screams are quite appealing.”

  Shurik has piqued my interest with that simple statement.

  “What is your name?” I ask the girl.

  Keeping her head bowed, she answers quietly, “I am known as kroshka.”

  A smirk plays on my lips. “A crumb? As in a crumb for me to eat?”

  She nods slightly.

  “Look at me,” I demand, wanting to see her face.

  She looks up, but her face is still covered by her hair.

  I reach down to part it.

  Her delicate facial features and full lips are appealing, but she keeps her gaze glued to the floor.

  “Look at me,” I demand again as I take her face in my hand and lift it.

  Her dark eyes have such depth to them that they steal my breath away.

  I hold out my cat o’ nines. “Are you familiar with my instrument?”

  She looks at the tails with their hard leather knots with hungry eyes. She smiles when she nods.

  “Nyet, you are not,” I inform her smirk. “But you soon will be…”

  Her smile grows wider as she stares at it.

  “You will call me Rytsar.”

  She seems startled when she hears my name. She instantly looks up to meet my gaze before quickly bowing her head again. I can see her tense, readying herself for the punishment she deserves for daring to look at me.

  “You know me?”

  “I only know of you, Rytsar,” she answers fearfully.

  I am not interested in punishing her for a protocol rule I care little about, but I know that the rules of this dungeon require it.

  To preserve her reputation and mine, I tell her, “I am adding a lash from a cane for your disobedience.”

  “Yes, Rytsar,” she answers, visibly relieved.

  I understand that, as a submissive in this strict environment, she needs the punishment. Otherwise, I would appear weak in her eyes—and in the eyes of those around me.

  “Stand and s
erve me,” I command.

  When she gets to her feet, her hair naturally cascades down to her knees, covering her naked body. This won’t do, and I order her to turn facing away from me.

  I pull back her long hair and begin braiding it. The great length makes it a challenge, and it takes time. I use that time to build the tension between us, intermittently caressing her skin while I make a casual braid of her long hair. When I reach the end, I use a lock of it to wrap around the braid and tuck it in to secure it.

  Placing the braid to the front, I admire her naked back—so smooth and untouched.

  I feel a rush when I think of the marks she will soon bear from our session.

  “Turn in place,” I command.

  I watch with admiration as she turns. Her brown nipples are hard, and her pussy is swollen with need.

  The slight hint of her pink clit stirs the ravenous beast in me.

  Giving her a wicked smile, I grab her long braid and use it as a leash, leading her to a concrete wall with heavy chains attached. I let go of her hair and press her chest against the rough surface. “Spread your legs.”

  She quickly obeys, and I brush my finger against her pussy, teasing her clit with a light touch. She softly moans at the contact.

  I can be gentle or fierce. She will get to know both sides of me today.

  “Open,” I tell her, pressing the handle of my ’nines against her mouth.

  I growl my approval as her pink lips encase it and she holds it in her mouth. I want her to know the taste of the leather so she will never forget it.

  I appreciate the old, rustic bindings found in this dungeon. They were recovered from actual dungeons throughout Russia. It gives this place a feeling of authenticity.

  I take her wrist and place it in the shackle, encasing it in iron and locking it. Because the chain is heavy and the cuff is hard and unyielding, it makes a submissive feel helpless and in danger.

  I bind her other wrist, purposely pulling on the chains so the sound of the links clinking against each other echoes through the dungeon. I want all of her senses to be stimulated as I scene with her.

  I run my hands over her back, mentally mapping where I will leave my marks. I reach between her legs and press my hand against her mound.