Counts of Eight (The Four Families Book 1)

by Brynn Ford

  He rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t get to live our lives because we have talent. We live as slaves so Nikolai can entertain his stupid fucking guests once a year.”

  I sigh. “I keep forgetting how new this all is to you.”

  “And I hate that this seems normal to you.”

  “I don’t think it’s normal. It’s just what is. This has been my life for a while. The reality is that we’re not the only slaves. I can’t even attempt to fathom how many people the four families have trafficked. And the other families, they have talent slaves like us, too.”

  “Are they all dancers? The other talent slaves?”

  “No. But they’re all artists, performers. The O’Sheas just acquired new talent, a singer, I think. The Campbells have a painter. The Vittoris…well, they have several.”

  “So, the O’Sheas and the Campbells only have one talent slave?”

  “Yes. The Mikhailovs only ever had one, as I understand it, until Nikolai became the new Head of House. But the families are only allowed to be the benefactors for one talent slave at a time.”

  “Why be benefactors at all? Why waste the time and money?”

  “It’s all a grooming technique, Ezra. The four families want their talent to be…sophisticated, well-developed. The challenge lies in taking a talented person, breaking them into slavery, and seeing who can maintain their talent through turmoil.”

  “It’s fucking sick.”

  I nod. “There’s a bit of an unspoken competition, I think. There’s a lot of pressure on the Heads of House to host an entertaining performance before they get into business.”

  “Nikolai is Head of House for the Mikhailovs.”

  “Yes, he was the oldest son, so it would have fallen to him regardless, but especially now that his family is all gone.”

  “What actually happened to them?”

  “I think I told you, but they died in a plane crash.”

  “All of them?”

  “His parents and his younger brother. That was over a year ago. It wasn’t an accident, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The American family, the Campbells, they tampered with the plane. It’s their fault it crashed.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I…I heard the phone recordings that proved it. The Head of House for the Vittori family, Vigo, he came into possession of these recordings and he made a trade with Nikolai, giving him the information at the last quarterly meeting.”

  I pinch my eyes shut at the memory of being shared and used by Vigo Vittori. I shudder from head to toe. Ezra sees the change in me, and of course, he asks.

  “What did Nikolai trade?”

  I hesitate. “He traded me. It was only for an hour. But Vigo was…he’s…” I don’t have the right words to describe that experience.

  “What happened, Anya?” Ezra’s words are so soft, tinged with care and concern.

  “I don’t want to tell you about it.” Truly, I don’t want to relive it in my mind. “I hate Vigo Vittori. I hate him as much as I hate Nikolai. I fear him, perhaps even more.” I suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t want to talk about it. That hour he used me nearly broke me. Please don’t ask me about it again.”

  He watches me carefully, eyes narrowed in consideration. He swipes a hand over his mouth and swallows hard, as if physical forcing himself to digest all this new and terrible information. There’s a minute of silence, of cautious understanding, and then we move forward, and I’m grateful that Ezra doesn’t push me to tell him more about Vigo.

  “So, Nikolai’s family…” he starts carefully. “You knew them before they died?”

  “Yes,” I tuck a fallen strand of hair behind my ear, “I was Nikolai’s responsibility, though, so we didn’t interact much. They didn’t interfere. His parents were as cold and callous as he is. His brother was kinder. Not kind, but kinder.”

  He nods. “So, we perform. Entertain the sick bastards. Then what happens?”

  I look down. “I can only tell you what’s happened here in the past.” I take a deep breath. “In the past, my partner and I performed and then—”

  Suddenly, I’m sucked back in time.

  I look to my left, toward the center of the stage and I remember it as clearly as though it was happening right in front of me. It hasn’t even been a full year since my third partner was taken from me.

  Jonathan.

  I’d developed a friendship with him. Of course, I had. He was kind, caring, a good person. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.

  After we’d performed that night, at Nikolai’s quarterly meeting, Nikolai had come up on the stage as we waited to know our fate. I held Jonathan’s hand because I was afraid. Jamal and Erik had been stolen from me. I didn’t know if they were dead or alive.

  Nikolai didn’t hesitate after the performance with Jonathan. He strode across the stage with fierce, intentional steps, a look of disappointment and rage brushing the wrinkled lines across his forehead. He ripped Jonathan from my hold. I screamed at him, begged him not to take Jonathan away, to spare him from whatever fate Nikolai had decided upon.

  But it didn’t matter what I wanted.

  It never does.

  Nikolai decided Jonathan hadn’t met his excessive standards.

  I couldn’t help but feel it was my fault. I didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, what we’d done wrong. The performance was technically flawless. We’d worked our asses off to prepare and did everything we could.

  But still, he took away my only companion.

  I’d chased after them as he dragged Jonathan away, through the throng of guests waiting in the grand entrance for the reception, up the grand staircase, down the hallway, and back into Jonathan’s bedroom.

  Ezra’s bedroom.

  The door slammed shut before I could cross the threshold. I suppose I should be glad he put the door between us. I heard Jonathan scream, but after that came the silence.

  The silence was so much worse than the screaming.

  Kostya took me back to my room, ordered me to get ready for the reception, because I still had to greet Nikolai’s guests, the four families.

  I don’t know what happened to Jonathan.

  He might have been murdered.

  He might have been injured and taken away.

  All I know is that I saw Kostya bring the white comforter and bed sheets out of the room the next morning.

  Except they weren’t all white.

  There were splashes of red.

  “Anya?” Ezra says softly and I turn my head to look at him.

  I don’t want to see his blood on his sheets.

  I launch forward, reaching for him as I climb into his lap, sitting sideways. I wrap my hands around his neck and nuzzle in close.

  “He’s taken all of my partners from me,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know whether he’s…whether he’s killed them or sold them. But he always takes them after the performance.”

  He nods, pulling me closer, squeezing me tightly. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything.” I press my lips to his and he’s ready to meet mine with a sweet, slow, passion-heated kiss.

  After a minute, he pulls back slowly, just barely, his lips still brush over mine as he speaks.

  “Look, I don’t know what to tell you except that I’m fucking amazing. I’ve rocked your world and I’m gonna rock his. My dancing skills are gonna blow his fucking mind. There’s no way he’s getting rid of me.”

  Ezra smiles broadly, happily, and I see how his eyes sparkle with humor and hope.

  That hope kills me.

  But it also makes my heart beat faster.

  Chapter 20

  Anya

  I work to catch my breath after the final beat
. The air is somber and still as our performance song ends. Ezra and I have just finished our final rehearsal and the knowledge that tomorrow night is our performance for the four families weighs heavy on us both.

  Even so, I feel good about our routine. We’ve practiced and practiced and come as near to perfect as we possibly could. I know Nikolai will be pleased with this performance, and that small sliver of hope clings to me uncomfortably.

  I don’t know what will happen after the performance. I don’t know if he will keep Ezra or take him from me. I don’t know that if he does take him from me, whether he will survive or perhaps be sold as a slave commodity, a human asset.

  Thinking about it is physically painful, so I try not to.

  I’d rather soak in his rays of light before everything changes.

  Ezra strides across the stage to me as I rise to my feet from my final position on the floor. He grabs hold of the long, dangling end of the rope that hangs free from my body, walking his hands along it as he approaches me. The rest of it is wrapped and tied around my body. We use the rope as part of our routine because Nikolai demanded it. Somehow, we’d actually managed to create a beautiful dance with it.

  I shouldn‘t say we.

  It was Ezra who put it all together. His talent for choreography is only outmatched by his talent for dancing.

  He unties me and frees me from the binding rope. His brow is furrowed and I wonder what he’s thinking.

  “I think we’re ready,” I tell him, hoping he’ll share openly with me.

  I get a flicker of a smile from him, but it fades immediately.

  “What is it?”

  He shakes his head as the last of the rope falls free. “I’m just afraid. That’s all.”

  I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him tight, but not here. Not in the middle of the stage. This is where we will perform tomorrow, in the dance hall named Nobility Hall.

  When Nikolai had chosen me as a child, he had this dance hall built just for me to perform in. It’s a beautiful performance space, but it’s haunting all the same.

  “Come with me,” I say, taking his hand and dragging him backstage.

  Nikolai is wrapped up in preparing the manor for his guests who will be arriving throughout the night and tomorrow morning. Kostya is with us, sitting out in the audience, but pays little attention, always staring down at the cell phone screen in his hands.

  Ezra and I have done what we need to do to prove we pose no threat of attempting escape or harm, to ourselves or to anyone else here. We’ve been granted the small amount of trust to do what we need to in order to prepare for our performance, so I know Kostya thinks nothing of it when we disappear behind the curtains.

  The moment we are out of sight, cloaked in shadow between two curtains that hang in the wings of the stage, I reach up to put my hands on his cheeks and pull him down to me. I kiss him softly, kindly.

  His arms come around me, sweeping me tightly into his embrace. I release his face to snuggle in close to him as he holds me, pressing my cheek to his strong chest.

  “I’m afraid, too,” I whisper.

  “It’s not me I’m afraid for, you know. I’m afraid for you. If he takes me away from you. What will happen to you? What will he do to you, Anya?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I feel like I just...”

  “Just what?”

  “Like we just found each other.” I lift my head to look up at him. His hands lift to my cheeks and he holds my face as I hold him tight around the waist.

  “I want you to know…” he starts. “I need you to know, it’s not just our circumstances that draw me to you.”

  I lick my bottom lip. “I know.”

  “It’s not just our circumstances that make me want you.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m yours, Anya.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yours.”

  He bends, lowering his face to mine. His tongue peeks out to lick his lips before he kisses me. His pillow soft mouth smothers mine with tenderness and it makes my entire body thaw to his warmth. I melt into him as he deepens the kiss. With a silent sweep of the tip of his tongue across my lips, he asks me to open for him and I do.

  He tastes me with the ferocity of a man in desperate need, but holds restraint enough to do so without taking anything I’m not willing to give. It’s so strange that I don’t feel like there is anything at all I’m not willing to give with him.

  It’s dangerous how vulnerable I am with him, how vulnerable I want to be.

  But knowing our time may be limited, I don’t want to hold anything back. I want him to know what he means to me, that I feel for him what I think he feels for me.

  A part of me has feared that our captivity is the only reason we feel the way we do for each other because there is no one else. But I know that’s not true by the way he’s kissing me. Everything in his kiss tells me it’s me he wants, and I want to tell him the same.

  I let my hands drift from around his waist, roam slowly up his strong chest, fingertips graze over his neck as I wrap them around the back and hold him to me. The pull makes him groan into my mouth and the vibration of it trembles in my core.

  I should be fearful of a man in lust.

  But I’m not fearful of Ezra, of this.

  This is not lust.

  Its more.

  His cautious need tells me he wants me, but only if I want him.

  And God, how I want him.

  Our kiss strengthens and grows in confidence, becoming more passionate, more urgent, more fervent in need. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I feel him. It’s a soul crushing absence that insists to be filled by him.

  His lips break free from mine, but move across my jawline instead, nipping and sucking delightfully, all the way back to my ear. He trails down my neck and nuzzles into the crook. We’re both panting and breathless and all I can feel is him.

  “I want everything with you,” he says between kisses that are hot against my skin. “I want time with you. I want a real life with you. I want to take care of you and make you laugh. I want to make love to you.”

  I whimper in both pleasure and despair. “I told you not to hope, not to plan, not to fall for me, Ezra. I told you.”

  His fingers skim my arms, leaving a trail of prickling flesh. His hands find mine and he lifts them away from his neck to hold them, lacing our fingers together. He brings our interlocked hands down to our sides.

  “And I told you that was bullshit.” He pulls back to look at me and I find him plastering a snarky smile to his face.

  It’s not the smile that melts that last layer of ice from around my heart. It’s the tears forming a glassy sheen over his eyes.

  “If there’s a way…” he says to me. “If there’s a way to free us from whatever fate Nikolai has planned for us, I promise you, I will find it. I will do whatever it takes. I promise you, Anya.”

  I let a small, sad smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Don’t make me promises you can’t keep.”

  He presses his forehead to mine. “I wouldn’t dare break a promise to you. If there’s a way, I’ll find it.”

  I wasn’t afraid that he would break his promise.

  I was afraid of what would become of him when he found out it was a promise he never had a chance of keeping.

  Chapter 21

  Anya

  My dressing room door beneath the stage in Nobility Hall swings open wide. Nikolai enters as I’m sweeping an extra dust of shimmery gold eyeshadow across my lid.

  I’m dressed and ready for tonight’s performance, though my costume this year is rather plain as opposed to the elaborate, ornately beaded leotards and frilly tutus I’d normally wear to perform ballet. This year, I wear a nude leotard and matching boy shorts. From the audience, it mimics nudity without the crudeness of actuall
y being naked. The rope Nikolai asked us to incorporate is the true costume, masking me in intricate binding.

  Simplicity aside, theatrics are ingrained in my performer’s heart. Though my hair is pulled back in a simple low bun, I’ve overdone it with the makeup, using gold, shimmering shadow, dark eye liner and mascara, a deep burgundy lip color, and bronzed blush which highlights my cheekbones.

  “Anya,” Nikolai croons as he enters the small space, “stand, let me look at you.”

  I set down my eye brush and turn to stand in front of him. He holds a single pink rose in his hands. It reminds me of the first day I saw him in Russia, at my childhood dance studio when I was eleven. He brings me a pink rose before every annual performance just to bring that reminder to the surface that I am his, that I have been since I was a child. I force a smile because I know he expects it.

  “Beautiful as ever,” he says, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. “Are you ready?”

  “Almost.”

  “Good.” He holds out the rose. “For you.”

  I take it with another fake smile. “Thank you, khozyain.”

  He steps forward, snaking his arms around my waist and pulls me against him. I don’t hug back. I hold my arms out to my sides. He’s warm—too warm—with a hint of whiskey already on his breath.

  His lips move softly against my ear. “I just want to remind you that the four families will be watching tonight. I expect nothing less than brilliance…for Ezra’s sake, and for yours.”

  He pulls away and it’s not soon enough. His smile makes him look like a wolf with a rabbit trapped beneath its paw. My captivity pleases him. My internal battle with coerced compliance is a game to him. He likes to bat me between his paws sometimes, just to watch me squirm.