My mother’s face keeps drifted through my mind, making me ache to the very core of my soul, but I have to force it aside. I will mourn her at a later time. I will honor her. I will bury her next to my father, in the huge, beautiful mausoleum I had built for him, and I will have fresh flowers delivered there every day.
The auction is in forty-five minutes. Is Anya still coming? Maybe she’d wait until after it started?
My phone buzzes, and I quickly glance at the screen. It’s the Auctioneer again, but this time he’s not asking where I am.
“Stay away! Man with bomb. Am locked in office with my guards.”
A man? Not a woman?
Whatever is happening there, they are fucked. They can’t call the police for help – not unless they want to go to prison for the rest of their lives.
I tell Leonid to call Mikhail and alert him, and then I take off in a screech of tires, and we’re there in minutes. There are dozens of cars in the parking lot, but no guards out front of the ugly old steel building. Mikhail arrives at the same time I do. We all pile out of our cars, guns drawn.
Suddenly, the front door flies open, and several weeping, naked women run out. Then more and more of them.
I glance at Mikhail. He has a burner phone; that’s what he used to call me with, earlier. “Fuck it. Call the cops. Try to disguise your voice as much as you can.”
And I run inside with Leonid on my heels.
Aleksandr’s standing in the middle of the room. His eyes are wild. He’s wearing a vest ringed with explosives, and holding a dead-man’s switch in his hand. If he releases pressure on it, the bomb goes off – so they don’t dare shoot him. The buyers and guards are cowering in terror, kneeling on the floor. Dozens of them, now feeling what their victims have felt.
A frightened looking guard is ushering the last of the female prisoners toward the front door. They’re desperately trying to cover their nudity with their hands, in that universal gesture of modesty.
When the last of them runs out the door, the guard tries to follow them. I shoot him in the head, and then make my way over to Aleksandr.
“Holy fuck,” Leonid mutters.
“What the hell are you doing?” I say to Aleksandr in a low voice.
“I’m making up for what I’ve done to you,” he says, his voice hoarse. He looks terrible, hair disheveled, white shirt stained with perspiration. “My job was my life, and I failed you. I lived to serve you, but in the end, I served my own perversions instead.”
“You should have called me. We could have planned something together.”
“No, sir. Then you would have been involved too. Your stepfather would have hunted you down.”
“He’s dead. Poisoned. We no longer have to worry about him.”
His lips curl up in a sad smile. “Then you are free, sir. You and Anya can be together.”
“Do you have any idea where she is?”
Aleksandr barks out a crazed laugh. “She’ll be fine. I knew she’d try to storm the auction, so I staked out the road and shot out her tires. When she tried to get out of the car, I hit her with a tranquilizer dart and brought her to the Golden Circle Motel on 153rd Avenue. She’ll wake up in a few hours.” That’s a Bratva-owned motel. They wouldn’t have objected to him carrying in an unconscious woman.
Mixed emotions boil through me. I’m overwhelmingly relieved that Anya’s alive, but I’m about to watch my most loyal servant commit suicide.
“Let us go!” one of the men on the floor screams. “You can’t get away with this!” They’re growing restless.
“I have money!” another one howls. “I can pay you millions! Just let me leave!”
Another man, a Swedish businessman I recognize from past auctions, leaps to his feet and tries to make a break for it. Leonid shoots him in the back, and he crumples to the floor in a heap. Several of the other men start openly sobbing.
I swallow hard. “Aleksandr, come with me,” I say in a low voice. “Don’t do this. With my stepfather gone...we can figure something out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.” His face twists in anguish. “I’m a sick fuck who can’t stop thinking about hurting people. Do you know, the last few days, I spent most of my time watching women walk down the street and running through plans in my head. And men too – not in a sexual way, but I was thinking about how I could bring them back to the basement where I’ve been crashing, and break every bone in their body. I wondered how long I could keep them alive. It took all of my willpower to stop myself. And sooner or later, I’d break. All the time I thought I only tortured people because I was following orders, but it turns out I need it. I’m not Bratva, I’m a freak.”
“We’ll get you help,” I say, sweat beading on my forehead.
“Sir, the cops will be here soon,” Leonid says. “We can not be here when that happens.”
I try one more time. “Come with me! I shouldn’t have cast you out. You’ve always been loyal to me, Aleksandr. You’re the best soldier I’ve ever had.”
“I’m letting go of the button in sixty seconds,” he says. “Do you want to be in the building when that happens?”
“Aleksandr! Have you fucking forgotten how to follow orders?” But even that doesn’t work.
“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight...”
Several more men leap to their feet and try to run for the doors. Leonid and I cut them down with a few quick pop, pop, pops of our gun, and the other guards and buyers are sobbing, praying, howling. I smell urine and feces; they’re soiling themselves in terror.
Leonid and I turn and run for the door. I step over the guard’s body, and then pause and look back at Aleksandr.
He’s not looking at me, he’s staring into space. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is for the best. Even if he sought out treatment, sooner or later, his self-control would slip and someone innocent would suffer horribly because of it.
Leonid and I run across the parking lot. The naked women are running down the road, and I hear sirens in the distance. Mikhail’s sitting in his car, with the engine running.
“Go!” I yell at him. I’ve almost made it to our car when the building explodes, going up in a massive ball of flames.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Anya
I wake up thinking I’m on a violently rocking boat. Or there’s an earthquake. Why is the entire world moving?
Frantically, I clutch for balance. My hands close on clean sheets.
I take mental inventory. I can move my legs. I’m not restrained in any way. I open my eyes, squinting, and everything’s blurry. Gradually the bed stops moving and I realize there’s no earthquake, I’m just dizzy.
I must be hallucinating, because I could swear I hear Raisa and Kostya talking.
“She’s coming around,” Raisa says. Can it really be her?
“Anya? Anya, babe, talk to me.” Kostya’s voice rumbles in my ears.
I try to form words. I groan aloud.
“Whrmi. Wshpnng.” My mouth won’t cooperate. “Whr. Where amm Iiii....”
“You’re safe. I’m here, sweetheart. It’s all over now, you’re okay.”
I feel something warm and wet on my face and flinch, then relax when I realize that it’s a wash-cloth. My hand is being squeezed, then patted.
“Say something.” Kostya’s voice, pleading.
“Something,” I mumble.
“Smartass.” Kostya’s voice is fond. “That’s my girl.”
Fractured memories swim together and coalesce. I bought guns, I bought a bullet proof vest. I steeled myself to die. I said goodbye to the world, I said goodbye to Raisa and Tatiana and Zaya and Mikhail.
The last thing I remember was heading towards the auction house.
I don’t remember making it to the auction. I think I’d remember that – wouldn’t I? But if I’d tried to stop the auction, I’d be dead. Or at least badly wounded. I don’t feel any pain right now except for a dull, throbbing headache. Definitely no bullet wounds.
“Au
ction,” I mumble. “Whahappen?” My voice comes out in a dry croak.
Someone presses a straw to my lips and I suck on it, and glorious cold water fills my mouth. I drink too fast and start coughing, and the straw is withdrawn.
“Shut down.” That’s Kostya’s voice. “All the buyers are dead. The girls escaped, and the police were called in. It’s a long story.” I blink hard, and my vision blurs and then clears
Kostya, Raisa and Mikhail are sitting in chairs by my bedside. Raisa and Mikhail are holding hands, and he’s gazing at her as if she’s an angel descended from heaven. She flashes him a shy smile, and then her attention returns to me again.
“Anya, you’re safe now. We’re all safe.” Raisa pats my hand. She smiles, but her eyes have a haunted look to them. Of course. She’s been through hell this past month. She’ll probably never feel completely safe again.
A face bubbles up from the depths of memory. “Aleksandr. I saw Aleksandr.” I look at Kostya questioningly.
“Yes. He broke up the auction. He didn’t survive.”
I struggle to sit up, and Kostya helps me. He peers at me with concern. As his face swims into focus, I realize he has a black eye and a cut lip.
“What happened to your face?” I mumble.
He manages a grim smile, which makes his lip bleed. “You can ask Raisa about that. It was well deserved.”
Does that mean Raisa hit him? Doesn’t seem likely. He could mop up the floor with her.
I blink hard, and my gaze slowly scans the room. I’m in a bedroom that I don’t recognize. Red and blue abstract paintings on the wall, angular furniture, a window with no bars. Beyond the window I see trees and shrubbery and no other houses. So we’re not in the city anymore. “Where am I?”
“We’re in a house of mine. Near Chicago.”
Suddenly my bladder announces itself urgently. “Bathroom,” I mumble.
Kostya helps me stand and I stagger a few steps. “Let Raisa take me. Girl stuff. Privacy.” My tongue feels thick.
Raisa leaps to her feet and Kostya, making a reluctant face, lets me lean on her instead. She helps me stumble to the bathroom. After I use the toilet, she helps me stand up and wash my hands, and then my face.
I lean on the sink. “I’m so confused,” I say. “You’re here in the same room with Kostya and Mikhail.” I’d been hiding out with them for several days. Trying to figure out where Mikhail and the girls could go where the Bratva couldn’t find them. Trying to decide if it was worth it to go to the police.
She flashes a sour look at the door. “It’s not like I’m okay with it, but I’m tolerating it for now, because I wanted to be with you. Kostya’s apologized a million times and he says that he had to do it because otherwise his stepfather would have done horrible things to his mother and sister. And the man who tortured us for weeks? He’s dead now. But I don’t forgive Kostya for taking us in the first place. I never will.”
“I don’t blame you.” I lean on the sink. “It must have taken a lot for you to sit here in the same room with him, and I thank you for that. I don’t even remember how I got here.”
“Kostya can explain all that.”
I’m still thirsty. I turn on the faucet and run some water, and take a few sips.
“What happened to Kostya’s face?” I ask.
She grimaces. “Kostya told me that if I wanted to, I could beat the shit out of him. He let me punch him in the face again and again.”
She holds up a swollen fist. There are cuts on her knuckles.
“I went crazy,” she says, smiling grimly at the memory. “Mikhail stopped me when I started trying to strangle him. But Kostya never lifted a hand to me, not even when I cut off his air and he started choking.”
“He had it coming. And then some.” I take another sip of water. “What about Tatiana and Zoya? Where are they?”
“Staying in a hotel he’s paying for. Probably shopping up a storm and doing some serious damage to his credit card. They asked after you, but they wouldn’t come here. They don’t want to see Kostya ever again. He’s going to give them both a hefty sum, to make up for what he had done to them, and he’ll find them both good jobs here in the U.S. And he said he would pay for me to go back to nursing school if I want. Full ride. I’d want for nothing.” She smiles wryly. “I still don’t know if I should accept. Mikhail says I should.”
“So. You and Mikhail.” I look at her speculatively, and a blush rises to her pale cheeks. “He’s pretty hot. Have you two...”
“Anya!” She looks shocked. “I’m still a virgin. If he wants the goods, he can put a ring on it.”
“I’m planning on it!” Mikhail’s voice calls from right outside the bathroom door.
“Hey! Quit eavesdropping!” I yell.
There’s a knocking on the door. “Everything okay in there?” Kostya calls out to me.
“Fine!” I say. Raisa puts her hand around my waist and helps me walk, shakily, out of the bathroom.
“Stalker,” I say to Kostya. “Can a girl pee in privacy?”
“Look at you, little miss smart mouth.” He helps me walk out of the room, into a dining room which is decorated in the same modern fashion as the bedroom. Someone’s cooking; I hear dishes clattering in the kitchen, and I smell something delicious and meaty.
Raisa and Mikhail follow us into the room, and he frowns at them.
“I need some time alone with Anya,” he says, his voice taking on the authoritative tone he uses with his underlings.
Mikhail straightens up immediately and takes Raisa’s arm. She looks at me questioningly, which earns an annoyed look from Kostya.
“I told you. I will never hurt her again. I will never hurt any woman again. I vowed on my mother’s honor.”
She looks at him narrow-eyed. “You put me through weeks of hell and your asshole friend molested me and all but sexually assaulted me, and I had to watch Tatiana and Zoya suffer too, and you whipped me so hard I thought that I’d die. So excuse me if I have some trust issues when it comes to you.” Her voice is rising with anger and her hands clench into fists. Mikhail puts his arm around her shoulders protectively.
“I understand. And I deserve your anger. But Anya is the love of my life, I will never hurt her in any way, and I need some time to speak to her now.” There’s an edge to his voice, but Raisa stares him down fearlessly.
“It’s okay, Raisa,” I say to her. “He and I do have some things we need to talk about. Can we have just a little time?”
“You don’t deserve her,” Raisa says tartly. Mikhail grabs her arm and guides her from the room.
After she and Mikhail leave, he fills me in on what happened. I’ve been out for almost a solid day.
When he tells me that Yeger, his mother, and Pasha are dead, and his sister will be in Chicago soon, I almost fall off my chair.
Then he tells me about what happened to me. Aleksandr shot me with a tranq dart, and apparently it was more potent than he thought.
After Aleksandr shot me, he went all suicide bomber and blew up the auction house – with all the guards and buyers. All of the women escaped, and they had a lot to say to the cops.
Tears fill my eyes as he tells me that. “It’s okay,” I gulp, at Kostya’s alarmed look. “These are happy tears.” I start crying harder, and harder. He pulls me into his arms and I sob into his chest, delirious with joy and relief.
This is better than I ever dreamed. All those buyers, dead? The girls actually escaped?
The emotions that I’ve stifled for the past few weeks, the pain, the misery, the fear, comes pouring out of me. I cry until my throat aches. A servant comes in sets steaming plates of food in front of us, and I am famished, so I start eating, and crying at the same time.
When my sobs finally quiet, he resumes telling me what’s going on.
The explosion at the auction house, and the escape of all the sex slaves, has made international news. Trafficking operations are shutting down in multiple countries. There’s just too much he
at.
Turns out, the feds were already watching a few buyers at the auction. They’re working with Interpol, and traffickers are falling like dominos. Of course, some day the heat will simmer down and new traffickers will take the place of the old, but you take what wins you can.
The Bratva believe that Aleksandr went crazy, called the cops, and blew up the auction entirely on his own. Kostya is not taking any of the blame.
WHEN I’M DONE, AFTER I’ve pushed my plate away, he arches an eyebrow. “So. Mikhail’s pretty hot, is he?”
I burst into laughter. “Did you literally have your ear pressed against the bathroom door, you weirdo?”
“Maybe. Don’t change the subject.”
“Mikhail is pretty hot for a guy who’s not you.”
His brow creases, and his handsome face sets in sullen lines. “This is not helping to quell my sudden urge to choke him until his eyeballs pop out of their sockets.”
I shake my head reprovingly. “You are the only man for me, Kostya. You were my first, and my only.”
A look of pain creases his face. “About that. I am so sorry that I didn’t remember what happened that night at your father’s party. I’ve used alcohol to dull my thoughts and drown the voice of my conscience for far too long. But I haven’t had a drink since the day I threw you out, Anya, and I never will again.”
“Then I won’t either,” I say promptly. “And we won’t keep alcohol in our house, and I will always be there for you if you’re tempted or struggling with it.” I hesitate. “I mean, I’m assuming you wanted me to live with you.”
He smiles and takes my hand in his.
“Did you think I’d accept any other outcome? I love you, Anya. I’ll never leave you again. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you.”
My throat swells, and I blink back tears. Those words – they’re literally from my dream. How did he know? I never told him.
“That is, if you can forgive me. I’ve done terrible things to you and to your friend. And I’ve cost you so much, Anya. Our child...” He grabs my hand and tears shimmer in his eyes. “You must never, ever blame yourself for that. That guilt lies on my shoulders, and mine alone.”
Kostya A Dark Bratva Hate Story Page 19