Chapter 10

Nicolai

I sit at a table, nursing my drink, with two of my new companions. Future brothers, as it were, though I can’t even bring myself to think about that yet. About what I’m doing tonight will mean.

We have clear, specific orders from our future pakhan.

Fetch us three virgins at the auction.

Train them.

Bring them to us unharmed.

It’s our initiation into the Boston Bratva.

The Boston Bratva has a temporary alliance with the Russian Thieves, our rivals. I have ties to our rivals I wish I could forget, and hate that I’m being forced to align myself with their illicit operations. But I will do whatever it takes to find Marissa. If my sources are right, she could be here tonight. At the very least, I hope to find out more about her whereabouts. Where I can find her.

If she isn’t, I’m back to my search. But if she is…

I swallow hard. If she is, tonight I will buy her. Without betraying our history. Who she is.

That I love her.

We were instructed to spend our own money to purchase our tributes, our buy-in to this brotherhood. I don’t know what I will do with her after I have her, how I will walk this razor’s edge without falling… how I will claim her as mine and take her. But if I can at least find her, I’ll have that much more control over taking her with me forever.

We will arrive in Boston in three days’ time, bearing our tributes, but first we solidify connection with those responsible for the auction. This is our chance to prove allegiance to our future brotherhood.

And if my sources are right, it’s my chance to find Marissa.

I watch as people take their seats in the elite circle, some alone and others with companions, mostly men but a few women as well. Dressed impeccably, talking amiably, drinking cocktails as if we were trading stocks and not humans.

“Have you done this before?” one of the men asks me. Yakov is younger than I am, lanky but strong, his crisp white dress shirt covering tattoos down his arms, neck, chest, and back. Once we’re inducted, we’ll earn the mark of our particular brotherhood, but each of us bears ink identifying our stature. Mine is fresh, newly laid over the ink I had removed, and the ink does not lie.

Domed cathedrals line my chest, marking my time in prison, the spider marking me as a thief, among others. But nothing that denotes familial connection to my Bratva brothers. For now.

I nod my head to his question. Hell yes, I’ve done this before. I finish my drink, and raise a hand to order another.

“How many times?” Yakov asks me. Though he doesn’t state his discomfort, it’s clear in his rigid stature and the way his foot taps on the floor. His reddish hair is cut short, his chin clean-shaven. If not for his eyes, he’d look like he just graduated high school. But his eyes tell another story.

“I’ve lost count,” I tell him truthfully. I’ve been to so many auctions, so many sales, in the hopes of finding Marissa, I can’t remember how many I’ve attended. I lower my voice. “And stop tapping your foot, Yakov. It betrays nerves, and there is nothing you fear.”

Yakov nods and stills. I’m older by several years. I already feel a brotherly affection for the redhead.

“Really,” my second companion, Erik, remarks, his lip curling. He’s bigger and brawnier, likely recruited for his size and ruthlessness. “So you’re the expert?” I swing my gaze to his, giving him a level glare. According to Jacobs, Erik served time for rape, assault, and identity theft. A solid asshole combination.

“Never said I was an expert,” I say, sipping my drink. “Vek zhivi–vek uchis.” Live and learn. “And fuck if being an expert in this trade would be something I’d brag about.”

“Something my father would say,” he scoffs, a rude reminder that I’m older than he is. He shakes his head and takes another drink, looks over my shoulder and smiles without humor. “Before he beat me to teach me a lesson.”

“Poor baby. Seems you didn’t learn that lesson,” I respond. I itch to teach him one of my own.

“Fuck you,” he snaps. That gets the attention of the two men sitting at a table next to us.

The fucking Boston Bratva’s methods are bullshit. My father would never send three new recruits on a task like this without someone in authority with them. The hierarchy of the Bratva is one of our strongest assets, the pakhan at the very pinnacle, followed by the brigadier and those under his command. New recruits need to earn their spurs, not bicker like fucking schoolchildren.

“Get your shit together,” Yakov snaps under his breath, learning across the table and glaring at Erik. “And deflate your fucking ego before I do it for you.”

I like this kid.

“Oh yeah?” Erik says, his shackles visibly rising.

“I’d be happy to help,” I warn. I can already see Yakov holding down Erik while I give him the beating he deserves. My hands clench at the mere thought. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten into a good fight, and it’s with chagrin I realize I fucking miss it.

Erik sulks like a child who didn’t get his way, and when the waitress comes around again, he orders another round. He points to me. “His tab.”

Fucking loser.

Our attention is drawn to the front, though, when the lights dim and a tall man stands in front of a podium. He wears an impeccable suit. Clean-shaven, with stern blue eyes and an air of… something that I can’t quite put my finger on. Authority? Detachment? He has an aristocratic nose, wide shoulders, and a commanding stature. But he doesn’t fit in here. He isn’t one of them. Something is out of place.

I look around. Isn’t it as obvious to everyone else as it is to me? It doesn’t matter, though, as he’s speaking now, and this is the news we’ve been waiting for.

“You’ve been given bidding boards,” he says, gesturing to the electronic bidding devices on our tables. “Each is assigned to you as an individual. Please take yours now.” Some auctions are old-fashioned, using bids on paper, but the higher end ones take electronic bids instead. I reach for the devices on the table at the same time Erik does, but I get them a split second before he does and drag them over to me.

“Mine,” I say, claiming the top one. “And yours.” I hand the other two theirs, as our emcee continues.

“Before we begin our bidding, we’ll showcase a preview so you know what’s up for auction tonight.” He smiles. “Who is up for auction.” It seems everyone laughs but me. “Shortly thereafter, we will begin bidding. After everyone has completed his or her purchase, we will secure payment and arrange delivery options. By midnight, all purchases will be delivered to the cabin of the owner, and you may enjoy the remainder of your time on board getting to know one another before departing in secrecy. Any questions?”

No one moves.

“Excellent,” he states. “Let the previews commence.”

A hush descends in the small room, the lights dim, and a spotlight shines on the stage in the very front. I tense, holding my breath. This is it. This is when I’ll see if Marissa is one of the virgins for auction tonight. If she isn’t here, I’ll have to buy another girl, and then—

Khristos. I have no idea what then.

She better fucking be here. I am not a patient man, and what little patience I have has long since evaporated.

A woman dressed in a sheath is dragged out of a cage and paraded in front of the stage. My fucking protective instincts surface, my fists clenching when I see this beautiful woman treated like an animal. Her head is bowed, and she cries freely, rivulets of tears streaming down her face. But even through her tears I can see she’s beautiful.

She isn’t Marissa.

I don’t even hear what they say about her. She isn’t the one I’m here for, and I’ve almost dismissed her from my mind when I realize Yakov has his hand on the bidding device. Motherfucker. He already has his eyes set on this girl.

“Yakov,” I hiss low. “Do not place a bid on the first woman you see. Patience.”

He swallows hard and releases the device, nodding so slightly it’s barely noticeable.

“And anyway, you idiot, this is only the preview,” Erik says, sneering.

I hate that this asshole is my future brother. I think a good older brotherly lesson is in store for him, and soon. He needs to learn his place.

A second woman is paraded out for preview, and a third. With each innocent that shows her face to the crowd, my pulse quickens. I down my second drink in three gulps, willing myself to stay calm. I hate this. I fucking hate how these women are being treated. I need Marissa to be among this group of virgins, but I despise the very thought of her being victim to this repulsive trade.

One woman after another marches across the stage. The crowd murmurs and speaks quietly among themselves. Some are taking notes.

Marissa is not among them.

“And now,” the announcer begins. “We will begin our auction.”

I blink. Wait.

No.

That can’t be the end of the preview. This can’t be. If this is the end of the preview, then she isn’t—she isn’t here. I’m on my feet before I realize what’s happening and Yakov looks at me in surprise.

“Everything alright, Aleks?”

I wave him off and turn, disguising my abrupt reaction as a necessary break I need to take.

“Fine,” I mutter, turning away from the table. Where is she? Where the fuck is she?

I stretch my arms and loosen my shoulders, and walk to the bar. I can’t leave. I’m determined to find her, and if this auction isn’t the one, the next one must be.

The cages are now lined up on the stage, one dozen women staring at us with wide, fearful eyes, their sheaths barely covering their naked bodies. Nothing separating them from the beasts that await them but a thin, sheer piece of fabric. There are more attendants than auctions. Some will go home empty-handed. I realize the auctioneers did this on purpose. Supply and demand, as it were.

I ignore the bile that rises in my throat when the auction begins. It burns like liquid fire, and I swallow hard. I’m sick with hopeless rage and disgust. I raise a hand to one of the bartenders.

“Water,” I manage to say. “Please.”

My hopes were too high. I was convinced Marissa was in this group of women for sale, and now not only have I undergone the process of initiation into Bratva life once more, I’m forced to witness an auction in the human slave trade market. What if she isn’t here?

I catch the eye of the man who’s leading this auction, and he pauses before he speaks. I read recognition in his eyes, but of another sort. He doesn’t know who I am. He knows I don’t want to be here.

And something tells me he understands. Or did I imagine the sympathy I read in his eyes?

But as soon as the realization hits me, he drags his eyes from me, plasters on a fake grin, and beckons for the first woman to come on stage.

“Let the bidding commence.”

He chatters on about who she is and why she’s worth a starting bid nearly five times the average bid price for such “wares,” he explains.

I order a shot of Russian vodka and down it. I order a second. A third. But even the high quality shots that remind me of my homeland do nothing to dull the ache that burns in my chest. I walk back to the table and sit heavily.

Where is Marissa?

Why was my lead mistaken?

How will I ever fucking find her?

The first woman goes to a man in the far back. She’s led back to her cage and a woman in a cocktail dress, smiling for the crowd, places a red sign on the cage marking her as bought.

A second woman is brought forth, then a third. It isn’t until I see Yakov furiously punching numbers into his bidding device that I notice the gorgeous, tall blonde he’s bedding on and I pay attention. I’ve got a job to do. One I can’t fuck up if I’m going to find Marissa.

I walk back to the table and watch Yakov. He’s intent on the woman, his eyes focused, his jaw clenched.

Someone on the other side of the room raises a hand to bid, and he raises his bid. They battle briefly, but in the end Yakov is victor. I watch his shoulders tense when his prize is put into a cage and marked sold.

That’s one down. The three of us must outbid everyone here, we have to, or there’s no induction into the Boston brotherhood. Erik tenses beside me when I take my seat.

“Chickening out?” he asks snidely.

“This early in the game?” I say, ignoring the desire to break his pretty nose for him. “Fuck no. You, brother?”

“Don’t call me brother,” he grits out. “Not until you’ve earned your place by my side.”

I huff out an involuntary laugh, making his cheeks redden. He doesn’t have the years of experience I do. He doesn’t know how vital it is that he devote himself to allegiance to the brotherhood. Pissing off a potential fellow member of the Bratva is stupid as fuck. He wants to out-bid more than the buyers at this auction.

But I can’t let my pride or anger deter me from my task.

When another woman is brought on stage, I watch Erik’s gaze heat. He shifts in his seat and his fingers play with the bidding device. But when the bidding starts, he withdraws his hand.

He has a very specific goal, it seems. And fuck, if one of us doesn’t bid soon, one of us goes home without a woman.

Three more women go up for auction, and I can’t bring myself to bid. I can’t do it. The thought of bidding on another woman would be like cheating on my wife; it runs contrary to my very core. This is different from the girls I’ve bought in the past. I asked them questions and granted them freedom, but knowing Marissa could have been here and now I’ll have to bring another woman to Boston feels wrong. But I fucking have to do it.

Seven of the twelve have gone, leaving only five more.

The tension in the small room is palpable, and more waitresses flood the main floor. Brilliant marketing. When tempers flare and stakes rise, people are more willing to drink. I’m no exception. I down three more shots of vodka watching a man with dark skin and short-cropped hair outbid a stunning blonde woman, and finally Erik wins a bid, a petite woman with short, dark hair and almond-shaped eyes, a trace of Asian blood in her veins. She’s beautiful.

We now have two women to bring home.

But none for me. I clench my jaw, wondering how I will escape. I won’t show up in Boston harbor without a virgin from the auction. This was all in vain. I defiled my very existence by being here, and all for nothing.

The emcee for the evening clears his throat.

“Apologies, guests,” he says with a placating smile. “There was a bit of a mix-up. It appears we have another lovely virgin for auction tonight. She was not presented during our preview, and I expect bidding to go high for this one.”

I sit up straighter in my chair, as do several other empty-handed attendees.

It’s dark on stage, until the women are brought into the spotlight. I can’t see anything at first, but my heart does a leap in my chest when I see the final woman’s profile.

It has to be. It fucking has to be.

I’m on my feet, the shot glass so tight in my hand Yakov reaches over and takes it from me. “Easy, Aleks,” he says. “You’ll break the fucking thing.”

“Doesn’t want to go back empty-handed,” Erik says with a gloating sneer.

If he only had any fucking idea how right he is.

The spotlight shines, and my world stops spinning.

I would know those wide, beautiful, sky-blue eyes framed in thick lashes anywhere. The eyes that used to look at me with mischief written in their depths, plotting trouble and mayhem. That freckled, little button nose. The full head of long, gorgeous chestnut hair that cascades down her back. Her thin body, lithe with a dancer’s grace.

She looks about the room in terror, and for one irrational, insane moment, I wish I had a weapon in my hand. No, one in each hand. Fuck that. I wish I had an arsenal of weapons strapped to my body.

I’d shoot every motherfucker in here. I’d kill every single one of them if it meant keeping their predatory eyes off of her. I’d flood this room with a river of their blood to keep her safe.

Because Marissa Rykov is fucking mine.

I realize with shock that bidding has begun. I grab my device and shoot my hand in the air. I don’t even know what number we’re at.

But Jesus. I’m not the only one who has this idea. Fuck.

One bid follows mine, then a second, and a third. I increase my bid with steadfast determination. What do I do if the bid goes above what I can deliver?

I’ll find a way. I don’t care if I have to steal, pillage, and plunder my way there. I have several million tucked away and the means to make more, and there is nothing I won’t do to earn that money. I’m not leaving until she belongs to me.

The bidding ratchets higher and higher, five times every other bid I’ve heard tonight. It’s down to me and one other man. With his calculating eyes and a cruel twist of his lips, I can’t even think of what it would be like if Marissa ended up in his bed.

She wouldn’t, though. I’d have to kill anyone who ended up taking her.

I have to win her.

I keep his gaze, determined to outbid him, and he looks back at me angrily. His cheeks are splotchy red, his nostrils flared. The very thought of him touching her sickens me, my stomach twisting with nausea.

This is a battle, a war, and I’m not leaving until I’ve won.

He raises the bid again. The bidding is now seven times the highest bid placed tonight, and the room buzzes with anticipation.

“What’s so fucking special about her?” Erik mutters. “Jesus.”

I will beat him. I will punish him for not seeing how special she is, for daring to deny her utter brilliance.

Yakov narrows his eyes on him, then leans over the table to speak to me. “Aleks, you need a loan, you tell me.”

I nod in thanks, and raise my bid higher. I know right then, that there is no price I will not pay. The others can bid until they’ve spent every penny. They won’t outbid me. They can’t.

This is the woman I spent years of my life defending, protecting, as her paid bodyguard. Though she was so much younger than I was, I couldn’t help what grew between us. I wouldn’t allow myself to touch her, to defile her, not before she came of age. But as I maintained my austere distance, I watched her grow to be a woman under my stern and watchful eye. Resplendent. Radiant.

The day she was torn from my grasp, my life as I knew it ended. If I die rescuing her, it will be but a second death.

I have already determined to sell my soul to free her, and any sum I spend won’t even come close to her true value, her true worth.

Marissa Rykov is priceless.

My opponent wears spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and reminds me of someone I once knew. A politician? A professor? But he might as well be the fucking devil incarnate for all the hatred I feel toward him in this moment. He will not leave here the victor.

I quickly assess the weapons I have on my person. I could kill the man bidding for her, and possibly several more as well, but it’s a stupid, irrational thought. They’d take me down before the body had even hit the floor. We’re nowhere near land.

I have to outbid. Then once she’s mine, once I’ve paid for her as tribute, I’ll have to secret her away.

But first, I need to buy her.

No one speaks as we bid on. Even the background music fades. Waitresses don’t budge, all eyes fixed on the two of us. I can’t look at her. If I do, I’ll lose my resolve, I’ll lose my focus.

He places a bid that tops every penny I own.

With stern resolve, I lift my device higher.

We hold one another’s gazes.

He drops his hand.

“Sold!” our host announces. I watch in a state of shock as they lead her back to her cage.

I will kill anyone who laid hands on her. Their deaths will be slow and painful.

The red sold sign swings on her cage.

I slump into my chair, sick with my racing heartbeat.

I bought Marissa.

I found her.

Yakov grins at me and nods. “A round on me to celebrate our victory,” he says.

I want to claim her now. I want to rip open the door to her cage and throw her over my shoulder, like a caveman dragging his woman home. But I have to play this safe.

“I’ll take you up on that,” I say, releasing a breath. I glance at my watch. It’s ten o’clock at night.

By midnight, all purchases will be delivered to the cabin of the owner.