by A. C. Bextor
Once she clears the room, he steps closer, stopping just short of the bed.
My hands shake and my heart races. The exhaustion I’d felt before is long gone, and in its place, fear and doubt.
“Do not be afraid of me,” he orders gently, intimately, as if he somehow identifies or understands what’s happened.
Trouble is, I’ve yet to process what exactly did happen. I don’t know what to think or how to feel about any of this. I will, I’m sure, but not until I’m home. If I’m ever there again.
Looking down, the man named Nikolas takes me in. His scrutinizing gaze studies my reactions, tearing away only to move down my cheek, neck, chest, and farther. The blankets I’d taken refuge in minutes ago no longer feel safe, but transparent. The room, no longer warm with richness, has heated with angry tension.
When he tilts his head to the side, but makes no move to come closer, I all but lose my breath. This man of elegance has a presence just for that. A face made to make a woman lose all thought. A long, hard body that’s no doubt strong, viral, yet somehow still polished.
A woman hungry for adventure, chaos, and possibly her own demise, would take her chances with him and run.
A smart woman would turn away, realizing early that all he’d offer was the promise of heartbreak.
“Do not be afraid of me,” he urges again, this time louder, stronger, and with his brows furrowed. “No one in this house is meant to cause you anymore harm than what’s been done,” he explains. The corners of his lips turn down, his expression serious. “Are you well enough this morning to listen to what I have to say?”
Rather than speak, I nod.
“You are not to worry about where you are, who you’re with, or what will come next,” he begins. As he continues talking, I’m lulled to ease. Though, I notice his words, their tone and meaning, are being said by rote. He’s spoken all of this before. Many times. “You’re here to regain your strength, heal your wounds, and focus on going home as soon as possible.”
He lifts his brows, patient and waiting for a response. At a nod of agreement, he smiles.
“Do you have any questions not pertaining to what I’ve just explained?” he invites, opening a small window of communication.
My first thought is to the blonde girl who stood at my side.
“There was a woman,” I brave, my voice still raspy. “There were more of them. I didn’t know her name—”
“Evelyn,” he finishes for me, with a confirming nod.
I didn’t know her name was Evelyn. This means he’s spoken to her, and that she’s well enough to talk.
“She’s okay, then?”
“She will be,” he oaths. “She’s being looked after as you are now.”
Thank you, God.
As I exhale a relieved breath, Nikolas’s jaw grows tense. Contradictory to his disposition, he raises his hand to my face and runs his finger over my right cheek.
“You did not…” He pauses, glancing over my blanket covered body. “Those men did not—”
At his intent, my cheeks blush in frustration, remembering how the others I’d been with were treated.
“I wasn’t,” I tell him quickly. “I wasn’t forced to….”
Nikolas’s eyes slam shut, and moments pass before they open. Once focused, he relays, “You have a lot to deal with. This is not fair for you. However, I must tell you, you will not be leaving until I’m convinced you have somewhere to go. A safe place for you to continue healing.”
At his words, my first thought is unpleasant. I’m still captive, under another person’s control. My freedom is being held in another’s hands.
“I have business to see to, but as it’s all I’ve asked of you, you’ll focus on rest and healing,” he expresses.
I don’t respond; I have nothing to say.
Nikolas moves toward the door, his pace unhurried. Once standing outside of it, he turns, offers a small smile, and walks away.
Not for the first time, I stare at the ceiling, wishing I had control over my own damn life.
“Cricket was sold to the highest bidder in an underground flesh auction forty miles outside the city,” Vlad Zalesky calmly informs.
The Russian leader is sitting behind his desk, holding a glass tumbler of brandy in one hand, and hanging his other casually from the arm of his chair. He’s dressed in his standard black tee and camouflage pants.
On the surface, Zalesky appears calm, collected, and ready to do business like any other day. However, beneath that mask of civility, every man here understands that he’s seething at Cricket’s continued absence from her home.
Saint’s Justice isn’t in business with the Russian family, per se. Yet, in some ways, our organizations are connected. One being Mia’s older sister, Myra, who is set to be married to Vlad Zalesky’s only son, Veniamin, in the spring.
The Russian Empire, as most refer to it as, sells skin, but not in the traditional sense. They don’t dope it up, abuse it, fuck it, or force the girls into doing shit they don’t want or deserve.
The women who make up the Zalesky stables aren’t considered whores. But the complete opposite.
Those who work for him want to be there, for a variety of reasons, such as money, protection, and a safe place to live. They’re high-class, and extremely loyal to Vlad and his men. Not to mention, Vlad takes care of them. In exchange for his protection, their loyalty to him has made him a very wealthy man.
I figured after the last paid favor we granted him and his family in keeping Mia safe from people Vlad had pissed off, we were finished and set to go our separate ways. Unfortunately, the fact that we’re inside his mansion, sitting around a large mahogany desk, discussing the plan to get Cricket back, says we’re in need of his help.
“Roberts went off track with this. He didn’t wait,” Elevent voices. “Son of a bitch said we had two fuckin’ days to get her back before he sold her off.”
Vlad nods, keeping his expression blank. “That’s right. Which comes as no surprise, being that Roberts is known for being incredibly stupid. He likely assumed your club would sit around and wait for him to make contact, granting him enough time to do with her as he always wanted.”
Leglas’s jaw ticks, his body rocking in time with his bouncing knee. When his gaze catches mine, his face reddens and he shakes his head. Clearly, Leglas doesn’t like where this meeting is going. Surprisingly, though, he’s kept a level head.
“Where is Cricket now?” Elevent prompts.
All heads turn to the door where a man in a suit much like Vlad’s right hand, Abram, is wearing enters. Cleanly shaven, confident, and diplomatic, the new visitor ignores every biker in the room.
“More fuckin’ Russians,” Leglas bites out.
“Son of a bitch,” I mumble to myself, slamming back farther into my chair.
Vlad doesn’t give attention to our frustration. He looks to the new arrival and nods him into the nearest chair. The one next to Elevent.
Vlad moves his eyes around the room to my brothers and I before making an introduction. “Gentlemen, this is Nikolas Ivanov. Nikolas…” Vlad pauses, gesturing to our president first. “This is Elevent.” Nikolas’s expression remains stoic as he takes a few passing seconds to size Elevent up. When the two exchange curt nods, Vlad continues, moving his focus to the other side. “And these are his brothers, Gypsy and Leglas.”
Without a word, Nikolas grabs the chair, pulls it to him, and takes his seat. My gaze moves from Vlad to Nikolas. Looking closer, the two could be brothers. Hair color same. Eyes alike. Even their build. Vlad’s never mentioned any other family here in Chicago or around it, so I’m wondering just where the fuck Nikolas comes from.
“Cricket is in my possession,” Nikolas, not wasting time, states first. I note that his accent is much heavier than Vlad’s.
Leglas’s eyes dart back to mine, and we both come to attention.
“You’re the one who bought her?” Elevent accuses tightly, his tone direct.
“I did not purchase anyone,” Nikolas sneers. “But I do have her.”
Grabbing the chair’s handles, Leglas leans his body toward Nikolas. “If you have her, why the fuck is she not standin’ right there next to you? Where is she?”
“She’s under the protection of my men, and she’ll stay there until I’m certain she has somewhere safe to go.”
“What the fuck?” Leglas barks.
“You’re shittin’ me,” Elevent gets out, staring daggers at Vlad. “Somewhere safe to go?”
Nikolas isn’t an easy read. He keeps his expression carefully masked.
My gut tells me if he keeps company with Vlad, he’s not a man who fears much. My heart tells me if he’s the man who has Cricket, then so far she’s alive and possibly unharmed. I’m thankful for the first, and remain hopeful for the last.
Vlad moves to placate. “Nikolas will not harm Cricket. He and I do not do business together, but we are like-minded in the business that we do separately.”
Understood.
What Vlad’s saying, but not saying, is that Nikolas isn’t an asshole, and he’s to be respected. However, if you fuck with him or his, he’ll make you wish you hadn’t.
“Fuckin’ Russians,” Leglas utters in return.
“I want her brought here today,” Elevent orders, directing his request to Nikolas.
“When Cricket so wishes, I’ll return her to you.”
Elevent’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “When she so fucking wishes?”
“Elevent,” Vlad calls, shaking his head to the negative. “Nikolas is not your enemy.”
A flash of fury crosses Elevent’s face. “Respect, Vlad. But you’d be wrong about that. Anyone keeping Cricket from her family is my enemy.”
“I see she has people who care deeply for her,” Nikolas observes, his tone inching toward dismissive.
My skin crawls, suddenly too aware that a man we know nothing about and have no reason to trust, has Cricket in his grasp. His men, however many that may be, are watching guard over her. Keeping her away from those who’ll care for her.
Before Nikolas is able to expand, Elevent cuts him off, pointing to the floor. “I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t see. I want Cricket here today.”
“Elevent,” Vlad prompts again, this time in agitation. “You’ll leave this to Nikolas and myself to discuss and plan.”
Elevent clamps his mouth shut, understanding what’s at play.
“How is she?” I ask, both fearing the answer, but needing to know.
The last time I saw Cricket, we were standing on the forecourt of Saint’s and I was telling her goodbye. She refused to come with me to Texas, to give our lives the start it deserved—together. At her stubborn rejection, I lost my temper and left. For weeks I’d regretted that decision, and once I got the call that she’d been taken, my regret turned fierce.
Nikolas casts a quick glance to Vlad, and Vlad bids an unspoken instruction to fill us in.
“Those who took her away from you attempted to break her,” Nikolas starts, his face set to stone. “They were thorough in their determination, thus, Cricket was hurt in ways a woman should never be.”
“They touched her,” Leglas growls. If fire flared from his nostrils, I wouldn’t be surprised. Standing, the heavy leather chair slides back a foot from the force of his fury.
“She has not been sexually violated,” Nikolas informs, staring up at Leglas with disdain. “Fortunately, my men arrived before she was taken in the vilest of ways.”
Cricket wasn’t raped.
Elevent looks to his lap, studying his balled hands. Leglas runs his hands through his long hair, reclaiming his seat, while I release a heavy breath.
Sensing our relief, Nikolas presses forward. “Much worse could’ve happened, had my men not gotten there. No doubt Seveena will seek retribution for what I’ve done.”
“Seveena,” Leglas fumes. “You’re telling us a bitch took Cricket?”
Nikolas nods once. “I am.”
“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Cricket,” Vlad breaks in, his tone sincere. “The girl has spirit. She’ll heal from this with the help of all of you.”
“Can’t heal with us if she’s not here with us,” Elevent snarls.
Nikolas has the audacity to smirk at Elevent’s irritation.
Fuck these goddamn Russians.
“You do not know me,” Nikolas says, directing his gaze toward the three of us. “But you can take Vlad’s word in that your friend will not be harmed. I’ll speak with her today. From there, I’ll do as she asks.”
Leglas and Elevent nod. I stare into the eyes of Nikolas, questioning if anything he’s said is true. Then, I wonder if after all she’s been through, if Cricket wants to come back. Between the tug of war Leglas and I have made of her the last few months, she may be thankful to be anywhere but here.
Vlad stands, grabbing his drink from the desk and tossing it back in one pull.
As he sets it down, he stops mid-motion, casting his gaze to ours.
With vindication, promise, and the ire that fits him so well, he pierces Nikolas with a meaningful glare and swears, “Cricket will remain unharmed. She will be home to you as soon as she’s able. Nikolas and I will handle Seveena as she should’ve been handled long ago.”
“What about Roberts?” Leglas questions, his nostrils flaring at the name itself. “He gonna be handled by you or me?”
“Cricket’s father will pay with his life,” Nikolas vows. “I do not say this lightly, but Seveena is dangerous. She must be handled with care.”
Leglas not only simmers, he fumes. “I say this shit as it is. That cunt will be handled without a fuckin’ care should I get my hands on her before you do.”
Vlad rolls his eyes at Leglas’s hot head. Nikolas smirks.
Christ.
When Elevent stands, Leglas and I follow his lead.
“Vlad, I trust you,” Elevent concedes.
“You have my word on this, Elevent,” Vlad oaths in return.
A few tense moments pass, the seconds ticking by as slowly as a broken clock.
Visibly, Elevent’s about ready to come apart. Proving this, he struggles out, “But Cricket is… fuck.” He stops, choking up. “Vlad, you gotta know she’s…”
The broken clock continues its hapless tick, and Leglas drops his head, studying his boots.
“She’s everything,” I finish for him, and all eyes in the room turn to me. “Cricket is everything to us.”
Nikolas tilts his head to the side, his eyes smiling and his posture relaxed. “Then it’s good you’re on your way out. I have business with Vlad. After, I’ll need time to prepare for your everything to be welcomed home.”
“Many women?” I ask to clarify. “How many women is that?”
“My guess would be close to a hundred,” Agatha shares casually, as though we’re discussing the weather over tea. “Maybe more. But, good deeds don’t need counting.”
I haven’t said much since that first day I was left in bed to heal. I’ve been kept comfortable, given pain meds by morning visits from Doctor Z, a much older man who I found out works directly for Nikolas. Other than Agatha popping in and out of my room, I’ve also been left mostly alone.
This morning was different. I’d woken up to Eve sleeping in my chair at the far end of my room. A red blanket was over her body. Someone had covered her up with care. With her knees to her chest, her battered cheek resting on top, she was curled tightly into herself. Her eyes were still swollen and angry.
Mostly, other than deep bruising, and a few stitches here and there, the wounds inflicted to us both were surface, superficial. Doctor Z told Nikolas that the animals who had done this, may have kept their fists light to avoid damaging their merchandise for good.
Agatha gasped at his declaration, her hand flying to her chest, livid on our behalf. Nikolas’s expression turned to granite. I looked away, locking my gaze to Eve’s, cursing my father for ever having me at all.
>
This morning, when I made a move to get out of bed, Eve jumped, dropping her blanket to the floor, positioning herself to run. Her breathing was labored and her body began to shake. Rather than initiate contact, words or otherwise, I ignored her completely, acting as if she weren’t there at all.
Thankfully, she took to this and we ended up having breakfast in my room, silently—physically together, but mentally worlds apart.
I understood the emotional turmoil she’d been wading through. Because of this, I did everything I could not to wrap my arms around her to ensure she didn’t feel alone. I won that fight, but barely.
Ultimately, we spent the morning staring at the muted television, each lost in our own thoughts.
Today marks our third day here, but this one is starting different than the two before.
Agatha came to ‘our’ room, insisting Eve and I get dressed and follow her out to the kitchen. This was not a request we could deny. Agatha was determined. Neither Eve nor myself were being given a choice.
The older woman with chubby cheeks and a warm smile may be fitted to wear a dull, drab maid’s uniform, but by all rights she’s the head of this house in every way.
“Nikolas is one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. And in my long life, I’ve known a few,” Agatha explains, keeping her eyes to her work, feverishly chopping vegetables for stew.
“So this is what he does?” I press. “Nikolas’s work is to help women?”
Agatha shakes her head. “This is not all he does. But it is what he does best.”
Interesting.
Staring off into the other room, I study Eve as she sits in a chair in front of a large bay window. Her face is blank, still showing no signs she’s coping with what happened.
“She’s not okay,” I whisper to Agatha. “Do you think—”
Cutting me off, Agatha assures, “She’ll work herself out.”
In the short time I’ve known her, Eve hasn’t said a single word. She’s not given any indication that she’s alive, other than blinking through her constant stare.
“Thank you for all you’ve done,” I think to say what I should’ve said days ago. “For me and for her.”
