by Alta Hensley
Zoya couldn’t find escape in sleep as she’d done on the airplane. While the brothers had evidently thought she’d again been sleeping earlier in the truck, she’d only been dozing. As they sped along the highway again, she considered what she’d overheard. Her heart had ached listening to them discuss Natalia as well as the other women, and yet she found hope in the fact that even in what they thought was a private conversation, they’d both assured the other that they would not consider their mission complete or successful until Poplov not only paid for his crimes, but the women he’d kidnapped and sold were freed. It wasn’t hard to acknowledge that though she was thousands of miles away from her home, out of all the women on that stage, she had been the lucky one.
She’d listened as Anson complimented his brother on his performance. Both his words and the tone of voice in which they were delivered testified to the fact that he considered Stryder something of an expert with the whip. Being ignorant that anyone could wield something Poplov had used to terrify the women in a way that sounded so awful and yet didn’t flay the subject alive, she had to admit that unless she consciously thought about what had happened, her body wasn’t throbbing in pain, nor had she broken under the implement. It had taken the word “dungeon” to cause her stomach to flutter and her fingers to grasp the flannel blanket tighter. It had taken everything she had in order not to panic thinking these two men talked so easily about such a place.
What had kept her quiet had been hearing Stryder’s voice as he talked about how he’d have to retire what appeared to have been his favorite… what? Weapon? No—though she had no doubt that the whip could do a great deal of damage if desired, he hadn’t wielded it as such. Tool? No, that word didn’t fit either. Plaything? Her heart skipped a beat as she suddenly could see it as such. He obviously had taken the time to become not only confident with a whip, but an expert. Yes, plaything could be right. And if she were totally honest with herself, would she, as his softly spoken words predicted, never desire to experience it again? Remembering how she’d been shocked at the sensations each stroke produced, and further confused at how Anson had needed to remind her to “scream,” she wondered what Stryder would think if he knew that the biggest question in her mind once it was over was why the throbbing in her sex rivaled that of her back and buttocks and why her inner thighs had been moist. Hearing the men talking with such ease had her wishing desperately that she had someone to confide in, to ask these sorts of questions. Knowing she had no one, she opened her eyes, giving up any pretense of sleep. Instead, she looked out the window as endless fields streaked past. She could see various crops growing and gave a soft smile. Perhaps the world wasn’t such a large place after all. Growing up on a farm, she understood how you planted in the spring, hoping that the weather would cooperate and allow the seeds dropped into the soil to grow.
Jenny sounded both a bit frightening and fun. While sure they’d never be true friends, since Zoya didn’t plan on being on the ranch that long, she did look forward to working in the garden. It wouldn’t be much in the way of repaying Stryder and Anson for saving her from what could have been a fate worse than death, but it was all she could offer.
No, not all, I can make myself remember every little detail from the moment I stepped off that train. No matter how embarrassing it will be to have to confess that I was so incredibly stupid, I will confess it all. Natalia, Anya, the others… they weren’t bought by a Steele. I am their only hope.
Pushing the blanket aside, Zoya uncurled her legs from the seat and sat up, waiting for a break in the brother’s conversation. When it came, she said, “I paint.”
Stryder turned around to look at her. “Paint?”
Feeling her face flush, she could understand his confused look. She hadn’t mentioned it earlier when he’d asked what she enjoyed because… well, his explanation about how he viewed art had thrown her. She’d instantly began to wonder what exactly he meant by other varieties of art… of creating masterpieces. He probably thought she was totally scatterbrained but still, she was telling the truth.
“I mean that I’m an artist… a pretty good one. I can not only paint landscapes or abstracts, but I do portraits.” His brow was still furrowed and she sighed, sitting forward a bit. “What I’m trying to say is that I can draw the men I saw at that warehouse, as well as the women who helped them…”
“There were women involved?” Stryder asked, his brow smoothing as he shot a quick glance towards his brother.
“You’re not talking about the other women being sold as… um, at the auction?” Anson asked, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Sex slaves,” Zoya provided, not allowing the admission to cause her to cringe but to let it make her remember her anger, let it fuel her strength. “No, I can draw them, as well, but I’m talking about the women Poplov uses to get to their victims. Women like Katarina. Women who for some reason are either as evil and depraved as Poplov and his minions, or women who are terrified that if they don’t do as ordered, they’ll find themselves on that fucking stage and sold or their families murdered.”
“Murdered?” Anson asked.
“That’s how Vasily keeps his victims in line isn’t it?” Stryder added.
Zoya kept her eyes on his, her anger growing. “Yes. Though we… me and the other women might be willing to die rather than face the hell we all knew we’d be thrown into, none were willing to have their families annihilated because of our stupidity. We were told that if we didn’t behave, if we caused trouble, it wouldn’t be us that paid the price… it would be our families.”
“The fucking bastard! Of course he uses that threat,” Stryder said. “It’s his modus operandi after all. I swear to God, I’m gonna enjoy killing that son of a bitch!”
“Stand in line,” Anson said, “you’re gonna have to go through not only me but Maddox.”
Instead of responding to his brother, Stryder returned his gaze to her. It wasn’t until she noticed he was holding out a handkerchief that she realized she was crying.
“As long as the man is no longer breathing, I’ll not care if it’s one or all of us, but Zoya, I swear on my life, Poplov will pay.”
Taking the cloth, she wiped her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t want you or your family to risk your lives for me…”
“Too late,” Anson said, his eyes flicking to hers again. “That’s a choice that isn’t yours to make. It’s ours and we’ve already signed up. Between us, all of us, we’ll send Poplov straight to hell.”
Zoya wanted to believe him with every fiber of her being. She knew that the “good” part of herself should protest. The right thing to do would be to allow the law to handle Poplov. But the part of her that was her very essence, her soul, could barely wait until the day Vasily was no longer a presence in this world.
“Between your artistic skills and Anson’s photographic memory, we should be able to have a good idea of who is involved,” Stryder said. Giving her a soft smile, he added, “I know Jenny does those knotted things and other crafts, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her paint. What sort of stuff do you need?”
“Oh, not much,” Zoya said, a list already forming in her head. “Paper and a pencil is enough but colored pencils would help for eye, skin, and hair color—”
“We’ll get you whatever you need.” Turning back to his brother, Stryder said, “Stop at Wal-Mart. I want Zoya to get started as quickly as possible.” Turning again, he said, “Whatever you can’t find in Wal-Mart, we’ll order off the internet and have it delivered.”
Zoya could only nod, thinking how he didn’t question her skills, he simply worked out how to get the action started. It made her determined to do everything to help. If Poplov did indeed wind up in hell where he belonged, she wanted to make damn sure she’d given him a few kicks herself to send him on his way.
After an hour spent in the gigantic superstore, she not only had a bag full of art supplies, she had also changed out of the dress and into a pair of jeans and a t-
shirt. Though she’d assured him that she didn’t need him to spend more money, when he’d led her into the shoe department, she’d almost cried again. Kicking off the high heels, she’d slipped into a pair of tennis shoes. With her feet practically singing for joy, she could easily overlook the fact that they were neon pink and a very bright lime green. When she’d stood, leaving the heels where they were, he’d glanced down at them and simply nodded, his hand going to the small of her back as he guided her to the checkout line.
When Anson turned off the main highway, Zoya gasped. Fences lined both sides of the drive, and some of the biggest horses she’d ever seen were running through the green grasses.
“I’ve never seen so many horses,” she said, her head swiveling between the two windows.
“These are just a few,” Stryder said, a touch of pride evident in his voice. “Wait until you see the stallions Maddox and Pops brought home from Dubai. They are truly magnificent animals. One day we’ll go riding, and I’ll show you the rest of the ranch.”
“I-I don’t ride,” she said softly.
“You will,” Stryder said with confidence. “You’re in Texas now. Loving to ride is as much a part of being a Texan as the BBQ sauce flowing through our veins.”
She didn’t answer. Perhaps instead of stating she didn’t ride, she should have told him that the very thought of getting up on one of those huge beasts had her heart palpitating. Seeing the pleasure in his eyes as he pointed out various horses, she decided not to inform him that any touring she’d be doing would be done with her feet firmly planted on the ground. Before he could expand on his plans, his grin grew wider as they topped a rise.
“Welcome to The Black Stallion Ranch.”
Turning her gaze to the windshield, she saw a large log cabin house nestled against the rock face of a mountain. It was beautiful, and seeing that people were rising from where they’d been seated in rocking chairs, she saw them wave in welcome.
Stryder was all smiles as he lifted her down from the truck. “Let me introduce you—”
“I can introduce myself.” Zoya watched as a woman wearing a flowing skirt of many patches of color and a peasant blouse pushed the huge mountain of a man aside. “Hello, Zoya, I’m Jennie. Welcome home.”
Before she could react, the woman had her wrapped in her arms. She smelled of nature, earth, flowers, and honey? Perhaps it was the woman’s grey curls or the softness of her body as she held her, or the warmth in her voice, but whatever it was, Jennie reminded Zoya of her grandmother. Tears filled her eyes and as the woman pulled away just the slightest, Jennie gave her a soft smile. “Don’t you fret, honey, you’re gonna be just fine.”
“Thank you,” Zoya managed, attempting to get herself under control, though it was obvious she wasn’t the one in control. Jennie kept her arm around her waist and was already leading her towards the porch. Once they walked up the steps, she used her free hand to pull a beautiful woman to her side.
“This is Adira. She came to us not too long ago and is now family.”
“Nice to meet you,” Zoya said, holding out a hand.
Adira took it and smiled, then pulled her into a hug. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here. I’m so sorry about what you’ve gone through but I can promise you that it will be all right now.”
“Hey, where’s our welcome?” Stryder asked, taking the steps two at a time and without making it seem as if he’d even moved, soon had Zoya unattached from the other women and at his side, his hand against her lower back.
Jennie gave him a look that had Zoya’s eyes widening a bit. “Let’s see… oh yes, I remember. That hug was all ready to be delivered over two hours ago! Instead of wrapping my hands around you boys, I had to wrap them around saving the dinner that I’ve been slaving all day to prepare. You know how much it means to me to provide a nice welcome home meal. One that is not overcooked! Come on, you too, Anson. Supper’s ready. Maddox and Drake are practically withering away, and I know you poor boys must be starving. I can’t wait for you to try out my newest recipes.”
“Sounds great,” Stryder said, causing Zoya to whip her head around to look at him. How on earth could he say that? She still felt like she’d eaten an entire cow! There was no way she’d be able to eat a single bite. Seeing she was about to inform him of that fact as the others went into the house, he shook his head.
“Don’t even try it,” he warned. “You swore!”
“But—”
“No buts,” he cut in, grinning as his eyebrow quirked. “Unless you want us all to get our butts roasted, I suggest you unsnap that button on your jeans and eat everything our Jennie slaps on your plate.”
Too stunned that his warning was accompanied by a quick, sharp swat against the seat of her jeans, she couldn’t think of a single retort, listening to him chuckle as he led her through what looked like a very warm and welcoming living room to what she instantly knew was the true heart of the home. Two men were waiting, both as tall and as handsome as Stryder and Anson.
“Welcome, Zoya, I’m Drake, these boys’ dad.”
“And I’m Maddox.”
“Nice to meet you,” Zoya said softly, “thank you for… um… having me.”
“The pleasure is ours—”
“Come on and sit down. More time isn’t going to enhance my star dish,” Jennie said, going from the stove to place a pan of something on a trivet set on the table.
“Oh, shit,” Anson said so softly only Zoya and Stryder heard him.
While she attempted to squelch a giggle caused by her own prayer for salvation at seeing the bowls and platters lined up down the center of the large table, Stryder said what all three of them had to be thinking, “God help us all.”
Chapter 9
This truly was cruel and unusual punishment. There was no way the poor girl would be able to pull this off. Stryder and Anson would be able to stuff down whatever green concoction Jennie came up with, but Zoya? No way. She was half their size and had already eaten more than she ever had before. Plus, he and Anson were seasoned professionals at this. His brothers and he had mastered this act a time or two. It wasn’t always pleasant, but so worth the BBQ delight.
As they sat down at the kitchen table, Stryder looked at Maddox, who wore a shit-eating grin. His brother knew they stopped at their secret place, and he was enjoying every minute of this. Maddox knew the torture they were going to have to endure by having to cram even more food into their bellies. It had to give Maddox some joy, and since he didn’t get any ribs, his only enjoyment would come from watching his brothers pay the price.
“Zoya, dear,” Jennie began. “I know you have been through quite the ordeal. Your poor stomach must be full of knots. Maybe it’s best you only nibble on the side salad that Adira and I made. It’s full of fresh vegetables from our garden. Only take a little and eat what you can. I won’t be offended at all.”
“Plus, Jennie made rhubarb pie for dessert later tonight if you find yourself hungry,” Adira chimed in.
Zoya looked at Stryder with a twinkle in her eye and gave a very small smile. It was clear she knew she was off the hook and was loving that she didn’t have to suffer the same misery that Stryder and Anson would have to.
“Thank you, Jennie. I think you are right. It was such a long trip, and to be honest, I’m not hungry right now,” Zoya said.
“But you two,” Jennie continued, “have got to be starving! Extra helpings for you! You can just work it off later.” Jennie walked over to where Stryder sat and added, “In fact, I will dish it up for you. I was so proud of you both when I heard of all the good work you did in Moscow that I made something special.” She removed the lid off the large casserole dish. Leaning forward, and trying not to scowl, Stryder scrutinized the gray mushy pile inside. “I made meatloaf!”
“Meatloaf?” Stryder asked in disbelief, not understanding what exactly he was seeing before him, and wondering how it could ever be considered meatloaf. It was gray! And there were odd looking seeds
inside of it. What kind of meat was gray?
Jennie scooped a large pile of mush onto his plate, then another, and then another. It was enough gray matter to feed an army. She then walked over to Anson and did the same, covering every square inch of his plate. “Oh, yes. You boys deserve the best tonight.” She sat down as everyone else was passing dishes of cooked vegetables and the salad bowl around. Everyone else seemed to avoid the meatloaf, not that Stryder blamed them.
“So you cooked meat?” Stryder asked as he scooped the first helping of gray goo into his mouth.
“Well, of course not!” Jennie said as she dished salad onto her plate. “It’s plant based and vegan. But it is supposed to give you the meat appearance and taste. When I saw the recipe, I just knew you boys would love it. It may have to be a staple at our dinner table for when you men do something extra deserving of it. I’m sure you will love it.”
Oh fucking hell! She was wrong. She was so very fucking wrong. There was nothing meat tasting about this. Stryder looked at Anson, who was chewing, but having a hard time swallowing the wad he had just jammed in his mouth. Stryder’s poor brother grimaced with every movement of his jaw. This didn’t just taste bad, it tasted like shit. But not normal human shit. This tasted like the type of shit that would come out of the ass of a tree-hugging hippie. And it had the consistency of paste. Paste mixed with birdseed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t prevent the mass of fake meat from sticking to the roof of his mouth. His entire tongue was coated in meat cement! Jennie had cooked many an awful dish in her time, but this meatloaf was by far the worst thing he had ever tasted. And he had three pounds of it piled high on his plate!
