by Livia Grant
He pushed his apprehension down to greet the approaching armed guard, pressing the button to lower the window. The music had returned and was playing loud enough that it made it hard to hear.
"Nicolai, you here to try to win back some of the money you lost last time?" The burly guard's fierce appearance softened as he cracked a sly smile.
Ryder relaxed slightly. In his recent paranoia, he'd halfway been expecting to be treated like the spy he was when he arrived. That the guards were so casual helped him take a deep breath. "Don't forget I've come out ahead every other time we've played. I just felt sorry for your ass last time. It won't happen again," he countered.
The guard, Ivan, barked a laugh, the semi-automatic rifle he had slung over his shoulder coming into view to remind Ryder this was not a friend. Ivan remembered as well, getting serious and delivering his instructions. "No weapons allowed in the house tonight. I won't insult you by disarming you now, but I warn you. Leave your weapons in this piece of shit car Alexi insists on driving before going inside."
Alexi leaned over to shout out the window, "Jealous?"
While the two men exchanged barbs, Ryder thought through the odds of being caught carrying in his hidden stash of weapons. There was no way he was going in completely unarmed, but he just didn't know how much risk he should take.
Mature trees, bare from the hard winter, lined the long driveway leading to the main house of the estate. Old-fashioned lamp posts were spread out every twenty-five feet, lending light to the dark night. To an uneducated tourist, the property looked like the upscale mansion of a reputable businessman, but locals called the property очистительный which loosely translated to purgatory; the place people came to be judged. Only it wasn't God who did the judging here. It was Viktor Volkov or one of his three sons who decided who lived and who disappeared forever.
Alexi drove around the mammoth circle drive, pulling into a parking spot to the right of the grand steps leading to the double front doors. Silence greeted them as he turned off the roaring engine. A dusting of snow fell from the sky, blanketing the ground. For a brief moment, all was peaceful, but Ryder reminded himself this was just the calm before the storm.
Making a show of removing the Glock weapon he wore in his shoulder holster, Ryder leaned down to place it on the floor near his feet. He knew from experience they were already on surveillance cameras. Every inch of the property, save the Volkov personal bedrooms, was taped at all times. If security didn't see your actions in real time, they could go back and review any footage later. It was just one of the reasons Ryder hated meetings here.
He was already on the stage. Not for the first time he thought about how ironic it was that some of the world's best actors never got recognition for their talent. Unlike Khloe Monroe, his only reward for a job well done was living to see another day.
It was a hell of an incentive.
The massive door opened just as their shoes hit the top step. The regal doorman, Yurdin, had greeted him each time he'd visited, no matter what the time of day.
"Mr. Ivanov. Mr. Romanovski. We've been expecting you. Please follow me." The butler bowed slightly, letting them stomp the excess snow from their shoes before closing the door and moving in the direction of the grand staircase.
Ryder wasn't surprised they were heading down to the basement conclave. It was a mammoth man cave on steroids. If it wasn’t for the fact that he'd personally witnessed two murders there in his limited visits, it was the kind of room he could get down with spending quality time in.
The only women allowed were whores there for eye candy and sexual favors when the men wanted to take a break from their world domination planning. It wasn't that he was opposed to working off a few calories banging a submissive who liked it rough. What bothered him was that not once had he seen the same woman there twice. His sixth sense told him women were brought there to serve until they wore out their welcome. That was when they'd be carried out in a body bag and the next shift would arrive.
Dead bodies couldn't testify in court.
His foot had just hit the first step down when he heard his name being called from the stairs above him.
"Nicolai! I've been waiting for you, darling."
Ryder hesitated long enough that Alexi crashed into his back from behind. His friend spoke softly, "Keep going. You're just asking for trouble if you let her catch up to you."
He couldn't agree more. He resumed his walk to the basement, but Yurdin kept his stately speed allowing one of the ladies of the house to catch up to them just as they hit the landing at the bottom of the steps.
Irena Volkov was as beautiful as she was tragic. Ryder knew the second they'd met she was trouble. Ignored by her powerful husband, Vladimir, she made it a point to flirt with every man who crossed paths with her. At first he'd thought it was because she was lonely, but having watched more than one man be beaten for looking at Vlad's wife the wrong way, Ryder had come to realize her flirting was her sick way of goading her neglectful husband into proving he still cared about her in his own sick way.
She'd flung her arms around Ryder's neck and was leaning in for a kiss by the time he reacted, grabbing her forearms and pushing her away from him just as the steel doors on the other side of the basement foyer opened. Vladimir Volkov himself stood in the doorway, watching his wife as she pouted at Nicolai's fast rebuff. Her husband was at her back, so she had no idea that he was watching as she lunged forward again, grabbing onto Ryder harder than before.
The men's eyes met, and for several seconds, Ryder wondered if he'd even make it past the foyer tonight, especially when Irena started kissing his neck. "I've waited for you to return, Nicolai."
He saw a split-second of pain in the Russian's eyes just before it was replaced with slow-burning anger. To his relief, it was the arms dealer's wife who received the furious look from her husband.
Ryder pulled her arms away again, and this time as he pushed her away from him, she fell against the hard chest of her husband, who caught and squeezed her until it looked like he'd cut off her ability to breathe. Vlad leaned down to speak softly into his wife's ear. Ryder, being only feet away, heard his threat.
"I see you're bothering another one of our guests, malysh. I believe I was very clear the last time we discussed this, was I not?" Ryder watched as the powerful man crushed his wife in a bear hug. Only when she'd started to turn pale did he release her, shoving her hard and fast, her knees crashing into the marble tile beneath their feet. As she fell forward on all-fours gasping for air, Vlad yanked her head up by her flowing black hair, and as soon as her beautiful, tear-stained face was visible, he backhanded her across her cheek with such force that her neck made a cracking noise as she was tossed across the foyer, slamming into the far wall.
All four men in the foyer stood silently, listening to the woman's pitiful cries for several long seconds. Regardless that he'd done nothing to encourage Irena's attention, Ryder half expected Vlad's fists to seek him out next. He prepared for a fight. After all, that was how things worked with the family. He was surprised when Vlad smiled apologetically.
"Seems I have a bit more training to do with that one. It's a good thing she's beautiful and a good fuck or she'd be too much trouble."
Ryder played it cool. "Yeah, well, I'm guessing her training will be fun. There's nothing quite like delivering a well deserved punishment."
He played to his host's known proclivities with his comment, knowing they both enjoyed playing at the darker end of the sexual continuum. Still, as he glanced back at the crying woman who was trying to get her nose to stop bleeding, Ryder conceded Vlad wasn't a dominant. He was an abuser.
"You gentlemen head on in. Father is sitting down to a late dinner. He asked that you join him. I'll finish dealing with my errant wife and then I'll join you."
Ryder avoided looking back at the broken woman huddled on the floor. There was nothing he could do to help her, even if he'd wanted to. She'd chosen to marry into the Volkov family two
years before. There was no way she hadn't known what she'd signed up for before walking down the aisle with the youngest, most handsome son of Viktor Volkov.
Irena's scream was the last thing he heard before the heavy steel doors slammed closed behind them.
"Shit, that was close. I expected Vlad to castrate you back there."
Alexi patted him on his back in a universal 'atta boy sign. Ryder didn't waste time celebrating the small win. He was too busy planning his escape route should their meeting go south to comment.
Six. That was how many of Volkov's armed henchmen were in the conclave, although four of them were busy being entertained by the whores of the week. As he cased the joint, Ryder found he was surrounded by debauchery. One blowjob, well closer to a fast face fuck, was in progress on the pool table. The restrained, naked woman's head fell over the edge of the table at dick level. The guard's cock choked her as he thrust balls deep over and over until she passed out.
Alexi pulled him to a stop to admire the naked submissive spread out like a smorgasbord for the taking in the middle of the room. She was strapped to a leather spanking bench, situated with her ass high in the air. She wore a spreader gag, holding her mouth open wide for use. It was easy to see both of her other holes had recently been ridden hard as she was still stretched wide, jets of white cum across the welts on her bare back and legs.
The fact that his own cock rose to the occasion reminded Ryder he wasn't that different from the aggressive men in the room. Only a thin line of veiled consent separated his submissives from the unfortunate women who'd found themselves as the main course at their last sex party. He pushed women hard, too. To the edge. It was a rare woman who could handle his unleashed libido.
Yet Khloe Monroe had handled it perfectly.
Ryder physically shook his head to chase the unwanted memories out of his system. He didn't want to think about how perfect she'd been on a good day, let alone here tonight when he needed to stay focused on the job. Her frequent appearances in his thoughts were pissing him off. He was nothing if not disciplined, and quite frankly, the fact that the remarkable actress popped into his head so frequently, shook him to his core. He needed to get a handle on himself before he fucked up years of work.
"I could sure use a drink before we meet with Viktor," he suggested, heading in the direction of the fully stocked bar not far from the pool table. Alexi didn't complain about the detour.
A scantily clad woman greeted them with a nod as he approached. She was gagged, unable to speak. As he sat on a high barstool, he could see she was tethered to the bar with only enough length of chain to allow her to get to the supplies she needed to make his martini. As she turned to grab the vodka, the jeweled end of her butt-plug peeked out from between her raw ass cheeks. Lines of fresh welts crisscrossed with older bruises, revealed she'd been serving the Volkovs at least long enough to acquire layers of punishment marks.
Knowing they couldn't delay, both Alexi and Ryder downed their drinks in a gulp before pushing away from the bar to head in the direction of the double-doors at the far end of the room. As he walked, he let the hot liquid snake through his veins, helping to take off the nervous edge that would get him killed. A tattooed goon who looked like he could start on the defensive line of a professional football team stood guard; his semi-automatic Uzi prominently displayed as they approached.
Another layer between me and a fast exit.
The men halted, unable to pass when the guard made no motion to step aside.
"No weapons allowed into the dining room." He met Ryder's cool gaze. "That includes your hidden knife, Mr. Romanovski."
Ryder kept his face a blank expression as he quickly assessed his options; admit he had brought a weapon in against the original instructions or deny packing and risk a pat down that would have the guard finding not one but all three of his secreted threats.
He went with his gut, reaching down to his left pants leg, lifting the fabric to reveal the hunting knife strapped to his shin. He handed it over to the guard without apology, ignoring the smirk on the man's face at thinking he'd outsmarted the guest to the estate. Little did the asshole know, Ryder still had a Ruger .38 Special and syringe full of poison hidden away.
He normally would have been asked to forfeit his cell phone to avoid allowing recording devices into the heart of the conclave, but Ryder knew from past visits that the room he was about to enter had thick walls and electronic blocking equipment ensuring no recordings could be made of the events occurring inside. The Bratva conducted the most secretive business between the four medieval inspired walls of the krepost or fortress.
A mammoth table took up the center of the immense room. With seating for twenty, it was the perfect location for doing the dirtiest of deals. Chairs for support personnel lined the wall closest to the door while the shorter walls at the ends of the long table held counters full of expensive food and drink to be served to the family and their guests. Still, there was room left to fit additional tables in the room should the occasion call for it.
It was the far wall that was difficult to ignore for any warm-blooded dominant. Punishment and torture devices hung from dozens of hooks, leaving room for the small platform in the center of the wall where a whipping post and stockade stood prominently. The platform had been empty the last two times he'd visited, but today an unfortunate submissive hung limply from the hook high above her outstretched arms. It was easy to see the unyielding whipping post she was attached to had done its job well as the entire back of her body, from shoulders to calves, was a crisscross pattern of raised welts left from what looked like a heavy duty bullwhip. Droplets of blood pooled in about a half-dozen spots where the whip had dug too deep.
This was no playful BDSM scene. The moaning young woman had been whipped brutally and then left on display for the dominant men as if she were a decorative table centerpiece. Ryder wasn't playing with any typical crime family. The Volkov Bratva had worked hard to earn the ruthless reputation they now enjoyed, reminding him he had to be half-crazy to keep coming back for more after all of the shit he'd already been through for this assignment.
"Nicolai, welcome! It's good to see you back in town after your trip away." The family patriarch himself stood to greet him, approaching as Ryder had stood frozen near the door to observe the unfortunate woman on display.
Ryder turned in time to greet the elderly man with the customary welcome of affection reserved only for his inner circle, double-kisses on the cheeks. It had always felt odd that a man of such violence still chose to observe the old-European tradition.
Viktor turned his attention to the cries of the bleeding victim in the room, tsking his disapproval. "Such a shame to have to mark such beauty. I'm sorry you missed observing her lesson, but her discipline session couldn't wait." He continued on, answering Ryder's unspoken question. "The little bitch is a spy for the Linenkos. Artel found out she's Ivan's illegitimate daughter."
The dangerous Moscow families were the equivalent of the Hatfields and McCoys in America. If it were true, it had been a suicide mission for her to try to gain access to the enemy's lair. Despite her still being alive, Ryder suspected the Volkovs would be sending her back to her father in a body bag as a nice 'fuck you' message.
"Not very smart, are they?" Ryder quipped.
Viktor barked a laugh. "Never have been. They'll learn eventually."
"Yes, sir. I bet they will," he agreed with his host.
"Sit. Eat. The lobster is fabulous. We had it flown in, of course."
Ryder and Alexi each took an empty seat a few chairs down from the host, careful to leave room for the two missing Volkov brothers to sit next to their father. The middle son, Oleg, was already seated on the other side of the table, enjoying his meal. He didn't bother standing to greet the newest arrivals, making it clear he didn't feel they were worthy of the effort.
Oleg was the brother Ryder had the least interaction with. Each of Viktor's sons was the brigadier or head of a different family special
ty. Nicolai worked with the youngest, Vladimir, most often as he was the head of the arms and weapons wing of the family. Oleg led the trafficking of all types of illegal drugs.
But it was Artel who was the most dangerous of the three men. The eldest Volkov, who would one day inherit the helm of the family when his father died, was the most ruthless of all the rest combined. Dealing in human trafficking, slavery, prostitution and assassinations, Artel was responsible for the disappearance or death of more people annually than ISIS and Al-Qaeda combined. The only thing that kept the western world from knocking at the front door of the mansion was that the majority of those impacted happened to also be enemies of the USA and her allies. Instead of bombs or tanks, the US instead sent in men like Ryder to keep tabs on the family's dealings. He was only authorized to intervene when absolutely required.
Once he was seated, he realized he had an unfortunately unobstructed view of the suffering woman. She would most likely be dead before he left the mansion. Not for the first time, his gut clenched at the thought of walking out of a meeting like this, unable to help some unfortunate victim who had inadvertently been stupid enough to get caught up in the danger of associating with the crime family. Unfortunately for her, his mission had a higher purpose and would protect hundreds if not thousands of innocent people with the intel he gathered from the inner sanctuary of the Bratva.
At Viktor's nod, a previously unseen serving girl dressed only in a jeweled waist chain with matching nipple rings, pushed from her knees to her feet in the far corner of the room, crossing to the buffet. She filled two plates with the gourmet food and then turned to deliver them to the two newest guests at the table. She returned minutes later with a bottle of the expensive champagne the family drank like water.
Only once she had returned to her kneeling position, head down and palms up on her spread thighs, did the elder Volkov speak between bites.
"I'm pleased you've joined us tonight, Nicolai. I was bothered by news of your injury a few months ago while doing business for the family." The elder man hesitated as if he were choosing his words carefully. "I sent Artel to make sure you were receiving only the best medical care, but he found you'd left the hospital without warning. No one knew where you'd gone." At this pause he stared at Nicolai with an unreadable expression that had Ryder's pulse spiking. "It was a bit alarming when we couldn't find a trace of you for several weeks. We're..." he smiled indulgently before finishing his thought. "We're relieved to see you return to us alive and well after your mysterious disappearance."
