by Maggie Ryan
Stryder nodded in agreement and then gave his brother a big smile. “Well, lucky for us, you my brother, have a photographic memory. I have no doubt you will be able to remember every little detail.”
Anson huffed. “I’m not sure I would call it photographic memory. I call it paying attention.”
Whatever Anson wanted to call it, Stryder knew his brother would remember every single important component and would be able to relay it back to everyone at the ranch. “It’s going to make things more difficult for us though,” Stryder said, contemplating the possibilities. “We won’t be able to identify who bids on the women. Their masks will keep their faces hidden just as it will do for us. It won’t be as simple as we think to track all the buyers down and rescue those poor women from their captors.”
“We don’t know the women are being forced to do this against their wills,” Anson reminded him.
“There are no women who would willingly allow a fucking man to sell their bodies for them,” Stryder snapped.
Anson put both of his hands up, signaling he meant no harm. “All I’m saying is that we don’t know the stories behind why the women are involved. Each one could have their own reason. It may not be as sinister as you think.”
“It’s fucking dark as hell! Even if these women aren’t shackled to a chain or being beaten into submission, they are being constrained by some form of evil. Something has a hold over them that is keeping them prisoner.”
Anson nodded. “Yes, and that evil is Vasily Poplov. He’s a sick bastard.”
A ding on Stryder’s phone broke the rage that was bubbling up inside him. Looking down, he read the text from his father out loud:
Maddox is pulling blueprints up now of the gallery. We will send a link soon.
We haven’t been able to confirm the guest list.
Vasily has made damn sure this auction is top secret.
Be careful. Don’t do anything rash. Just get intel.
We will deal with saving the women after the fact back here at the ranch.
This is not the time to try to save the day. It will only get the two of you killed.
“Pops knows you well,” Anson said with a chuckle.
“If Vasily is there…”
“If Vasily is there, we will do nothing,” Anson finished the sentence for him. “We are only using this opportunity to gather intel to bring the man down.”
“He deserves his dick shot off.” Stryder was seeing red at the thought of Vasily Poplov selling women off like cattle.
“This isn’t an assassination mission.”
Stryder remained silent.
Anson leaned forward and studied Stryder before asking, “Are you going to be able to put your personal feelings and demons aside to do this tonight?”
Stryder shot back in his seat as if Anson had slapped him in the face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean.” Anson paused and lowered his voice. “You can’t let your history play a part in tonight. Are you going to be able to stay objective? No emotion?”
Flashes of Stryder’s mother flooded from the depths of his memory.
Her smile.
Her cries.
Men pulling her down the cobblestone alleys of Rosario, pushing her up against the stone walls, yanking up her layers of clothing, and taking what they thought belonged to them simply because they had paid for it.
Him as a little boy, helpless, afraid…
“Stryder?” Anson asked, snapping Stryder from his dark thoughts.
“Yes. No emotion.”
“Are you sure? Can you keep to the plan?”
Stryder stared directly into Anson’s eyes. “I’m sure. I’ve got this. We go in and bid on one girl. We bring her back to The Black Stallion Ranch to find out what she knows to help us locate the other trafficked women and bring Vasily down. I’ve got it. I know the plan.”
“We won’t be able to save them all,” Anson said, his tone indicating how sad he thought that fact was. “I think that’s going to be hard for you.”
“And it won’t for you?”
“Of course it will be. Hell, I think tonight is going to be one of the hardest things you and I have ever done. We will have to just stand there and watch as terrified women get sold to some fucking ruthless men. But I’m prepared to do it. I just want to make sure you really get a hold of your personal feelings. I don’t want you going all Rambo in there and trying to save the day.” Anson paused and then added, “We’ll die if you do.”
His brother was right. Stryder knew it would be brutal to stand there among the filth of humanity as they all bid on and bought women with no care in the world. Not one of the assholes possessed a moral compass to see how anything could be wrong with buying a sex slave.
“No Rambo. No emotion. I promise.” Stryder leaned forward and added, “But I get to choose the girl we buy.” He already knew who she would be. He’d known it the moment her photo had appeared on the monitor in the operations center at the ranch. Her eyes had captured him in the pictures, and if he couldn’t save all the women, he would at least be able to save one.
Anson nodded in agreement. “We have two hours to find black masks.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out some Russian currency, and laid some rubles down on the table for the drinks. “Let’s get busy. Looks like we have an auction to attend.”
Chapter 2
Cold. Why am I always so cold? Zoya Morozova could almost see her babushka, her beloved grandmother, smiling as she teased her granddaughter that her very name assured her that she’d go through life wishing for a warmer climate. After all, the literal translation of Moroz was “frost.”
Zoya denied the tears that wanted to fall at the thought of her grandmother. It didn’t do any good. In fact, it could cause great harm. Clutching one corner of the blanket, Zoya curled into an even tighter ball, bringing her fist to her mouth to press against lips that wanted to open to beg for her freedom. Like the threadbare blanket which pretended to offer warmth but failed miserably, she’d quickly learned that begging was just as useless. Wrapped in her flimsy cocoon, Zoya was fighting yet again to remain calm, to not allow herself to panic, to not call undue attention to herself.
Attention was what had caused her to be noticed.
Attention was what had shattered her world.
Attention was what had brought her to this place.
Attention was what she was going to be receiving this very night.
The question was, what exactly would happen after the spotlight dimmed, and instead of capturing the attention of a ring of men who trafficked in human beings, she stood before the one person who would pay a great deal of money to make damn sure he bought her attention?
Just as she couldn’t stop the first teardrop from slipping down her cheek, she couldn’t stop her mind from returning to that night just a few days earlier—the last night of life as she’d known it for twenty-two years. The last night she’d been one nameless face amongst the millions of her countrymen. That night when she was just a young woman, hips swaying, arms undulating as she let the beat of the music blaring through the club transport her to a place that required nothing from her as she danced, her long blonde hair swirling as she twirled, giggling a bit as the skirt of her new dress swished around her thighs, her cheeks rosy from the vodka she’d consumed. That night when she learned that her mama and papa weren’t so ignorant after all. They’d warned her about the dangers of the big city. They’d warned her that it would be hard to adjust from the life of a farmer’s daughter to that of an office worker. What they hadn’t warned her of, what they’d no doubt never once even considered, was that the very act of dancing with abandon in a popular club would be the one choice that would turn their daughter from a young woman with dreams of a better future into a prisoner.
Zoya had been in Moscow for less than ten minutes before she met Katarina. As Zoya had stood on the platform, clutching her suitcase as she looked at a map displayed on the wall
, she’d heard a laugh. Turning, she’d seen a gorgeous woman standing a few feet away. Her stylish haircut framed an oval face in which her stunning blue eyes sparkled with a light that Zoya had been unable to resist.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman had said. “I just realized that I must have looked exactly like you when I first arrived in the city.”
Zoya couldn’t imagine this woman ever looking anything like she did. Where Zoya was wearing a simple blouse and skirt over thick stockings and a pair of comfortable, aka ugly, shoes, this stranger was wearing a sleek dress that showed off her luscious curves and a pair of heels that would have her breaking an ankle if worn on the farm. Instead of a cloth coat that had seen better days, she had a luxurious looking fur draped over her shoulders. Realizing that the woman’s head was tilted to one side, a smile playing on her lips, Zoya couldn’t help but return the smile.
“That obvious, huh?”
The laugh did its magic, easing any hesitancy Zoya had to speak with the stranger.
“Not at all. If I hadn’t been here myself, I wouldn’t have even given it a second thought. Oh, where are my manners?” Extending her hand, nails perfectly manicured and polished, she continued, “I’m Katarina Petrova.”
Taking her hand, hoping the callouses on her palm would go unnoticed, Zoya introduced herself. When Katarina suggested they get a cup of tea at an out of the way café right around the corner, Zoya had instantly begun to shake her head.
“I couldn’t.” Seeing the woman’s smile slip, she realized how rude she’d sounded. “I mean, I don’t…” Pausing, Zoya could feel her face heat. Had she actually been about to say her parents had warned her not to talk to strangers? Talk about the country bumpkin! Instead, she gave Katarina a different reason for her upcoming refusal. “I don’t want to put you out. I’m sure you have better things to do than to have tea with a total stranger.” She cringed a bit realizing that despite her evasion, she’d still uttered the word “stranger.”
“Of course. Forgive me,” Katarina had said. “I’m sure your parents warned you about talking to strangers. I’d still like to welcome you to Moscow, Zoya.”
Feeling horrible for causing the woman’s smile to disappear, Zoya had shaken her head. “No, forgive me. You’ve been so kind.”
The smile returned. “No forgiveness needed. I just know that I felt quite alone when I stepped off that train years ago. I’m sure whoever is meeting you will be here soon. Perhaps we will meet again and we can have that tea.”
As Katarina began to turn away, Zoya suddenly did feel very alone. “Wait. I’d love to have some tea.”
“Really? That’s wonderful. Shall we wait for your—”
“No,” Zoya said. “I’m on my own.”
“No one should arrive in a new city without a new friend as well. Here, let me take that.” Before Zoya could object, the suitcase was taken from her, Katarina’s heels clicking on the tile flooring as she walked towards the exit, leaving Zoya no choice but to follow.
By the time the sun had begun to set, Zoya had enjoyed several cups of tea as well as freshly baked bread, delicious cheeses, small sausages and a variety of cookies. Her new friend—call me Kat—had also found her a room in a nice building at a very good rate.
Katarina leaned forward as if to convey some secret. “Mrs. Fedorova tends to be a trifle nosey, but it’s only because she wants to keep her girls safe. A pretty girl like you can never be too careful,” Kat had said, adding a spoon of sugar to Zoya’s tea cup, stirring a few times as she apologized for the rather bitter brew. “I knew we should have stayed with my regular choice of leaves.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I like to try new things,” Zoya had assured her, lifting her cup to take a sip and fighting to keep her distaste from showing, forcing herself to drain the cup.
Kat’s laughter rang out again as she shook her head. “You are just the most adorable little thing… a liar, but definitely adorable.”
After introducing her to her new landlady, Kat had attempted to give Zoya her phone number, causing Zoya to confess she didn’t own a cell phone.
“Don’t you fret, Mrs. Fedorova has my number if you need to call me.” She gave Zoya a kiss on the cheek, and said her goodbyes. “Since you don’t report to work until next week, you’ll have plenty of time to learn your way around… at least enough not to feel lost. I’ll come by tomorrow, and we’ll start the process of turning you into a big city girl.”
Zoya had nodded, finding it easier each time to accept what Katarina suggested. It wasn’t until she closed and locked her door that she realized how exhausted she was. Anticipation about her new adventure, coupled with tension and worrying if she were being a fool by leaving what was familiar, was taking its toll. With her tummy full and her eyes feeling as if they weighed a ton, she’d only taken the time to remove her shoes before crawling beneath the sheets. She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.
True to her word, Kat had appeared bright and early the next morning. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I don’t want to keep you from your own job,” Zoya said.
“Aren’t you just the sweetest? Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m lucky enough to make my own hours.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a facilitator. You know, make sure everything is in place and things run smoothly,” Kat said.
“I’m not sure I understand. Do you work nearby?”
“I work all over,” Kat said with a wave. “And since I’ve decided that today I’d facilitate my new friend’s introduction to this great city, I say we start.”
Unable to think of a reason why she would say no, Zoya had simply allowed this vivacious, confident woman to take over. They’d walked up and down streets, her guide pointing out the places a new arrival would need: the perfect shop to buy necessities; another café where she could sit and enjoy a cup of tea while reading a book; the subway entrances; and the bus stop. After having lunch, they’d begun to walk back, the wind whistling, its strength causing Zoya to have to bend forward to keep from being blown over and to wrap her arms around herself to keep what little warmth her coat provided inside.
“Is that the only coat you have?” Kat asked, concern clear on her face.
Zoya actually looked down as if to ascertain what coat she was wearing, which was idiotic since she only owned one… obviously one inadequate to shield her from the piercing winds.
“Yes.”
“It won’t do,” Kat said with a frown. “The cold here is different as it whips around buildings like a train races through a tunnel. Tomorrow, I’ll take you shopping.”
“That’s not necessary,” Zoya said, feeling her face heat.
“Why not? Don’t you like shopping?”
Thankful for the “out,” Zoya shook her head. “Not really. All those clerks and having to try on clothes in some tiny room—”
“Then we shall do our shopping elsewhere,” Kat said, cutting her off and obviously not taking “no” for an answer. “I promise, it will be fun!”
Knowing that her meager savings would not come close to covering the price of even a scarf from any shop this glamorous woman would enter, Zoya came clean. “Kat, I really don’t need anything new.” Seeing the woman’s cheerful expression dim, she felt horrid. “I mean, at least not for a while. Once I get settled and have my first paycheck, I promise, we can go shopping anywhere you want. All right?”
Kat had taken a moment and then as if it had never dimmed, her smile lit up her face. “Leave it to me.”
Zoya had no idea what that meant until the next afternoon when the car pulled up in front of a very nice building. “Is this where you work?”
“Work, play, live,” Kat answered. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Kat climbed from the car, and Zoya slid across the seat to follow. With one foot on the pavement, she paused, looking over the seat at the back of the driver’s head and then over to where Kat was standing several feet away. “Um, excuse me, wha
t do I owe you?” Zoya asked quietly, praying she’d brought enough to cover the fare.
Without turning his head, but meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror, the man said, “No fare.”
Wanting to ask if he was sure and yet grateful she’d not have to part with any rubles, Zoya simply said, “Thank you. Have a lovely day.”
“You too, miss.”
Zoya soon learned that the reason there was no fare was that he was Kat’s driver. She also learned the woman lived in an apartment that was unlike any living space Zoya had ever seen before. The house where she’d been raised could have fit in but a few rooms of Kat’s apartment. It was furnished with what Zoya was sure was the very best and yet felt a bit cold and stark with all the white and chrome everywhere. However, the moment Kat threw open a set of double doors, Zoya forgot all about the similarities between the apartment’s chilly appearance and the cold that had always plagued her as dozens and dozens of dresses in every color imaginable filled her vision. Racks of shoes of every style just waited to be chosen.
“Welcome to my boutique,” Kat had said. “We shall do our shopping right here.”
“Shopping?”
“More like borrowing,” Kat corrected. “As you can see, I have far too many things and would love to pass some to you.”
“I… I can’t accept that,” Zoya said, her head shaking as her gaze roved over the clothing.
“You would be doing me a great favor,” Kat said, taking Zoya’s hand and drawing her into the huge walk-in closet that truly was the size of a boutique. “If you’ll take some of these old things off my hands, well, I’d have a great excuse to replace them with new ones, right?”
That logic wasn’t anything Zoya could really identify with, but she was a young woman who felt as if she’d stepped into a magical place. Zoya’s hesitancy in accepting had Kat assuring her that she had the perfect dress that she knew would make Zoya feel like a new woman. New was exactly what Zoya had come to Moscow for. What would it hurt to at least try on a few things? At Zoya’s nod, Kat clapped her hands.
