by Maggie Ryan
“This is going to be so much fun. Let’s get started!”
Zoya had indeed felt new in her “borrowed” dress and high heels. She’d felt amazed with her make-up so skillfully applied as to appear she wore none. She’d felt desirable with her lotion soothed skin and the perfume that wafted to her nose with its delicate scent. They’d gone to a club to celebrate, and for the first time in her life, Zoya had felt that the butterfly was finally emerging from its cocoon.
She’d never gotten a chance to spread her wings to fly. Instead, she’d become a bit dizzy, her vision blurry, her stomach roiling, and she’d almost fallen when her knees buckled as she stumbled back towards the booth where Kat and she had been sitting. Except her friend wasn’t sitting. She was standing between a pair of men whose appearances caused Zoya’s heart to skip a beat. Not from any sort of attraction but from an almost primal desire of self-preservation. The drugs that had been slipped into her many drinks robbed her of any ability to escape the web that had begun to be woven about her from the moment she’d stepped off the train.
“Ona ideal’na,” one man said. Zoya’s confusion grew. Who was the man referring to? It most certainly couldn’t be her when he’d stated, “she’s perfect.”
“Kat?” she’d managed, only to have the woman who’d taken her under her wing give a shake of her head and a softly whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Before Zoya could begin to wonder what Kat meant, her attention was diverted as she was escorted from the club between the two men, their grip on her arms unyielding. It wasn’t until she was shoved into the back seat of a black sedan that it dawned on her that something wasn’t right… but, by then, it was far too late.
A sound pulled Zoya from the past. When she opened her eyes, it was to find another pair, also glimmering with unshed tears. “Are you scared?” The question was whispered, as all conversations tended to be in the room shared by Zoya and a dozen other women.
“Yes,” Zoya barely had time to reply before the sound of a loud click of the lock giving way and the squeak of the door opening had her making a final, silent plea. “Please, God, help us.”
“Up!”
The single word was snapped with authority and brooked no nonsense. Zoya rolled to a sitting position, hugging the blanket tightly around her as she slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She shivered when her bare feet hit the floor. The clanking of chains filled the room as the women remained seated, waiting for the chains that tethered the cuffs at their ankles and wrists to the bed to be unlocked.
“Lose the blanket,” the man snarled, giving it a yank, leaving Zoya as naked as the other women as they rose to their feet once they were unfettered. The sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh cracked across the room, followed by a cry signifying that one of the captives was too slow to take her place in the line that was forming before the door.
“We are not going to put up with any nonsense,” a woman barked. “Correction will be swift and severe. Is that understood?”
“Da, mem,” was chorused by the women.
With a nod, the man opened the door and the women filed out into the hall. Zoya had to fight against the despair that threatened to consume her. She’d never considered herself a weak person, and yet from the moment she and the others had been told that fighting would result not in their deaths… but in the annihilation of every member of their family, she’d capitulated.
Would she ever stop fighting the tears as they blurred her vision yet again? When it was her turn, she obediently took a step forward, her arms at her sides, her head up, staring straight ahead but unable to block out the sight of the man in front of her. The man stood in a room full of naked, beautiful women and yet, if his face showed any expression, it was of boredom.
She flinched slightly but managed not to actually move when his hand lifted. “Trim only. Curl,” he said, lifting a lock of her hair. His fingertip ran over the arch of her eyebrow. “Pluck and shape.” His eyes dropped and Zoya felt her face heat, not having to follow the man’s gaze to know exactly what part of her anatomy he was looking at, flinching again when her nipples were taken between the man’s thick fingers and squeezed.
“Pierce?” asked the woman who was standing to one side, a clipboard in hand, pen poised to take notes.
“Nyet, let her owner decide to decorate her tits and pay for it himself.”
Zoya wasn’t given much time to be relieved at his answer when she flinched yet again, this time unable to keep a sharp yip from being uttered as the man’s fingers moved from her nipple to tug on her pubic hair.
“Trim.” A firm slap on her thigh had Zoya opening her legs and closing her eyes as fingers slid through her sex. “Virgin?”
“The doctor said not.” The woman could have been discussing the weather for all the disinterest in her tone.
Zoya’s gasp and attempt to pull away did no good as thick fingers were thrust into her vagina. She was held firmly in place by the man as he probed inside her. Pulling his fingers out, she felt humiliation flood her as he wiped slickness caused by his examination across her bottom. “Maybe not but she is still very tight. Not as good as a virgin but inexperience will keep her price high.” A slap on her ass had Zoya bending forward, tears finally slipping down her face at the sound of a rubber glove being snapped onto the man’s hand. She bit her lip as she felt the globes of her bottom being spread apart and then cried out as a finger was thrust into her anus.
“She told the doctor that she’s an anal virgin,” the woman informed him as his finger invaded and wiggled about in a place which Zoya had never once considered for anything other than its natural purpose.
“Not for long.” The first sign of any emotion was given in a chuckle as the man withdrew his finger, giving her bottom another slap. “Put her between two brunettes. With her wheat-colored hair, she’ll stand out and draw the eyes of the bidders. Perhaps they’ll forgive the size of her tits.”
Within hours, Zoya stood with her hair curling in waves down her back, her eyebrows thinned and plucked into delicate arches, and her pubic hair almost completely shaved, leaving just a narrow thatch of blonde curls between her thighs. Her nails had been shaped and painted, her makeup artfully applied, and the white chiffon dress chosen for her to wear carefully arranged to show off every curve of her body. She tried not to stumble wearing the ridiculously high heels as she was led to stand behind Natalia, who was wearing a dress of the deepest ruby, and before a woman named Anya, who was wearing a deep sapphire blue. They’d been warned to remain silent in line.
“Once you are on the stage, you will stand straight and then follow the instructions given by Mr. Poplov. Failure to do so will result in quick correction.” The man had paused and then added in a tone that caused Zoya to shiver, “Believe me, none of the clients will mind if you decide to test my instructions. A few marks would only increase their lust.”
As the lights dimmed and a spotlight appeared in the center of a makeshift stage, Zoya remembered Natalia’s question. Scared? No, she was beyond scared… beyond terrified, even. Zoya didn’t believe there was a word to describe the feeling that had consumed her from the moment she’d arrived. She’d first thought she must be in hell but had learned that wasn’t true. No, hell would be experienced when she was sold to some faceless stranger who was even now waiting to make his bid. Hell would be when she was handed over, sold like some animal to be used, abused at their whim. Hell was still in the future. That meant she was still in purgatory… but it was enough for her to wish for death.
Chapter 3
The State Tretyakov Gallery was one hell of a sinister place under the moonlight of the Russian sky. Maybe it was the fact that Stryder knew what was about to happen beyond the entrance doors that added to that illusion. Or the fact that every person entering was wearing a black suit and some sort of black mask. Regardless of why, he had to fight back the urge to fucking puke.
There were some sick bastards out there. He knew this all too well. Working aro
und some fucked up individuals happened in his line of work. There was no avoiding it. But this was different. Selling women? Sex slaves? Wealthy men who could have anything they ever wanted in the world, and sure as shit, now they would have a sex slave too if they bid high enough. It really would take all his strength not to kill Vasily the minute he set eyes on him, as well as all the other sick fucks in the room.
“We look like idiots,” Anson mumbled as they walked toward the entrance to the gallery.
“Yeah, well, lucky for us we managed to find masks.” Stryder smirked as he glanced at Anson. “You look like Zorro.”
“You look like a dickhead.”
“No arguing there.”
The playful banter was exactly what Stryder needed to calm his wrecked nerves. Taking a deep breath as they approached the security guards in front of the doorway, they were patted down for weapons, which both he and Anson had anticipated. Showing their invitations and passing all inspections, both he and his brother had finally completed the second stage of the mission.
They were in.
The next stage, however, would take everything in him to control his rage.
There was a large stage in the back of the room that served as the focal point. Forty to fifty men milled around with cocktails in their hands. Some smoked cigars or cigarettes, and others took bite-sized hors d'oeuvres off the platters that were being passed out by women wearing nothing but body paint. Stryder shook his head at the sight of flaws disturbing the smooth palette on a few of the women’s skin.
“They can’t even keep their fucking fingers off the servers,” he growled softly.
“We’ve only been here five minutes. Don’t lose it, Stryder,” Anson said just as softly.
Stryder chuckled. “Don’t lecture me, George,” he said in an even lower tone, reminding his brother that they were using aliases. Stryder was now Michael Gardenzio, a moniker that Anson had insisted upon to remind him that, while he couldn’t go all Rambo, he could secretly use a portion of Sylvester Stallone’s full name of Michael Sylvester Gardenzio Stallone. As for Anson, it hadn’t been a surprise when he’d chosen to become George Niven, taking the names of two actors who had portrayed his hero James Bond in the late 1960s. Anson gave him a grin and a nod indicating his understanding.
Classical music played through the hidden speakers in the walls—not loud, but loud enough to blend perfectly with the men’s voices to form a constant hum which added to the ambiance of the room. The lights were dim, shadowing all the masked men, making identification near impossible, which Stryder no doubt figured was a planned effect.
A nude waitress approached with a tray of tumblers holding a caramel-colored liquid that Stryder assumed was bourbon or something of like nature. Both he and Anson took a glass to appear casual and relaxed. Appearance was everything if they were going to pull this off. Bidding on, and then buying a sex slave was treading in uncharted territory, but it needed to be done. This was a crucial step if he and his family had any chance of bringing Poplov’s operation down completely.
“Most of these men are surrounded by their own security,” Anson mentioned casually as he glanced around.
“Yeah, it’s easy to see who are the goons and who is the weasel in each group.”
“Are you sure we are going to be able to outbid all these people on one of the slaves?”
Stryder clenched his jaw at the thought of losing, as well as how the word “slave” sounded on Anson’s lips. “It won’t be cheap.”
“Do you recognize anyone?” Anson asked, careful to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation.
Stryder shook his head. “I can’t be positive without being up close. Though I think it’s fair to say that many look familiar.” He nodded toward the direction of an obese man surrounded by four dark-skinned men. “I think that fat fuck over there is Juan Montez, the Argentinian drug lord. I can’t be sure, but his weight, tan skin, and balding black hairline is a fair giveaway.”
Anson glanced over carefully and then nodded. “Agreed. I would recognize that sweaty forehead anywhere.”
Their scanning the room came to a complete halt when the music shut off, the lights dimmed even more, and the spotlights of the stage turned on. A loud voice came over the speakers announcing that the auction was about to take place. The men all worked their way toward the stage. It was standing room only, and there were only a few chairs placed along the edges of the room for the more elderly customers. Otherwise, every man stood shoulder to shoulder, front to back, facing the stage in anticipation.
Stryder led the way and decided to go stand closer to Juan Montez to see if, in fact, he could get a positive identification. At least one guaranteed member of the guest list would help later. A casual look to his right, when he and Anson got into position, confirmed what he and his brother already thought they knew—Juan Montez was in the house.
A figure walked out onto the stage. Stryder instantly recognized the man. It was Vasily Poplov himself. Motherfucker.
“Gentlemen,” he began, speaking without benefit of a microphone or needing one. Silence had descended with their host’s entry and every man’s attention was on the stage. Vasily wore a black tuxedo, but did not wear the required mask of the guests. Stryder noticed the man had a whip coiled and clipped to his belt. Being a connoisseur of the whip himself, Stryder wondered if its presence was a testament to his adversary’s kink or simply an accessory to ensure fear in the women he had stolen from their lives to sell for his profit. His question had to be shelved when Vasily began to speak.
“Gentlemen, I have a special treat for you tonight.” He began to walk back and forth on the stage, mastering his domain. “These women tonight are nothing but the best. Each starting price will be based on their beauty, their charm, and yes, my friends, if they are a virgin or not.”
Men cheered and clapped, which only fueled Vasily to continue.
“Oh yes, my friends. For the right price, you will acquire your very own virgin pussy to do with as you please.” He gave a wicked smile. “But rest assured, gentlemen, even the women who have lost their delicate little flower still have so much to offer. We have only put the most worthy up for auction.”
Evil dripped off every word Vasily spoke, and fury bubbled inside Stryder so much that he instantly regretted coming on this mission. He wasn’t the right person for the job. He shouldn’t be here. Maddox or his father would have a much cooler head than he. If he didn’t get out of here, he was going to blow it and get himself and Anson shot.
“Focus,” Anson whispered as if he could read his brother’s mind. No doubt he was feeling the same anger, but he was holding it all inside as Anson had such skill in doing.
“Let’s start with our first little slave, shall we?” Vasily said as the men applauded their approval all around.
An obviously terrified woman was shoved onto the stage, and she stumbled forward. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back. Her ruby-colored dress made the green of her eyes stand out, only intensifying the fear that Stryder could clearly see in them. Her legs shook, and she nibbled her lip as her eyes darted about the crowd.
“Our first piece of merchandise for this evening is sweet Natalia. Her Latin blood makes her feisty, but I’m sure there is a man here tonight who would love taming this little vixen. She is not one of those magical virgins I spoke of,” when there were boos in the crowd, Vasily used his hand to silence the spectators before adding, “but she definitely has a body to drool over. Think how jealous your friends will be when they see her on your arm… or kneeling before you, her mouth full of your cock.”
A loud eruption of whistles, cheers, laughs and other lecherous sounds came from the men just praying they had a shot at winning the bid for this exotic princess. Stryder had to admit she was gorgeous.
“But wait, my friends.” Vasily reached for the woman, and when she flinched and made a whimpering sound, he chuckled. “Come now, my sweet. No reason to be shy.” His hand slid beneath th
e curtain of her hair to untie the bow behind the woman’s neck. Giving a dramatic pause, he gazed out to the crowd again, his smile promising the men would be delighted with the next move. And he was right. As he undid the bow, causing the red fabric to fall to the floor, the men gave a collective gasp of appreciation. Her nudity was on full display. When Natalia moved to shield her sex from the approving audience, Vasily swatted her hard on the ass in warning.
“Bastard,” Anson said beneath his breath, but he maintained his position even though Stryder could see it took all of his brother’s might. The visible vein in his neck was a sign that even Anson was losing control.
Stryder tried to focus on Natalia’s eyes out of respect to the woman. Though every single other man was focused on every part of her body that was not her eyes, Stryder would not invade this woman’s privacy if he could help it.
“Let’s start the bidding at a quarter million,” Vasily cut in, the cheers dying down as the business was finally about to take place.
Fuck, that’s a beginning bid? Stryder cut his eyes to Anson, and though his brother didn’t move a single muscle, he knew the amount had staggered him as well. However, the price didn’t seem to cause even a small hesitancy in the bidding. The animals all around began raising their paddles with their assigned number, driving the price higher and higher. It wasn’t just about the men wanting this particular woman, Stryder knew damn well that this was about pride. The men in this room weren’t accustomed to losing, and weren’t used to not getting exactly what they wanted.
Anson raised his paddle and called out, “One point two million!”
Stryder shoved him lightly. “The plan was that I would bid,” he chastised his brother softly. He understood Anson’s need to save this woman, because he wanted to bid as well. To do whatever he could to prevent this woman from landing in the hands of one of these monsters. But he also knew they could only save one. Even if they had unlimited funds, if they bid and won more than one, they risked bringing attention to themselves, and it could jeopardize the entire mission. Plus, if Stryder were honest with himself, he wanted the blonde beauty he had seen on the surveillance video. He had been haunted by her eyes since the moment they’d held his, almost hypnotizing him with the hopelessness revealed in their depths. He knew he would not be able to leave Russia without her. But now that Anson had bid, he might have no choice but to walk away and let her go with someone else.
