Nikolai

by Sandy Alvarez

  Grabbing hold of his hand, I lift his index finger, placing it between the blades. He goes from ten fingers to nine in a matter of seconds. James screams. "Fucking pussy. We've hardly started, and you're squealing like a stuck pig." Dropping the sheers, I pull the screwdriver from my pocket and drive it into the thigh, twisting and digging around in his flesh before ripping it from his body. I feed off his torturous screams as I do the same to his other leg, giving him no time to beg me to stop.

  "Forgive me," James sobs like a pussy, snot running from his nose as he begins to crack. "I fucked up." Bloody spittle flies from his mouth. "I fucked up, and Leah was the price I had to pay." He hangs his head.

  "You would give your only daughter to a man who sells women to the highest bidder, just to save your own worthless life."

  "Forgive me," he repeats.

  Bending, I grab his face in my hand and squeeze. "Where is she?" I seethe.

  "She's long gone. You are too late," he struggles to look at me.

  "Where?" I drive the screwdriver into his stomach, causing his eyes to bulge.

  "Russia," he screams in pain. "He's taking her to Russia."

  My woman is gone, taken by a skin dealer, to a country thousands of miles away due to her father's sins. Her being my wife will keep her alive for a time, but not for long. He will not sell her until he has gotten what he is after—my empire.

  "Please, I told you what I know. Have mercy." James begins to beg for his life.

  "Mercy? Where was your mercy for your daughter?" I press the barrel end of my gun between his eyes. "You'll find no mercy in this room." I put a bullet in his head.

  22

  Leah

  Thump, thump, thump. What is that noise? Thump, thump, thump. Is that my heart? Am I dreaming? Can a person dream about dreaming?

  "We take off in five, boss."

  Wait. Who is that talking? What does he mean by take-off in five?

  I struggle to open my eyes as the voices that surround me continue to speak. One was in English, the others in Russian. It doesn't take long for my memories to come flooding back. My mother's near lifeless, beaten body lying on the bed, and my enraged father dragging me away from her by the hair on my head just before handing me over to that monster, the one whose voice I recognize now. Listening to the sounds around me has my heart rate increasing, the pounding of each beat knocking against my ribcage.

  Finally, my eyes open, and I blink several times as my vision fights against the blinding white light.

  "Nice of you to join us, Mrs. Volkov."

  I jerk my head in the direction of the man speaking. My limbs are heavy, but I manage to lift my hand to my face and rub my palm against my eyes, clearing away the fog. It takes a minute for my eyesight to clear, and when it does, I focus on the man sitting six feet away to my left. Novikoff.

  A million thoughts start running through my head as my senses come rushing back with a vengeance. My once numb legs begin to prickle as the tingling sensation in them fades. The whooshing sound in my ears intensifies with every breath I take as I realize that I'm in a terrible situation. My eyes dart around what I can only guess is the interior of an airplane. My nails dig into the armrest of the seat I'm sitting in as several armed men flit about the cabin as if kidnapping a woman is an everyday occurrence.

  I bring my attention back to Novikoff. "Please let me go."

  "I'm sorry. I can't do that, Mrs. Volkov," he says, not looking sorry at all.

  "You can't just kidnap me. Whatever deal you had with my father has nothing to do with me."

  "Unfortunately for you, that's where you are wrong. Your father and I made a deal. And though he did not live up to his end of the bargain and it cost me a client, I was still able to come out on top. You are married to a Volkov."

  I grow increasingly angrier with each passing second. "What does that have to do with anything?"

  Novikoff studies me for a moment then shakes his head. "So young and beautiful, yet so naïve. Women are a weakness in my world; in the world the Volkov's live in. This is a lesson your husband will, unfortunately, learn the hard way. You are but a pawn, Mrs. Volkov. One I plan to use to my advantage."

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the odds are stacked against me. Though Nikolai has not shared details about this side of his life, I knew some parts include danger. Only it wasn't Nikolai placing me in the path of uncertainty. It was my father.

  Just as Novikoff finishes his spiel, a woman walks in from the front of the plane, pushing a cart filled with glasses and liquor bottles. To the left of her, a man climbs the steps from outside, entering the cabin. I make a split-second decision to make a run for the exit, hoping my legs have enough strength to carry me. With Novikoff's attention on the woman, I bolt from my seat, making a mad dash for the open door. Fresh air hits my face, teasing me into thinking, escaping is possible. Then out of nowhere, something hard strikes the back of my head, making me stumble and lose my footing. I scream as my body gives way and I tumble down the stairs to the tarmac below, landing on the hard surface with a bone-jarring thud. A groan escapes my mouth, and my vision begins to fade once again. The last thing I see before I'm thrusted into darkness is the star-filled Montana sky. Then my thoughts drift to Nikolai. I hope he can forgive me for how stupid I was and for not listening to him.

  I jolt awake when a hand slaps me across my face.

  I take in my surroundings to find I am no longer on the plane but in a room with metal walls. The only noise heard is the sound of my heavy breathing. Panic takes hold of my chest and squeezes when I realize I am tied to a chair, my wrists bound to the arms, and my ankles strapped to the legs. I try to wiggle free, but the bindings don't budge.

  "Shall we begin," Novikoff says, stepping forward into the light. I watch as he jerks his chin toward another man who walks over to where a camera is set up on a pod, aimed directly at me. With a flick of a switch, a red light appears next to the lens.

  "What are you doing," I ask, my trembling voice fills with panic as I continue to pull at my wrists, causing the rope to dig further into my flesh. My skin breaks open and starts to bleed, but still, I struggle.

  "Please!" I try again. "Let me go!" My cries for help go ignored.

  Finished with his tirade, Novikoff nods to a large beefy man who has been standing in the corner. My breathing picks up, and my eyes dart back and forth between the two. "What are you doing?" My chest heaves. Neither of the men answers me. The bigger man steps up to me, his face blank, and his eyes empty. There is no warning when the first blow strikes, hitting me in my stomach. I cough and wheeze as all the air is forced from my lungs by his fist. There is no time to recover when I am wrenched back by the hair on my head, and a second later, a fist comes flying at my face, my body seizes up as I prepare myself for the pain that follows. And though I am no stranger to having a man raise their hand to me, nothing can prepare you for such brutality. I cry out in pain when the man hits my face with such force my head snaps back.

  "Such a shame it had to come to this," Novikoff says through the sounds of my panting echoing off the walls as he comes to stand behind me. I shiver when he runs a finger up my bare arm, over my shoulder, then fists the hair at the back of my neck, forcing my head up and the one eye not swollen shut gazes into the camera where I know Nikolai is watching, and I can't stop the tears from running down my face.

  "Let's see, does your new bride have any last words, shall we?" The grip on my hair tightens. "Anything you'd like to say, Mrs. Volkov?"

  23

  Nikolai

  Several hours later, I'm sitting on our plane, heading to Russia, accompanied by my father, and three of our men. It's been almost twenty-four hours since my wife was taken. There is nothing more to do but wait. My hands are tied, and it's killing my insides, knowing how terrified she must be. My thoughts consume me as I stare out the cabin window into the vast darkness as night has fallen. My imagination tortures me—conjuring up all the thi
ngs Novikoff could be doing to Leah now, and I'm not there to protect her.

  The ringing of my father's phone jerks me from my growing turmoil. "Victor," he speaks into the phone. My father's expression changes, putting me on the edge of my seat. "Send it through." Are his final words before ending the call. He brings his eyes to my face, and I know whatever follows will not be pleasant to hear. "A flash drive containing Novikoff's demands was delivered to our home moments ago." My gut turns, fearing the worst. "Victor is uploading the file and sending as we speak." My father reaches for the laptop nearby and accesses the file via email. I hold my breath as he clicks.

  The cabin falls silent as the video plays. A dim spotlight flickers. My wife comes into focus, tied to a chair. Fresh blood trickles from her nose, her face reddened, making me aware someone struck her. The rage I've been stewing in intensifies, and my hand's fist at my sides.

  "What are you doing?" Leah's voice trembles as she tugs at her restraints. The fear in her eyes guts me. "Please," my wife pleads, "let me go," her cries like a knife to my heart. This is my fault.

  Novikoff steps out of the shadows, showing his face to the camera before coming to stand behind Leah. "Seems I have something which belongs to you." Novikoff runs his finger down the side of my woman's tear-stained face. "May I extend my congratulations on your marriage? It's a shame really, someone so young, beautiful, and innocent must pay for your sins."

  As difficult as it is to watch the scene play out, I will myself to not look away.

  "Your grandfather," he pauses. "He was a good businessman, saw value in all prospective endeavors. My business flourished with his iron fist in control." He stares directly into the camera, his eyes narrowing. "Now, I must steal, taking what I want from those who have turned their backs on me because you severed the ties your grandfather created." Novikoff's filthy aged hand touches my woman once more. He runs his palm down her arm until he reaches her hand, slips her wedding band from her finger, and whispers in her ear, but loud enough, the camera catches his words. "Do you love him?" Tears flow down Leah's face as she stares into the camera lens. She doesn't answer him. "You fell in love with the wrong man. What happens next is your husband's doing. You see, he took something from me—killed my son when he torched one of my warehouses." Novikoff eyes the rings he holds between his fingers. "For that, he will watch you suffer." Novikoff lifts his eyes, speaking directly to me. He cocks his head. "Your wife will pay the price for the death of my son. Her pain will be your pain." He steps to the side, and I notice two large figures step into view. "Don't worry. I will not kill her right away. With luck, she will last long enough to watch her husband take his final breath." Leah's eyes dart frantically between the two large men flanking both sides of her. I know what is about to happen, and I can do nothing to stop it. His last words turn my blood cold. "Consider this my wedding gift."

  The beating that follows causes my stomach to recoil, and bile to rise in my throat. Each blow my woman endures feels like a knife to my heart. I release a guttural roar, screaming at the computer screen. "Motherfucker. I will kill you."

  Not long after my outburst, the video ends. "We land in thirty minutes, sir," one of our men informs, and my father's nods.

  I pull a ragged breath in through my nose, trying to bring my emotions under control. "Do we have a time stamp on when this video was recorded?" I pace the floor.

  My father stares at his computer. "Six hours ago." Closing his laptop, he approaches me. "Control the rage. Right now, Leah needs you to be level headed and thinking clearly. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgment." His hand clamps down on my shoulder, and he looks me in the eyes. "Leah is a strong woman. She will fight for her life. We will get her back."

  Thirty minutes later, the plane touches down on the tarmac. When we deboard the flight, an army of our men are waiting for us. Victor steps out in front of them. "We just got word Novikoff, and at least two dozen of his men are held up down at the shipping yard. I've sent two soldiers to keep watch. They will report back with more information when it becomes available."

  "We need weapons," I tell him. Victor grins. My father and I follow him to the back of an SUV. Opening the hatch, he pulls out a hidden compartment, loaded with extra guns and magazines, then opens a nearby trunk. "You need more?" he raises his brow, and I begin to arm myself.

  "This will do." I reach for a semi-automatic with a night scope and laser point accuracy, load it, then sling it over my shoulder. "For now," I add.

  With every man armed, we load into the vehicles. Victor takes a call as he drives down the road, and I listen to his conversation from the backseat. He looks in the rearview mirror as he ends the call. "They know we are coming," I state, checking my gun.

  Victor keeps eye contact with me. "Yes."

  "And?" I ask, sensing there is more.

  "Novikoff was last spotted in building C near the loading dock. There hasn't been any sign of Mrs. Volkov."

  As we approach the shipyard's east gate, an explosion rocks the SUV we're in, and Victor slams the brakes bringing us to a dead stop. In front of us, three vehicles ahead, I can see one of the SUVs carrying a few of our men in flames. A spray of bullets peppers our windshield, only cracking the bulletproof glass. Men are shouting as they step out of their armored cars, returning fire on the unseen gunmen. I need to get to Leah. "Go—go—go," I yell, and Victor floors it, surging ahead. "Get us through the gate."

  "Hold on," Victor yells, just before busting through the metal gate. The SUV crashes against the side of an empty shipping container. The windows shatter, sending shards of glass flying. Through the window, I catch the approach of an armed man.

  Lifting my gun, the laser point finds its mark, placing the red dot center of his forehead, and I pull the trigger. Flinging the doors open, we exit the battered vehicle. Gunfire erupts around us, and bullets bounce off the pavement as the three of us climb from the wrecked vehicle. My father and Victor ready themselves. At the gate, I notice the rest of our men in a battle of their own.

  My father looks at me. "Go."

  Keeping to the shadows, I weave my way past containers until I have Novikoff's location in my sights. Scanning the area, I spot three men standing guard outside the building. I'm a fair distance away, so I ready my rifle. Kneeling, I look through the scope, lining up my first target. Pop. In quick recession, I squeeze the trigger two more times, dropping all three men in a matter of seconds. With my gun raised, ready to fire again, I approach the building. Out of nowhere, a car appears, barreling toward me. Blinded by the headlights, I fire, emptying the magazine before feeling the impact.

  Propelled backward, the side of my body slams against the pavement, knocking the air from my lungs. Shaking the daze from my head, I look for my weapon, which lies several yards away. I get to my knees, feeling a burning pain in my side. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at a shuffling noise from behind. I fight through it, quickly getting to my feet. A fist to the side of my head causes me to stumble. My eyes lose focus. Just before the asshole lands another blow, I block it. Bringing my fist up, my knuckles crack against his chin, knocking him back a few steps. My attacker steps into the path of the headlights. Novikoff's other son, Yuri, advances on me, pulling a long-serrated blade from a sheath on the side of his thigh.

  "You killed my brother." He lunges, and a searing hot pain hits my shoulder as the blade cuts into my flesh. I take hold of his wrist, contorting it in an unnatural angle until the knife falls from his hand. Stepping behind him, I wrap my arm around his neck in a chokehold. Stumbling backward, he slams my body up against the building. The back of my head smacks against the brick wall. He does this repeatedly, before throwing his weight forward, rolling us both to the ground. He elbows my ribs, and I struggle to maintain the hold I have on him. Within arm's reach, I spot his blade. In a risky attempt that may give him the upper hand, I release him, grab the handle of the knife in my hand, swing my arm back around and impale the blade into his chest, then rip it out. Doub
ling over, Yuri clutches his chest, blood dripping between his fingers, pooling on the ground beneath him.

  Breathing heavy, and wincing from pain, I stand. Walking a few yards away to where my weapon lays, I bend, picking it up off of the ground, but spin on my heels when I hear the sound of heavy footfalls coming up behind me. The barrel end of my gun comes face to face with my father. "Shit," I do my best to take deep breaths as the pain in my side intensifies. My father looks at the body on the ground.

  "Our men—Victor?" I ask, heading for the stairs leading into the building.

  "Cleaning up the mess," my father states.

  With precious time wasted, I jog up the stairs, flinging the door open. A bullet whizzes past my head, leaving a hole in the door behind me. Before I can raise my weapon, my father kills the man who fired the shot. His body falls over the second level railing. Ascending the second set of stairs, we cautiously approach the only room on the second level, overlooking the ship dock. With the door already open, I enter the room, finding it empty—our heads jerk at the ringing of a phone lying on the desktop, a cell phone. Walking over, I swipe the screen, putting the phone to my ear.

  "Nikolai?" Leah's weak voice comes through the other end.

  "Leah. Baby, where are you?" I ask, desperately waiting for her to answer.

  "Come now. You didn't think it would be that simple, did you?" Novikoff's sinister voice is what I hear instead. "The clock is ticking, Volkov." An explosion rattles the glass window panes. "In twenty minutes, a bomb, similar to what you just heard, strapped beneath your wife's chair will detonate. I wonder if you will find her in time before all that's left of her is tiny pieces."

  "I'm going to kill you with my bare hands," I seethe, my hand tightening around the phone.