by Vi Carter
THE COLLECTOR
THE CELLS OF KALASHOV BOOK ONE
A DARK RUSSIAN MAFIA ROMANCE
BY VI CARTER
OTHER BOOKS BY VI CARTER
WILD IRISH SERIES
RECKLESS (prequel)
VICIOUS #1
RUTHLESS #2
FEARLESS #3
MERCILESS #4
HEARTLESS #5
THE BOYNE CLUB
DARK #1
DARKER #2
DARKEST #3
PITCHBLACK #4
THE OBSESSED DUET
A DEADLY OBSESSION #1
A CRUEL CONFESSION #2
THE CELLS OF KALASHOV
THE SIXTH (NOVELLA)
THE COLLECTOR #1
THE HANDLER #2
WARNING
This book is a dark romance. This book contains scenes that may be triggering to some readers and should be read by those only 18+ or older.
CHAPTER ONE
NICHOLAI
Strobe lights bounce off every space, the flow of the dancers is broken from one motion to another. Bodies pulse and sweat out their sin. The playground of sin: Gail’s. The club has built up a reputation for just that. I move two women kissing aside, their faces blissfully stare up at me as I move past them. All around me reminds me why I love Gail’s. I come here when I need to forget who I am and what I do. But tonight, I’m not here for pleasure. I’m working. Pavel, he’s my next target, the one I must collect and deliver to the can. I always get twenty-four hours from the moment I receive the message, to have them placed in the can to be collected by someone else. I never wait around; it’s not my job to know what happens after I deliver them.
A woman, who appears possessed, jerks and falls to the ground. The crowd moves back but continues their dance around her. I glance around until I find who I seek. Dimitri. I nod and he moves away from the wall and clears a path towards me.
“A woman has collapsed.” I jut my chin behind me.
“Thank you, Nicholai.” Dimitri vanishes into the crowd. His body is clad in black leather, covering up all his tats that I know are painted onto his body. He once worked within the Bratva, but somehow he found a way out. I had no idea how many lives it cost for him to leave, but I’m sure he gave up someone he shouldn’t have, to get out. He was frowned upon, but he moved close to the circles that I moved in, so making an enemy of a man like Dimitri isn’t wise.
I break through the crowd and climb the five steps that are cushioned with red carpet. The chain that stops the clubbers from crossing, is removed for me before I even have to pause in my stride.
“Pavel?” I ask.
“Third room on your left.”
I nod as the chain is placed back on the hook. I take in a lungful of cleaner air. It’s tinged with a different kind of sin, but one that I’m accustomed to. The heavy hitters take up most of this part of the club. I reach the third door and pause. Taking out my gun, I make sure it’s loaded before stuffing the piece back into the band of my trousers. I glance left and right before knocking three times. The door opens slightly.
A bellboy is ready to dismiss me, but his eyes slowly widen. I place my finger over my lips before beckoning him forward with two fingers. He hesitates and I tilt my head, he wisely steps out of the room and races past me.
“Who’s at the door?” Pavel asks.
I step into the darkened room and gently close the door behind. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting in the room. Pavel is seated with his back to me. A girl dances in a glass box. She’s naked, her head is thrown back as she runs her hand down her body and in-between her legs.
I look away from the blond beauty and walk to Pavel.
“I asked, who is it?” His irritation has him ready to turn in the chair.
I grip the chair, freezing it in place. “Enjoy the show a few more minutes, Pavel.”
He tries to turn, but I grip his shoulders, forcing him to stay in the chair.
“Collector.”
I’m not sure if my title is said with fear or a plea, maybe both, but either way, I hold Pavel still and watch the blond touch herself. Her other hand runs up to her large breasts where she grips her nipples and squeezes.
“I can pay.” Pavel’s lame attempt at trying to bargain, has me dragging his fat ass out of the chair.
“Time to go.” I push him towards the door.
He stumbles before spinning around. His face grows gray as he runs a fat hand through his thinning dyed black hair. “I can pay.”
I crack my tattooed knuckles. “You know who I am?”
He nods. “The Collector.”
I’m easy to identify, and I like that. It gives the person around thirty seconds to come to terms with the knowledge that I’m here to collect and I always collect. My hair is tied up, both sides shaved; a black cross is tattooed into the side of my head. It's one of my markings, my identifier for who I am. Pavel’s gaze tightens.
“Have you ever heard of anyone not being collected?” I ask while taking a step towards him.
He shakes his head.
“Let’s go.”
He turns towards the door and opens it, knowing his fate is sealed. The chain is removed for us as I keep my gun pressed into Pavel’s back. Within the crowd, I didn’t want him to get brave and try something stupid. He weaves through the crowd and I nod at Dimitri as I leave.
The moment we are outside, Pavel starts to plead again.
“Name your price.”
I remove the gun from his back and tuck it into the band of my trousers. Pavel glances at me over his shoulder with hope in his eyes, like I might have changed my mind. I reach out and grip the back of his neck, directing him to my car that’s parked down the next alleyway.
“Please, I can give you anything you desire.”
“I don't desire anything,” I answer him, as I keep a check around us, making sure no one is watching at this hour of the night. The streets are devoid of much life. In the next thirty minutes they will bustle with the clubbers, as the doors to Gail’s will close.
My car bleeps, the orange lights flash in the dark alleyway. I wave my hand close to the trunk and it opens. Pavel tries to talk, but I push him in and slam the trunk down on him. His thumps start, but the moment I get in and the engine purrs to life, the music drowns out the beating of his fists.
I drive through the city and out into a more barren landscape. Out here in the wilderness is an outhouse, or what we call the can. It’s where I leave each person I collect, and from there, at some point, they are picked up by someone and brought to Victor. I have no idea what happens to the people. All I know is that each time I deliver someone new, the can is empty, its previous occupant gone.
Each person I collect has done a wrong that has gotten the attention of Victor. So, that’s never good. I turn off onto a dirt road. I’m aware of the dust that dances and no doubt sticks to the sides of my black Audi that I just had cleaned.
The sun breaks across the sky, painting it in oranges and reds. I pull the car over and get out. Pavel isn’t banging anymore. I pop the trunk and he blinks a few times.
“Get out.”
He climbs out. “Who sent you?”
I slam the trunk and jut my chin out towards the small building. “Walk.”
Pavel does.
“Victor sent me.” I had never met Victor, but he’s my boss and you don’t disappoint him.
“Why?” he tries to glance at me over his shoulder and I push him on. “I don’t know. All I know is who I have to collect.”
; I open the lock on the door and stand back for Pavel to enter, he leans in but doesn’t enter the concrete box. I push him in and he spins. “Please, I will give you anything.”
I close the door and lock it. His fists colliding with the steel door. Every person I place in the can does the same, like it might make me turn around and set them free. I climb into the car and the engine roars to life. If I let them go, my life would be taken instead. I slap on a pair of sunglasses and drive back to the city.
***
The large black structure catches the rays of the sun, making all the angles of my home sharper. The gates open and I drive slowly up the winding driveway until I pull into the garage. My phone dings in the dock and I remove the device before getting out of the car. Entering the house through the kitchen, I turn on the coffee pot and pull the tie off from around my neck.
I open the message that has been sent from an unknown number
Mila Ivanov. Detain within the next twenty-four hours and keep her until further notice.
I re-read the message twice. This was new. I had never kept someone I had collected before. An uneasy feeling skitters up my spine, but I would do my job. I always did.
MILA
“Good morning, Igor.” I hide a grin as he tries to tackle the weeds that have overtaken the flower bed.
“It is not a good morning, Mila.” He stands with hands on his hips and looks down at the mess. My brown satchel hits my hipbone and I push it towards my back.
“I think you should remove it all and don’t even bother trying to separate the weeds from the plants.” It was too hard to tell which was which.
“I think you're right, Mila,” Igor says. Soft blue eyes smile up at me. He’s been a resident of this apartment complex since before I moved in six years ago. He’s been a constant in my life that helps balance out my unpredictable past that I’ve buried. When I moved in here, it was a new start for me.
“I better get to work.” I touch his back gently and Igor waves me off as he tackles the overgrown mess. I live close to Teapots, that’s where I am a waitress. I pull my satchel back to the front as it hits my bum as I walk. I glance over my shoulder, momentarily blinded from my blond hair, that I tuck behind my ear. Tugging my wine colored coat tighter around me, I hate the sense that I’m being watched.
I am naturally a paranoid person, and I didn’t think anyone would blame me, if they knew my past. I quicken my steps and continue to peek over my shoulder, but each time I look behind me, I’m met with mocking emptiness. Strong hands grip my arms and I swing around, nearly walking into a man.
“Oh, sorry.” I apologize as I glance down at the tattooed hands and all the way up to a pair of dark eyes. Something deep inside me stirs and runs in fear. His hair is tied back, the sides shaved. The black cross tattooed onto his head has me stepping out of his large hands. He towers over me and I lock my knees to keep upright.
He nods before stepping around me. I can’t breathe as I turn and watch his large frame clad in a dark suit walk down the sidewalk. He never looks back, but my throat grows taut. I know who he is. My vision wavers and I stumble forward, my mind won’t settle as I automatically arrive at work. Removing my bag and jacket, I wrap an apron around my small waist.
The Collector.
I had just met The Collector. He had to be here for me, but he’s gone, I try to tell my racing heart. He’s gone. You are fine. You’re here at work.
I grab my pad and pen and give my boss a tight smile as I make my way out onto the floor. I’m unsteady and my mind is frazzled. Was he here for me?
Of course he came for you, Mila. You knew he would.
I scold myself as I step up to a table and take the order from the couple. I scribble it down and walk away, giving the order to the cook. I start to clear off tables. I need to run. I need to go right now! What am I doing?
I fill a tray with dirty plates and try to tell myself that maybe he had someone else to collect. Fear clutches my throat and I press my palms onto the table like I might be able to stop the onslaught of emotions that threatens to pour out of me.
I straighten and walk over to my boss.
“I’m so sorry, Elena, I need to go.”
“You just got here.” She frowns. “Are you sick? You do look pale.”
“She always looks pale.” Kat laughs from the kitchen and I force a smile that doesn’t last.
“Yeah, I’m not feeling well at all.”
Elena nods. She’s a good boss and I’m a good waitress.
“Thanks, Elena.” As I get my bag and coat, I try not to glance around the space. I might never see it again. I can’t stop the tears that burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them spill. I leave out the side door. I don’t get far before I press my back against the stone wall and take in gulps of air.
I want to scream. Running isn’t an option. But you got six years. I remind myself. I knew I only got those six years because of Victor. I wasn’t hidden here. It was an illusion that he had sold to me and I had bought it without question.
I push off the wall and start the walk back to my apartment. I’m waiting for The Collector to appear and grab me, but no one does.
Igor’s gray eyebrows rise and I try to force a smile for him. “Forgot something.” I wave him off and his eyes narrow slightly, but he goes back to his job. I take out the keys to my apartment as I climb the steps.
I keep thinking of running, but I already know how silly the idea truly was. Yet, the survival part of me won’t give in.
I open the door and the smell of my vanilla candle is the first thing to greet me. My stomach tightens and I meet my blue eyes in the mirror. I drop my gaze as I pull off my jacket and hang it up. I close the door and enter the kitchen that is already a small room. Now it shrinks to nothing as The Collector sits at my table with his tattooed hands joined. My gaze jumps to the spiderweb that’s tattooed on his neck. He did time in prison. Being Bratva made his list of possible crimes long.
I untie the apron that I had forgotten to take off. My stomach tightens as the chair screeches along the floor as The Collector rises.
“You’ve come to collect,” I say without meeting his gaze. I fold the apron with the same care I would always give it.
Biting on the inside of my jaw stops the onslaught of tears that want to spill. I want to ask to take a final walk around my home. Maybe take some photos that I had kept from my childhood. I knew I would never return. What I might be going back to has me hunching my shoulders. Death looked like a better option, but I’m a coward. I never could end things, I didn’t have it in me. It would have been kinder to myself.
“Pack a few things.” I frown at him. I didn’t expect that courtesy, but I would take it. Pack a few things, like what? Pictures, clothes, toiletries? Would I be returning to the mill? My stomach coils. You made it through it once, you can do it again.
But could I? Tears spill and I wipe them away fast as I randomly grab clothes and toiletries. I finally grab the photo album before unplugging everything in each room. The Collector waits in the kitchen. His arrogance nearly makes me want to run, but I know he can kill if he wants.
My mouth waters and I swallow the saliva. I return to the kitchen with my bag and The Collector rises. His eyes don’t meet mine. “Lets go.”
I pull the bag up on my shoulder and take one final look at my small kitchen. Some part of me that knows what’s coming, shuts down, and I become numb as I follow the collector to his car. He pauses when he reaches it and opens the trunk. I sling my bag in and walk to the front of the car, opening the passenger door. I glance up to see The Collector staring at me. He closes the trunk before walking to the driver side. His eyes don’t release me until he disappears inside the car. I get in and focus on fastening my seatbelt, the tremble in my hands has me attempting to lock the belt in three times before I succeed. I watch the wall move past me in a blur. Liddi’s screams send waves down my spine and I try to curl my body in on itself. I can’t go back there. Panic claws up my thro
at and I silence it.
One, two, three, four, five…. I count. I count until I lose count and have to keep starting again. I count as tears stream down my face and my body is wracked with trembles that I can no longer control. It’s like my nerves were crackling and popping and I can’t stop the assault on my body.
The slick car under me barely allows the rough surface to affect its occupants. My stomach churns. Blood money, that’s what paid for a car like this. I glance at The Collector. His neck is coated with tattoos, there are more skulls and crosses tangling themselves in the web. A thick scar is woven with a gray snake. Being this close, I can see the ragged skin, otherwise it looks like two snakes intertwining.
The car slows and we pull up to the black marble structure. The gates slowly open and with each inch they part, I can sense my doom.
CHAPTER TWO
NICHOLAI
They normally fight, spit, and scream. They beg me and offer me everything and anything. I glance at Mila as I pull into the garage. Already so much about this situation is different. She hasn’t stopped this process once. Women are normally worse than men. I don’t get many, but when I do, they cry and dig in their heels. I’ve had sexual offers made in exchange for their freedom. The second odd thing about Mila, is that she is the first person that I didn’t have to bring to the can. She’s also the first person in my home.
Blue eyes that are heavy with despair glance at me. I open the car door and yank off my tie. “Get out.”
She does without hesitation. She was also the first person who I collected that rode up front. I pop the trunk and get out her bag. When I look up at her, she’s staring at her feet. I close the trunk and enter the house. She follows me. Now this is the part that I am unsure of. Steam rises from the full coffee pot. Throwing her bag and my tie on the counter, I get myself a cup. She’s standing in the doorway; her eyes are drawn to her bag.
