The Collector: A Dark Russian Mafia Romance (The Cells of Kalashov Book 1)

by Vi Carter

  His slaps were delivered with his full force, I never experienced the impact until now. My jaw still burns, my stomach throbs. I blink angry tears.

  Liddi was stronger than most. Each slap he delivered she took, and in retaliation she laughed at him. I had left the comfort of my bed and started to bang on the door for help, but no one came. I had kept my back to them and felt along the wall until I reached the corner. It was there I had hunkered down and covered my ears. I had listened to screams of pain before, just never this close, but my body responded like it always did, knowing that I couldn’t do anything as if it was happening on the other side of the door.

  Her laughter had turned to screams, her screams had pleaded with me to help her. I had been frozen to the spot, fear choked me and a scream pulled from deep inside me and I screamed with her. I screamed long after Liddi stopped.

  I tuck my face into the sleeve of my top and wipe some of the tears away. I lie there and hate where my mind keeps drifting too. Her screams haunt me.

  ***

  I wake with a jolt. I know it’s the middle of the night. A large hand covers my mouth. My gaze zooms in on The Collector. He uncuffs me and he’s so careful with the cuff, making sure it doesn’t rattle. His eyes meet mine again and my stomach churns. His arms wrap around me and he lifts me from the floor. I don’t speak as he carries me from the sitting room and into the kitchen. Soft music plays as he carefully places me on the chair.

  I’m aware of everywhere his hands touch and I hate that. I don’t want to be aware of him. He leaves and I watch him make a sandwich. My stomach rumbles on cue as he places it in front of me. He hasn’t spoken but his eyes are roaring at me, they roam across my face taking in each mark that Oleg placed on my flesh. His eyes trail across my top and I don’t want to see what lies under it. He pushes the sandwich closer to me and I pick it up and start to eat. Once I have half of the sandwich gone, I slow down.

  “Thank you.”

  “How do you know Oleg?” His question has the bread turning heavy in the pit of my stomach.

  “I don’t.” I close my eyes as I finish the other half of the sandwich.

  “You’re lying.” The Collector lets out a heavy breath.

  “Why are you feeding me?” I drop the sandwich onto the plate. His kindness was crueler than Oleg’s.

  “If you don’t want to eat, then don’t.” He tries to sound like he doesn’t care, but fails.

  I shift on the chair and my side throbs. I grit my teeth until the pain passes. The Collector gets up and towers over me.

  “Let me take a look.”

  “No.” I hold my head high. He couldn’t really help me.

  “Mila.” His warning has all my defenses dropping. It’s the first time he had used my name. The understanding is visible in his eyes. He knows what he is doing. It’s like naming a pet, you don’t do it—if you do— you get attached. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

  I let my hands hang at my side and he steps in closer. His unique scent circles around me and I reach out to steady myself.

  “Ublyudok.” He hisses the insult in Russian and I agree with him. Oleg is a bastard. He touches my side and I inhale, sucking my flesh away from his fingers.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  My gaze flickers to his. It’s there on the tip of my tongue, ‘No, but you will let others hurt me.’ I wasn’t his responsibility, he owed me nothing, so my anger towards him was silly. I turn my head away as he continues to prod at my abdomen, it hurts, but nothing feels overly tender.

  He seems satisfied and steps away. The loss of his warmth is immediate.

  “Why does Victor want you?” The Collector asks the question like he doesn’t really want the answer.

  I close my eyes. Him knowing that won’t do any good. Oleg’s warning to keep what happened at the mill to myself, still burns my flesh.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.” My lip trembles. Time moves and when I look at The Collector, he nods.

  “Come on.” I leave the kitchen and already panic starts to grow about going back to the sitting room, back to my thoughts that are like jagged glass.

  When The Collector climbs the stairs, I’m climbing them right behind him. Anything to distract me and keep my thoughts at bay.

  He takes me into the room with the four-poster bed. But he doesn’t stop at the bed like I expect. I’m waiting for him to tell me to lie down so he can cuff me again, and it would be an improvement from the hard floor downstairs; he enters the bathroom and turns on the water. The blinds are up and the moon is high in the sky.

  “Take a shower. I’ll get you fresh clothes.” My gaze snaps to him. I want to thank him, but he leaves me. I enter the bathroom and start to strip off my clothes. Each movement is painful, my body aches and I refuse to look at myself in the mirror. Movement behind me has me looking up. I meet a set of dark eyes in the mirror, eyes that burn with rage. Fear cuts off the air to my lungs. His gaze roams down the length of my body, and for the first time I follow in the mirror where his eyes trail along my flesh. My heart pounds as I take in the damage that Oleg did. My torso is painted in blacks and purples. My face is swollen on the left, yellow and red blossoms close to my hairline. The dark circles under my eyes; I’m not sure if they are from Oleg or tiredness.

  My hand curls around the counter as my heart threatens to leave my chest. Anger laces with shivers and I close my eyes, cutting off the image of the battered girl. She looks just like someone I used to know. She reminds me of Liddi. I keep my eyes on the ground as I step into the shower. I can’t look at The Collector again. The spray of the water on my body has me tensing and my tears mingle with the water as I gently wash my battered body.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NICHOLAI

  I can’t move as she steps away from the mirror and into the shower. Her body is black and blue. I release the t-shirt in my hand onto the bed. I want to go in there and look closer at her body; I want to let each mark sink fully in. I allowed that to happen.

  I had no choice. I didn’t know he was hurting her.

  What else was Oleg or Victor going to do to her?

  I walk over and close the blinds, trying not to pull them off the wall. Oleg had bugged the room. The room that Oleg had demanded that I keep Mila locked in. They were listening for something. She was placed with me for a reason. She knew something. Were they waiting for her to reveal it to me? I run my hand down my face. Why would she reveal something to me? It made no sense. The water stops running and I hold firm and don’t allow myself to enter the bathroom and tell her I’m sorry.

  I glance at the watch on my wrist. It was three in the morning. She had a few more hours before I needed to put her back in that room. Right now they would think she was asleep. My gaze touches her as she steps into the bedroom wrapped in a single beige towel. Her blond hair falls across her left shoulder. She looks so broken. I had asked her how she knew Oleg and she lied to me. I had to make her trust me. I had to find out why she was placed in my home, that is now bugged for them to hear what was being said between us. Why did she deny knowing Oleg.

  “My mother used to always say, ‘Don’t blame a mirror for your ugly face’.”

  Mila stares at me and her cheeks redden under the bruises.

  I take a step towards her, holding up a hand. “I’m not saying you’re ugly, in fact you’re beautiful.” I speak freely.

  She inhales a large gulp of air making her chest rise. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips. “What does it mean then?” She asks.

  It’s a question. One question leads to two, and then I won’t be able to stop it. I could let her get dressed and return her to the sitting room, and let her wait for Oleg to come back and collect her. That was the end result. There was no point entertaining this. She would be collected. Everyone was. Her blue eyes swim with what looks like hope, and she tightens her small fists around the towel before taking a step towards me.

  “She was telling me not to blame others for my own mistakes. I got
into this line of work because of my father and uncle. Being the only son and nephew, it was a path I was determined to follow. Even against my mother's wishes.”

  Mila’s eyes are wide, like she can’t believe I’m sharing and that makes me smile. For this moment I will allow this.

  “But when I told her that, she replied with ‘Don’t blame a mirror for your ugly face’. It’s stuck with me.” I can’t stop the smile. I loved my mother, but she had a wicked tongue. Even as she aged and I grew taller, overshadowing her, she was still formidable. She still dictated from the end of the table. Always trying to guide me in the right direction.

  ‘You’re a good boy, Nicholai. Be a good boy.’

  “She sounds wise.” Mila’s voice is small and soft.

  “Yeah, she was. I should have listened to her.” Regret at taking this job surprises not just me, but Mila too. Her eyes widened again in surprise. Goosebumps rise along her arms and I drop the jogging pants on the bed beside the t-shirt. Her eyes jump to the clothes on the bed.

  “I thought you might need something clean.”

  She tightens her hold on the towel again. “Thank you.”

  Her words are soft and I don’t want to hear them. I knew if I hadn’t collected her, some other collector would have. Whatever she did, caused this all to spin in motion.

  “When you’re dressed, come downstairs to the kitchen. Try to be quiet. I think they are listening to us.”

  Her color fades and she nods her head like she expected something like this to happen. Her gaze moves to the floor. I wonder, now that I have shared with her, will she share with me?

  I’m quiet downstairs and just to be careful, I turn up the music. I take out my phone and check the tracker. She’s coming down the hall, but she’s paused. No good can come from this. I try to talk myself off a ledge as I stare at the red dot. I wait and count to ten before she starts to move and I close the phone as she comes down the stairs.

  She looks unsure as she enters the kitchen.

  I need to make her comfortable. The need in me to understand this, has me pointing at the chair. “Sit down, I’ll get you a drink.”

  My t-shirt and jogging pants look good on her. I pour both of us a shot of Vodka. She takes it and swigs it down quickly before she starts to cough. I wait until she stops and drink my own.

  “They placed bugs in the sitting room and demanded that you be kept locked up in there at all times.”

  Her nostrils flare and her long fingers tighten on the glass.

  “Why would they do that?” I ask.

  I don’t stare at her, but get up and take the bottle of vodka off the counter and bring it back to the table. I fill hers and then mine. She drinks hers and coughs again, but it’s more controlled.

  “First time drinking,” she says when she stops coughing. She rubs her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Why’s that?”

  She looks away from me. “Strict parents.”

  “My father gave me my first drink when I was eight.” I share again, hoping to open her up. I was pissed out of my mind that night. All I remember is my father’s and uncle’s faces meshing together before I passed out. I woke to my mother flinging a bucket of water over me. She was mad. Mad enough to fire the bucket at me once I was awake.

  She doesn’t speak but stares into her empty glass. She’s hiding something. There was no doubt about it.

  I refill her glass and knock mine back before refilling my own. “Why don’t we play a game?”

  Her head shoots up to me.

  She looks like I’m going to eat her. “I ask a question and then you ask a question. Whoever doesn’t answer, has to take a shot.”

  “Isn’t that what we are doing?” She’s weary.

  “Yeah, I suppose it is.” I answer.

  “How long have you been The Collector?” Her question makes me smile. We were getting somewhere. She was interested and that would keep her here.

  “I was twenty-four when I got the job. So eight years.”

  Her gaze skims across my face and down to my neck. “How long were you in prison?” She fires.

  I smile. “It’s my turn” I remind her and she tucks her chin into her chest. I decide to start with something easy. “How long did you work at the café?”

  Her shoulders relax. “Six years ago. I was so lucky when I met Elena and she offered me the job.”

  Her gaze takes on a far off look. I wonder if she’s thinking of her old life that she had to leave behind. Dimitri’s daughter comes to mind and I drink down the shot.

  “I didn’t ask you anything yet.” Her smile is refreshing.

  I refill my glass. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “What was the first collection like?”

  I had thought she would go back to the question about prison. That seemed easier than this one.

  “The hardest.” I twirl the glass in my hand. I could drink and not answer. That was the game, but within the game we were playing a game.

  “I threw up.” I admit.

  Her lip tugs down slightly. “Why?” She whispers, and that’s a second question.

  “That’s two questions.” I remind her and she sits back.

  “Before the café, where did you work?”

  Her jaw tightens and she glances at the glass.

  Don’t pick it up.

  I’m hoping she trusts me enough to share something real about herself.

  MILA

  I want to get to know him, but I wasn’t sure if the price tag was too high. It wasn’t a hard question, it was more where it could lead. But no matter the question, each of them carried their own weight.

  “I didn’t work,” I answered.

  His clenched jaw doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “What happens when you collect someone?” I ask and he sits back. I wasn’t being fair, he was giving me more than he was receiving, but I was trying to give him everything he needed.

  “I drop them at the can. It’s a small building. I leave them there, and then that’s it.”

  I’m sitting forward. “What do you mean, that’s it?”

  He pauses and I curse myself. It’s two questions.

  “That’s it. Someone else picks them up.”

  “Like a delivery service?” I say, before I drink the drink to try to quench the anger, but it’s fuel to the fire.

  “How do you know Oleg?”

  I pick up my empty glass and twirl it in my hand. “I don’t want to go back into the room.” I look up at The Collector.

  He glances at his watch. “We don’t have much more time.”

  My heart bounces around in my chest. The Collector fills my glass. “I was in the mill,” I say and the vodka overflows from the glass and across my hand.

  His reaction has shame burning my face.

  “Sorry.” He gets up and grabs a towel.

  I can’t decipher what’s going through his mind as he starts to dab away at my hand.

  When he sits down, he knocks back his vodka before his dark eyes flicker to my face.

  “I’ve heard of the mill.”

  I snort a laugh, but it holds no humor. “Who hasn’t?” I even knew of it before Victor put me in it. A lesson he wanted to teach me.

  “Is that how you know Oleg?” His question has me shaking my head.

  “What does it matter? How do you know they didn’t bug your kitchen?” I could tell him how I knew Oleg, but that knowledge might bring a mess down on him and I didn’t want that.

  “I’ve checked the kitchen and it isn’t bugged. How you know Oleg does matter. I’m trying to understand all this.” He speaks through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, I knew him from the mill.” My voice is low and saying it out loud has my throat and eyes burning, I can’t look at The Collector. His lips are starting to curl up, no doubt in disgust but for all the wrong reasons.

  I glance at him, the level of anger in his eyes undoes me.

  “I wasn’t with him.” My chest heats.

 
He doesn’t speak.

  “He used to visit my roommate...Liddi.” I bit my lip to keep the emotion in. I didn’t think it would be this hard. I smile and my vision blurs.

  “I don't want to talk anymore.” I drop my gaze and wipe a lone tear that runs down my cheek.

  The Collector doesn’t move and I look up at him.

  “I’m ready to go back to the sitting room.” My lips tug down and he fills up my glass, but I shake my head. I didn’t want to play anymore. He had no idea.

  “Do you believe a cat has nine lives?” The Collector asks the question like it’s relevant.

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  “No.” He answers before drinking down another vodka.

  I drink my own. “Now you have to explain why you asked that.”

  “Three for playing, three for straying and three for staying. That’s what their nine lives added up to, or so their story went. I often wondered if I got nine lives, how would I live each.” He pours out another shot and I wonder if he is getting drunk.

  That thought is sobering. Never mind nine more lives, one more. A do over. What would I do differently?

  “If I could do it again.” I start and blink at the table. “I would have been stronger,” I admit. No matter how many times I’m reborn, I will be reborn into the same family, but if I was stronger, that is what could make the difference. My gaze flickers up to The Collector.

  “I think you are so much stronger than you think.” His smile is soft and my heart pounds at the kindness in his eyes. His gaze flickers to the shot of vodka before he refocuses on me. “You survived the mill.”

  I hear the unspoken question. How? The opinion of the girls in the mill was the same across the board. He, no doubt, thought I was a whore. After giving him a blowjob, I didn’t blame him. I drop his gaze and down the shot of Vodka.

  “I didn’t survive the mill.” I tap the glass on the table as the vodka burns my throat.

  Silence drowns us in the kitchen.

  “I better get you back.” He sounds unsure, and this time he doesn’t meet my eye. I’m grateful for the vodka, it’s numbed some of the pain.