Nikolai: The Complete Collection

23. Nikolai

23

NIKOLAI

W ith my fists clenched and my back molars gnawing together, I stare at the live video of Justine playing on the screen of Rico’s phone. She appears relatively unharmed, but the clothes she wore this morning when I dropped her off at the airport have been cut open, exposing her pale-blue undergarments and wobbling knees to the world. Her face is ashen, enhancing the angry red streaks streaming from her eyes, and her gaze is wide and terrified.

Although the man standing behind her has his face hidden by shadow, I can testify it is Vladimir. The quickening of my pulse and the red-hot fury bubbling in my veins leaves no doubt about his identity.

The weak beat of my heart strengthens when a shouted, “Sixty thousand,” shrills through the speaker of Rico’s phone.

Like a freight train crashing into me, reality dawns.

He’s selling her.

Because Vladimir thinks Justine’s scars make her imperfect, he doesn’t want her for himself. He just doesn’t want me to have her.

He has been this way my entire life.

Anything I want, he takes.

If not for him, then for someone else.

“Counterbid,” I order when the amount rises by another ten thousand dollars.

Rico shakes his head. “I can’t.”

I storm toward him, preparing to knock two of his teeth into the back of his throat before using his phone to submit my own bid.

“We can’t bid because we haven’t been invited to the party. Justine’s sale is by invitation only. We can only see proceedings because we’re tailgating off an FBI feed,” Rico rushes out, stopping my steps mid-stride.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Roman sneers under his breath, drawing my focus to him from his rare use of an expletive. Recognizing he has the devotion of both Rico and me, he mutters, “Listen,” while nudging his head to Rico’s phone.

The room falls into resolute silence. I don’t even breathe for fear that my expanding lungs will drown out the bidding war over Justine.

With bids increasing by ten-thousand-dollar increments, her sale soon reaches the high six figures, but that isn’t what has us shocked into silence. It is the range of accents blaring through the speakers.

“There are no Russians,” I mutter more to myself than Rico and Roman.

Roman nods, agreeing with my assessment. “That’s why he made her sale invitation only, so neither you nor anyone associated with you could bid on her.”

Shifting my eyes to my floor, I struggle to subdue the anger tearing me in two.

I want to kill.

I want to maim.

I want to unleash the pain shredding me to pieces onto some poor, unsuspecting bastard, but if I do any of those things, I’ll never get Justine back. So instead, I graze my teeth over my bottom lip before asking, “Can Hunter get me a list of the men bidding on her? Their IP addresses? Names? Something?”

I’d prefer to gain access to Vladimir’s location, but knowing how tight his online security is, I’ll start with a less challenging task.

Rico’s brows stitch for the briefest second before he nods. “You know his skills as well as I do, so I’d say so, but why?”

I smirk to hide the callousness stewing in my stomach. It is a pointless endeavor when I reply, “Because I’m going to hunt down the man who wins her and slit his throat before he has the chance to touch her. Then I’ll do the same to Vladimir. There are rules in this industry, but the instant Vladimir dragged Justine into our fight, they became null and void.”

Rico must be on board with my plans as he slides a second, more outdated phone out of his pocket without any hesitation crossing his face.

What I am saying is true. The Popov founder was a bigamist but loved his wife without question. So much so, his protectiveness of her is undeniable in the rules the Popov empire has abided by over the past three hundred years.

A king is untouchable until he messes with another man’s queen.

By taking Justine, Vladimir made a fatal error, because not only can I now kill him, but I can do it without fear of repercussion.

My eyes drift to Rico when he says, “Hunter can’t access the server Justine’s auction is being held on. The security is so encrypted it will take days to bypass. We’re only in now because he is piggybacking off an FBI surveillance device tracking one of the bidders.”

Hearing a “but” hanging in the air, I verbalize it.

“But…”—Rico waits, building the suspense—“he can supply us with a list of bidders from a sale held last weekend.”

He stares at me as if I should know what he is referring to.

I don’t have the faintest fucking clue.

“It was the sale of a Czech woman,” he advises, his tone as high as his arched brow. When I remain quiet, still stumped, he growls, “The Czech woman you bid on and won last weekend. Hunter has access to that list.”

“One, I don’t pay for whores,” I grind out, annoyed at his accusation. “Two, I most certainly don’t take anything not willingly given, and you know better than anyone that the instant Vladimir’s whores submit, he gets rid of them. His clientele doesn’t appreciate passive women. And three, why would I pay for half a meal when I own the restaurant? Justine isn’t half a woman, Rico. She is all woman, and she is all mine . I can barely keep up with her insatiable needs as it is. I don’t need any more than she’s giving me.”

Rico keeps his narrowed gaze locked on me, either reading the truth from my eyes or silenced by my rare pledge of monogamy.

His slacked-jaw response isn’t shocking. Before Justine, exclusivity wasn’t my strong point. But with my desire for Justine more powerful than the world’s most potent drug, I’d never risk losing her for a measly few hours between the sheets with a woman who wouldn’t shine half a light on her.

“When all of this is over, you need to apologize to my wife,” Rico demands, his tone stern. “She went through hell because no one in our family understood her importance to me. I have a feeling things have now changed.” He waits for me to nod, before squashing his outdated phone to his ear. “Send the list,” he requests, accepting my silent pledge with a confidence I don’t deserve.

I was acting on behalf of Vladimir when I arranged for Blaire to be raped and murdered, but I’m man enough to admit I did treat her wrong. I could justify my malice because I was raised believing women are worthless, but that would be a pitiful excuse. The way Rico looked at Blaire left no doubt she was important to him. I just chose to ignore the obvious.

“Hunter is emailing us a list of names now,” Rico informs us, then returns his second cell to his pocket.

Not even thirty seconds later, we’re pursuing the possible names of the men bartering to make Justine their newest whore. Just as Roman had suspected, every nationality is represented in skin-crawling detail, except Russian. Vladimir did this on purpose. He must be aware of the connections I’ve made in the industry the past year, much less the past week, so he’s publicly announcing his defiance to the change in guard.

He is a foolish man.

Denying a Russian man the chance to bid on a woman with qualities as fine as Justine’s is as disrespectful as calling his бабушка a whore. Russian men are very protective of their grandmothers, their possessiveness nearly as strong as their love of a good woman.

Vladimir will pay for his insolence, but his punishment will be nowhere near as brutal as the wrath I will bring down on him.

The pit in my chest I’ve been struggling to ignore the past five hours grows when the reason for Justine’s low reserve suddenly smacks into me. Although the bids for Justine are still coming in hard and fast, Vladimir generally starts bidding in the high six figures. A woman of Justine’s caliber would quickly sell for over a million dollars, so there is only one reason Vladimir would start bidding at such a low amount.

“He’s doing a totem auction,” I murmur, my tone laced with fury. When Rico peers at me unaware, I explain, “Vladimir isn’t selling Justine. He’s loaning her out. Every man who bids on her will have an hour with her. The highest bidder goes first. Then, they continue down the list until every offer is exhausted.” My words are brimming with so much anger they sound like they were delivered straight from hell. “If Justine recovers from her first auction, he will commence proceedings again. He’s been operating totem auctions for the past six months. It’s netted him massive capital and a heap of criticism.”

“What the fuck, Nikolai?” Rico mutters, clearly shocked at the direction our entity took after his death. “There is wrong, and then there is wrong . This is way past fucking wrong .”

“This wasn’t me. This was all Vladimir’s undertaking. He saw an opportunity to make money and ran with it.”

Rico glares at me, not accepting my piss-poor excuse.

I deserve his wrath. I knew what Vladimir was doing, but I never voiced concern about his proposal because his distraction opened up business possibilities I never had the opportunity to pursue previously.

When the heat of Rico’s gaze becomes too great to ignore, I shift my eyes to Roman.

His stare matches Rico’s. He glares at me, allowing his eyes to convey words he’ll never be game to say out loud.

I told you so.

Roman expressed concern over Vladimir’s dealings for months, but with Vladimir’s new venture keeping him well-occupied, I took advantage of his absence. That’s how I amassed so many of his associates in such a short period. I’ve been strategizing my takeover since the day I turned sixteen, but the wheels were never set in motion until Vladimir’s interest moved from the weaponry trade to prostitution.

While he coerced our associates into purchasing women they could have for free, I convinced them they needed a stockpile of weapons to keep their newly acquired possessions safe.

With one exchange came another, closely followed by another and then another.

Within six months, my capital was doubled.

Although no amount of money will ever make Vladimir happy, it does make the world go round.

Ignoring the manic tic of my jaw, I drop my eyes to the sheet of paper. With the bids in Justine’s auction still coming in hard and fast, I scan the list of names three times before clarity finally breaks through the anger engulfing me.

How did I not think of this sooner?

It is the perfect solution to my predicament. I just need to tread carefully so Vladimir won’t hear my steps.

“I know a way to get us in.” I turn my eyes to Roman, the hope in them unmissable. “I need to borrow your phone.”