Chapter 8
Nikolai
Iwake early to the sunlight streaming through the drapes at my bedroom window and sigh in contentment. Luxuriating on my blood red silk sheets for a moment, I stretch my arms above me and smirk.
Today, all seems right with the world. Anya is my captive and my plan is truly set in motion. Thoughts of her bring a grin to my face. Last night, my dreams were filled with memories of how much I enjoyed torturing the little bitch. I replayed the moment of her reluctant submission over and over in my mind. She melted under my ministrations like nobody before her. Victoriously, I recall her pinked cheeks as she begged for me to continue pleasuring her. The memory brings a laugh bubbling up in my throat. The little vixen craved my touch.
I can’t even imagine how pathetic her past lovers must have been. There is so much passion and unspent lust locked in her body and I coaxed it from her so easily. She’s the type of buttoned up girl that needs somebody to force the release of her inner slut.
Recalling her mortified face when I pulled away from her, I laugh aloud. Her confusion was evident in her expression and she was desolate at the loss of her release. I love that. It’s a memory I will cherish for a long time. I wonder if she listened to my demands. I wonder if she didn’t, and she touched herself to the memory of me last night. Did she imagine that she could recreate my touches with her own hands? Did she lay awake, dreaming about me? I have to imagine that she did. I bet the shame of wanting to would have her restless. I’ll have to have Ivan report to me, telling me of her behavior in the morning when she comes down for breakfast. I’m looking forward to the opportunity of tormenting her just a little bit more. If nothing else, it’s going to make work go by very quickly today.
As I rise from my bed, I feel more satisfied than I have since my father’s death. Though the pain hasn’t faded, it has transformed into something new. My thirst for revenge will chip away at it; I’m certain of that. When I break the bitch, it will be my greatest victory, and it will supersede anything that has passed before, honoring my family.
I pad over to the closet and retrieve a black shirt and slacks. The entire contents of my wardrobe consists of black clothes. I’ve never been a man for color, though after last night I have a fondness for the red that her skin turned. I start to make my way toward my bathroom, but I pause. I can still smell Anya’s scent on my skin; I don’t want to wash it off yet. It reminds me of the triumph I achieved last night. Instead, I quickly brush my teeth and spray my Serge Lutens onto my neck before pulling on my clothes.
Today is going to be a good day.
I can feel it in my bones.
Several cold showers later I still don’t feel much better.
I shouldn’t be this worked up over some bitch. She’s my prisoner. She means nothing to me. She”s just a body I can use however I want until she outlives her usefulness. I need her for her connections to her father... and I will do everything in my power to hurt him in whatever way will last the longest.
But Anya felt so fucking good under my hands. I can”t stop replaying the moment she surrendered to me. I can”t get the look on her face out of my head when she desperately needed me to give her pleasure, so much so that she did what she thought was impossible. So quickly, too. I can’t wait to see what other highs I can take her to. How much further can I push her?
I have to be careful.
She challenges me and I like it—too much.
So often women throw themselves at me, cooing and moaning like they want to be porn stars, as if that’s what a man like me really wants. No. I want the fight. I want the struggle and the hard-earned victory. I want the challenge because that’s what really gets my blood pumping.
Helena was dangerous. She was like a slow acting poison and each of her touches left me aching for more… she had been so spectacularly good at what she did. She knew how to please me sexually and I never needed her to fight. She was like a drug—intoxicating, addicting, always leaving me with that little itch for more. That was part of how I had gotten so muddled in her.
Anya is like morphine. A lightning strike, a pit viper ready to strike and fight; even the smallest submission from her has left me feeling more gratified than anything I can ever remember feeling before.
In order to keep myself from walking right back up into that locked bedroom and finishing what I started, I busy myself with work. I’ve taken great care in setting everything into neat places to make this work smoothly.
However, I was expecting that her father would have at least attempted to check in with her by now. At the very least I expected for him to ping her location—if I had a daughter there was no way that I wouldn’t have her location turned on at all times. Even if he doesn”t, he has to be aware of the sudden acquisition of properties across Nevada in the Volkovich Holdings name. I have not been subtle.
My office is located on the floor above the duplex apartment in my Vegas home. It is simply decorated with a large desk against one wall, a single chair on each side of it. The truth is that most people that visit me here are restrained by my men anyway. This suits me just fine; I didn’t get to this position by making friends.
I slump down into my sumptuous leather chair and swing my legs up onto my desk, crossing them at the ankles.
I don’t plan on spending the entire day in here but I need to find out how my business is running. With my mind so full of thoughts of revenge, I’ll confess that I have been neglecting it lately. I don’t really trust anybody else to be competent enough to keep it going for any length of time.
If there’s one thing that I have learned in my thirty-three years on this earth, it’s that nobody can be trusted. I still bear the scars of those lessons on my body and mind. I’m sure that if I was in possession of a soul, it would be equally as fucked up as the rest of me.
My father always believed that actions speak much louder than words, and I apply that business model to every aspect of my life. I’m ruthless, and I don’t apologize to anybody; and people tend to think twice before attempting to fuck me over.
Straightening my jacket, I quickly get to work, rummaging through the piles of paper that litter my desk. I’m pleased to see that deals have been completed in Paris and London, but I frown at the sight of a ‘pending’ by the New York deal. I’ve been trying to negotiate with the Italians for months. They haven’t been prepared to budge on the price so far. It’s infuriating and when I’m angry, I’m at my most dangerous.
Seething, I log onto my computer and hit the video call button to contact Daniel. The young man is my newest assistant. My previous one was in an unfortunate accident that broke every bone in his body. Sadly, he can”t even feed himself, let alone work for me. He is lucky in some ways. At least, I allowed him to keep his tongue. Many people who have crossed me in the past have not been so fortunate.
He answers quickly, clearly concerned at the call. I rarely contact him, leaving him to take care of my East Coast operations. At barely twenty-two, the blond-haired man is just a boy in my eyes, but he’s honest enough, from what I can tell, and that’s what matters to me.
He’s a Harvard graduate, and a few months ago he walked into the job interview with all the confidence in the world. However, when he catches sight of me now, he’s a gibbering wreck, which brings a smile to my face.
“Daniel,” I greet him neutrally, nodding at him.
“Mr. Volkovich!” he splutters, throwing down the pen in his hand and surging to his feet. Nervous tension radiates from his body in thick waves. “I didn’t know you were calling me today. I thought you were busy in Las Vegas. You said you’d be unreachable for the foreseeable future.”
Raising a brow, I stare coldly at him, enjoying how easy it is to intimidate the boy. “Do I need to send written notice when I plan on calling my own assistant?” I ask him sardonically.
He shakes his head vehemently. “Oh, no, it’s not that. It’s just that I could have, uh, prepared for you to come.”
“Now, Daniel,” I say, drawing out my words. “Do we truly need to stand on ceremony here? We’re a family, are we not?”
“Uh, yes, of course,” he stutters.
Deciding that I have tortured him enough for now, and I need to get down to business. “How is the New York deal with the Italians going?” I ask, leaning back in my chair as I stare coolly at him. “I couldn’t help but notice that it has not yet been finalized. That doesn’t make me very happy.”
Daniel splutters for a moment before nodding reassuringly. “It’s going well, Sir,” he responds, a forced smile on his face. “We should be able to get them to agree to take the heroin this week. They’re still trying to negotiate over the price, but I have our best men on it. They’ll agree to our offer, I’m sure of it.”
Narrowing my eyes, I search his face for any sign of dishonesty, though it’s hard to tell with a screen and a few thousand miles between us. The man is young and green and doesn’t know what it’s like to face my wrath if he’s lying. Luckily for him, I see no sign of a lie. “Good,” I say with a firm nod. “Make sure that it’s completed by the end of the week. If they shirk away, twist their arms. Or necks.”
“Absolutely, Sir,” he says, gulping audibly on the other side of the screen.
Satisfied, I turn my attention to more pressing matters. Cutting off the call, I stare at my blank desktop screen for several moments, taking a breath. The boy still has an issue with violence, but he’s learning very quickly. He knows well enough not to speak unless he’s spoken to, and his brain keeps him invaluable to me. Still, it’s always good to keep him on his toes.
I log onto a technically forbidden section of the internet and search through the police database, typing Anya”s name into it. I expect to find a missing person’s report but I frown when no records come up. I quickly go through my own message records and find nothing. Strange. I lean forward in my chair and sit up straighter. I want to make sure that it has my whole attention and that I’m not missing something, somehow.
Nothing.
No announcements, no police reports filed, no detectives on the case. It’s as if the girl is not missing at all. Granted, she’s only been gone for two days but surely her loving daddy wants to know what happened to his little girl.
A part of me thought that Anya’s father would have realized I was the one who took her. Surely, he’s not na?ve enough to think that I wouldn’t retaliate after what he’d done. Yet there have been no attempts to contact her. It’s undoubtedly strange, and sends a frisson of concern up my spine, making me frown.
It puzzles me that there has been radio silence from him, and I cannot understand it. Why would the man not be chomping at the bit to search for his precious daughter? The lack of action makes me wary, and I rise to my feet pacing the floor. Heat creeps up my neck and something doesn’t feel right. I remember how easily Anya fell into my arms last night and it raises my suspicions. Surely, history cannot be repeating itself, can it?
Quickly, I dismiss that idea. Anya is too innocent and na?ve to be like Helena, and I can tell that her feelings for me are pure contempt. She”s not pretending to care. The differences between the two women were night and day. Helena was a minx. Both women are firecrackers, but they are of different types. Still, it”s odd that Anya hasn”t made it onto the radar.
Tapping my fingers against the desktop, I decide that I need to familiarize myself with her and her father. I stride over to the file cabinet in the corner of the room and yank it open, fishing out a large bound folder. Tossing it onto the desk with a clunk, I search through the pages to find the surveillance reports on Anya. I feel victorious as I begin to read each page.
April 7th – 12:17 pm – Anya meets with her father at Café Lola. The two talk for a while before she appears to become upset and leaves.
May 2nd – 8.12 pm – Anya visits her father’s office. He is still on the premises. She returns twenty-three minutes later and drives away in her car.
June 30th 10:02 am – Anya makes a call to her father. The transcript of the conversation recorded through our surveillance equipment and bugs follows:
Anya: Hey Dad, I thought that we were supposed to meet for dinner last night. I was at the restaurant, but you didn’t show up.
Mr. G: Sorry, honey, I had some business to take care of. I know I should have let you know, but the time got away from me, and before I knew it, it was after midnight.
Anya: I wish you had told me. I felt like an idiot just sitting there alone at the table, Dad.
Mr. G: We’ll take a raincheck, alright? The next time, I promise I’ll take you someplace special to make up for it. (Pause) I’m sorry but I have to go. My secretary is telling me that there’s an urgent call on the other line.
As I read and reread every line of the file, committing it to memory, it becomes clear that they are not exactly close. He seems to have distanced himself from his daughter or maybe he truly does not give a shit about the girl. The latter would be the only explanation for his stillness.
I shake my head. A small miscalculation on my part, easily rectified though. The man is almost as coldhearted as I am from the looks of things. It’s rare that I meet my match, but nobody has ever beaten me and I don’t plan on letting that happen now.
This victory is mine for the taking and all the pieces are set. This game of chess will be my finest of all.