Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KIRILL
It’s past midnight when Aleksei calls, just as I’m turning off the light in Lev’s room.
He finally fell asleep after another nightmare.
I wish he would tell me what he sees in his head when he wakes up shaking, eyes wide and searching for something that isn’t there.
I know he remembers. I see it in the way he clings to me after.
But he won’t say a word, like he’s afraid that saying it out loud will make it real again.
My phone lights up, Aleksei’s name across the screen. He never calls this late unless something’s wrong.
“Da?” I answer quietly, stepping into the hallway and pulling the door almost closed behind me so I don’t wake my son.
“I suggest you come to the club tonight. Let’s just say it’s urgent.”
“How urgent? I don’t want to leave Lev unless I have to.”
“Well, let’s just say…” He snickers. “If you don’t come, you’re going to regret it.”
The line goes dead before I can get another word in.
I stare at the screen, trying to decide if my brother is playing games or actually warning me. But with him, it’s usually both.
“Pizdets,” I mutter, already knowing I have to go.
Downstairs, Katya, the head housekeeper, is doing one last pass over the furniture, wiping everything down before turning in for the night.
“Katya,” I call.
She looks up, smoothing her hands over her apron. “Yes, sir?”
“I need to step out. Lev is asleep, but keep his monitor with you. If he wakes up, you call me. I won’t be gone long.”
“Of course.” She nods without hesitation.
I pause, listening for any sound from upstairs, for anything, while that familiar guilt needles at me for leaving him at night. But Lev is safe here. I know he is.
I snag the keys to the red Ferrari from the hook by the door and head out.
The drive to the warehouse isn’t far, especially with the way I drive, and this one is closer than the other locations we use to host the club. Rzvrt moves spots often. Old factories. Buildings we own. We have many properties at our disposal.
When I pull up, I don’t waste time. I slip on the plain black mask I keep in the car and head straight for Igor, the one checking masks at the entrance. He gives me a quick nod the second he sees me.
I step into the elevator and ride up to the top floor, cutting past the flow of people filing into the club. At the end of the hall, I head for the first door and let myself into the office.
Aleksei is there, seated in front of a bank of monitors. Security feeds cover the wall, every angle of the club under our control. The dance floor. The hallways. The private rooms. The staging area for the auctions.
“What the hell did you need me for?” I shut the door behind me.
He doesn’t look up right away, just flicks a few keys on the keyboard in front of him, switching camera angles and pulling up another window.
“I missed you too,” he says dryly.
“Aleksei.” My patience is already gone. “I left Lev at home for this. You know how much I hate doing that. So talk.”
He exhales like I’m the problem, then clicks once and drags something onto the center monitor until it fills the screen. “Okay. Here. Take a look.”
An application form stares back at me, Rzvrt’s logo at the top. Below it, blocks of text and filled-in fields.
“What am I looking at?”
“Claim auction paperwork. Tonight’s lineup.” He leans back a fraction. “One in particular may interest you. It did me.”
I scan the form, trying to focus on the words, but my attention keeps snagging on his expression, the edges of his mouth going tight like he’s holding back a grin.
He’s enjoying this too much. Which means I’m about to hate it.
Names blur past until one catches me off-guard.
Sloane Maddox
Net. Nemozhet byt. No. It can’t be.
She wouldn’t come here. There’s no way. How would she even know about the club? It’s secret unless someone is personally invited or knows another member. Who the hell does she know?
I scan the rest of the application, and when I hit the photo, my rage climbs fast.
She’s wearing that dress. The one from the night I saved her from that svolich. The dress that drove me out of my mind. It still does. I think about it more than I should, think about peeling it off her and all the dirty things I want to do to her, and I hate myself for every second of it.
Aleksei’s mouth curves. “It seems your homeless girl decided to join the claim.”
Why would you do this?
“Gde ona?” My throat grows tighter. Where is she?
Aleksei peers at another monitor, fingers moving as he pulls up a live feed from backstage. Women in masks and sheer gowns wait in a room, but I don’t care about any of them. I only need to see her.
When the camera angle shifts and he zooms in, that’s when I find her.
She sits on the far edge of a row of chairs, hands locked together in her lap so tightly her knuckles are white.
The mask covers half her face, but I’d recognize the line of that jaw anywhere.
I’d know every inch of her in a dark room.
She keeps rubbing her thumb over the same spot on her wrist like she’s trying to calm herself.
Shto ti delayesh zdes, detka? What are you doing here, baby?
“I would hurry if I were you,” Aleksei says, like this is all a fucking joke. “She’s about to go up.”
My fist hits the desk, and I lean in until my face is inches from his. “We need to shut it down.”
He lifts a brow. “You know the rules as well as I do. We don’t stop an auction once the lineup is announced. Not for anyone.”
“This isn’t anyone,” I snap. “This is…”
Mine.
I bite the word back before it can slip out. I don’t need to hand my brother any more ammunition than he already has.
“Blyat!” I slam my fist into the concrete wall beside the monitors.
Pain shoots up my arm, but it barely registers. Not compared to the hit that goes straight through my chest at the thought of someone else putting their hands on her.
I won’t let it happen.
“You still have a chance to claim her for yourself.” He flicks a hand in the air. “And we both know you want to. So go ahead. Act like you saved her, then keep her all for yourself.”
He’s right, and I hate him for it.
But I’m not wasting time arguing. I need to get to her before she’s handed off to the winner. Because if I’m too late, I’ll have to do something a lot more drastic to make sure she comes home with me.
The door bangs open as I storm out, my footsteps pounding down the corridor. The music swells the second I hit the main floor, lights flashing over masked faces and bare skin.
I cut along the edge of the dance floor, past the bar, past a couple pressed against the wall, my focus locked on the one woman who should never be here.
By the time I reach the auction room, my gaze goes straight to the stage at the far end.
Hundreds sit in attendance, little numbered paddles resting in their laps.
I step in just as the emcee finishes with the girl onstage and an employee guides her off.
“And now,” he announces, his voice carrying through the room, “please help me welcome claim number four, Ms. Sloane. Twenty-three, stunning, eager to please, ready to belong to her new owner for the next thirty days.”
A hush rolls through the crowd. Then she walks out, led by a woman who releases her hand at center stage before fading back into the shadows.
Every one of my muscles spirals as she stands there, barely dressed, under the eyes of everyone in the room.
My gaze drags over the crowd, over the people staring at her, and a violent urge rises to tear their eyes out for daring to look—at her perfect breasts, at the curve of her hips, at everything that makes my hands itch to take her, to mark her as mine.
When her hands tremble at her sides, I’m already moving toward the stage with every intention of pulling her off it. Consequences be damned.
What are you doing, solnishko?
The answer is obvious. Money. Desperation. Every reason she should have come to me instead of walking into a room full of strangers who will treat her like something to play with instead of taking care of her the way I would.
When the emcee lays a hand against the small of her back, giving her a little turn so the crowd can appreciate what they think is for sale, she goes rigid, and my jaw clamps so tight it throbs.
I’m going to kill him for this. I don’t care what Konstantin says about it.
“Starting bid at five hundred thousand,” he calls. “Do I have five?”
“Five,” I say, loud enough that the first few rows turn toward me.
The emcee’s head snaps in my direction. “We have five hundred. Do I hear six?”
Her eyes find mine, and her chest lifts like she just drew in a sharp breath.
That’s right. I’m here. You really thought you could hide this from me?
My anger only sharpens.
To my right, a man in a blue mask leans back in his chair, his attention shifting from Sloane to me as if I’ve finally made this interesting for him.
You don’t want to play this game, mudak.
“Six hundred.” He throws on a condescending smirk.
Sloane tenses, like she doesn’t want him to win.
Don’t worry, detka. He won’t.
“Eight hundred.” I raise my paddle.
I don’t lose. Not when it matters this much.
“Eight hundred. Do I hear nine?” the emcee presses.
“Nine.” The man’s eyes fix on me, grin widening like he has a death wish I will gladly grant.
“I would stop now if I were you,” I tell him.
A couple of people close enough to hear go still, but he just lets out a short laugh.
“I don’t think I will.” He draws in a long shallow breath. “I want her.” He lifts his paddle higher. “One million.”
Well, that was a mistake on his part.
Sloane sways, her knees dipping, and I would tear apart heaven and hell to get her off that fucking stage right now.
“One million,” the emcee calls. “Do I hear one point one?”
My gaze returns to the idiot who apparently wants to die tonight. “One point five.”
His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens.
“Last chance,” I tell him. “You should stop now. It’s in your best interest.”
His paddle lowers a fraction, his eyes sliding back to Sloane, taking in the way she’s shaking, the way her chest rises and falls too fast.
I almost think he might listen.
I’m wrong.
“Two million,” he calls, and the edges of my vision darken.
“I warned you.”
The room goes silent, and my hand is inside my jacket before anyone understands what’s happening.
Until the shot cracks through the room, bouncing off the walls.
His head snaps back as the bullet hits between his eyes, mask shattering as his body drops bonelessly to the floor. The woman beside him screams as blood sprays across her face, chairs scraping and panic rippling through the crowd as voices rise all around us.
But I ignore all of that, moving toward Sloane, who’s barely able to stand upright, swaying like her body hasn’t caught up to what just happened. She gapes down at the man bleeding out, then lifts her gaze to me, eyes wide and horrified even through the mask.
Then Aleksei appears, clasping my back as he laughs. “You’re even crazier than me.”
I push off of him, heading for the stage. He calls after me over the chaos.
“Konstantin will hate this mess! You know that, right?”
“Ask me if I give a shit.”