Grigori
The smile never leaves my face as I turn to see Chelsea hugging Sasha. The two make such a cute pair together. Though I'd rather my own dog answer to me and not another, it makes me feel good to know Chelsea has a little guardian. Hopefully, Sasha will help her feel a little less lonely. Turning back towards my office, I give them one final glance, etching that memory in my heart and mind forever.
As much as I know it hurts her, I've got to distance myself. That's the only way either of us will survive the upcoming ordeal. I glance back down at my phone, scowling at my uncle's summons. It would be a perfect way to test Chelsea out and get her onto his radar, but knowing I'll have to dangle her as bait so soon makes my stomach twist in knots.
Nikolai nudges me as I pause outside my door, no doubt wanting back into his fluffy bed. I glance down and pat his head, ruffling his fur for a moment. At least one of these beasts is loyal. Knowing Chelsea, she'll probably spoil Sasha so much it will ruin her. Another smile tugs at my lips.
We cross the threshold and pause to acknowledge the two men sitting opposite of my desk. They sit there, backs ramrod, every inch dripping with military control. The dark tattoos, barely visible as they peek out from their collars to encircle their throats, finish off the hardened edge. If anyone could find Anastacia, it would be them. I nod as I come around my desk, settling in to hear their reports. For the money they charge, no one should be able to hide from them.
"Well?"
The man on the left sighs, glancing over at the man on the right. That doesn't bode well. Unease drips down my body as they look at each other, neither wanting to tell me the news.
"We haven't found her yet, but we do know for a fact she disappeared out of your uncle's club. After she was taken, she's gone off all known radars. We've searched everywhere. I think it's time you consider putting in a plant. Hell, she could still possibly be inside the club, stuffed down deep in one of his lower rooms."
I glance over at the silent man, raising my eyebrow as I stare him down.
"Does any of the intel suggest that?" I'd burn that fucker to the ground if it meant saving Anastacia. Innocents be damned.
He clears his throat. "No. There have been no extra supplies that are unaccounted for. Our man on the inside hasn't seen anyone lingering after hours. Unless your uncle has a secret entrance, no one is going in and out. If she's there, she's dead."
Red fills my vision as I stand up and slam my palms against the desk. Neither men flinch under my wrath. Good. That's exactly the type of hardened men I need working for me.
"Do not say that. You will never tell me she's dead unless you bring me the body." Sighing, I ease my way back down in the chair, mind and heart warring with each other. "Are you sure a plant's the only way?"
"We can't see where the girls are going. We just know that at least one or two a week are disappearing and not coming back. Most we've been able to track in the various markets. They've been going for upwards of hundreds of thousands of dollars. More if proof of virginity can be verified."
My stomach churns at the idea of sweet, innocent Anastacia being subjected to the types of tests necessary to determine that. My uncle will pay for this. My lips twist in an evil grin. I will take pleasure in ripping his spine from his flesh myself.
"We've looked into the girls. Most are young. Legal, but just barely. Other than that, there's nothing in common except good looks and not much family. It's easier to steal a girl that no one will miss."
"Thank you. I'll think about who I hate enough to send down into the bowls of that club. Update me if you learn anything new."
With a silent nod, both men rise and leave the office, melting into the shadows of the hallway. I wanted to avoid this. I thought surely these mercenaries would find her. Alive or dead doesn't matter at this point. I want to know what happened to my cousin. Pulling up my phone, I swipe through my photos until I find the one of Chelsea I find myself staring at more and more. She was so intent on her breakfast, she didn't even notice me. But there she is, fork dangling from her delicate fingertips, cheek resting on top of her hand as she stares off into the distance.
What she was thinking about that day, I'll never guess. Her mind is so intricate and convoluted - perfect. Knowing what I will have to do, my heart squeezes in despair. She knew as a submissive of The Society she'd have to obey without question. If she knew what I had planned for her, she would have taken her time to actually fill out her hard limits. I guess it's fortunate for me, even if it will end up being devastating for her.
Closing my laptop, I set it to the side and head for the door. As Nikolai lifts his head, I motion for him to stay, pleased when at least one of my dogs chooses to do what they're told. He flops it back down on his long paws, yawns, and closes his eyes. Glancing at my watch, I set my lips into a firm line and head towards the sparring area. If she's following her schedule, Chelsea should be knee-deep in homework and studies.
A quick glance through my monitoring app confirms that she is, and I continue on towards my destination. Aleksandr glances up as I storm in but ignores me as he sets up the space to work with Chelsea later. Right now, I need to let out some aggression more than he needs to move a tumbling mat by an inch.
"How is she doing?"
"Eh. She could be doing better. I've had worse students - you included."
Scowling, I take off my jacket and start unbuttoning my shirt.
"I can take you now, and that's all that matters."
"You really think so?"
His eyes narrow as he watches my every movement. His lax body position may fool others, but I know he's like a cobra that's coiling, preparing to strike. I ease each button out of the hole, letting adrenaline fill my body as we stare each other down. Should I go at him, bare-knuckled, or should I show him just how deadly I am with the knife? As I ease the shirt out of my pants, I slide my palm around my back, feeling the wooden sparring blade. Knowing Aleksandr, he probably has his own stashed away on his body.
As much as I love feeling the weighty knife in my hands, I need to pummel someone. I need to work this aggression out before I harm my little Lastachka. She's been getting better and submitting to my needs, but the violence swirling in my system needs to be bled off before I see her again. Pulling the blade out, I show it to him, making a great show of setting it on the ground.
His face splits into a wide grin as he leans over to pull up his pant leg, showing his own blade. I knew it. He slides it out of his sheath and tosses it on the floor with a clatter.
"Do I need to avoid your face?"
I pause, not really wanting to think about the dinner coming up. If I want to keep up appearances, I have to look smooth and polished. He nods at my silence and rummages around for a second before tossing over a padded face mask and mouth guard. I slide everything into place before I finish divesting myself of my shirt. I lay it with precision on one of the chairs before sliding my pants over my hips and laying it on top.
Aleksandr just watches me, a smirk on his face. He was never one for fancy clothes. If they got ruined in this fight, he wouldn't care. Rolling my shoulders, I tilt my head from side to side, cracking my neck. I double-check my face protection before stepping onto the mat. He doesn't move. Instead, he stands there, leaning against God knows what as I hop about, getting my blood pumping. Yelling out my rage, I slam my fists against my chest a few times before motioning for Aleksandr to come at me. The bastard takes his time as he slinks forward, edging the mat.
"Can I assume this is Sport Sambo? No funny business?"
Growling, I charge at him, grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him onto the mat. Instantly, he springs into action, bringing his foot forward to sweep under mine. I keep hold of his shirt with one hand and grab his ankle with the other, throwing him to the ground. As he collides, he uses his moment to twist to the side and roll up and onto his feet. I catch him with a punch to the ribs, holding back enough to not damage him but enough for him to know what I need at this moment.
His eyes narrow as he hisses from the contact. "Combat Sambo got it."
Aleksandr's arm lashes out, catching me on the side of the head. With the padding in place, it causes an uncomfortable throb as my protection absorbs the bulk of the blow. Growling, I go to strike again, only to have his arm wrap around mine as he throws me down onto the mat. I jump up, anger flowing into me, giving me strength. Clutching him about the middle, I drive us both to the mat, ignoring the stinging blows as his fists rain down about my shoulders. I'll be sore as hell tomorrow, but tussling about bleeding off the anger and utter helplessness I feel at the situation is worth it.
I don't have time to think or dwell on things I can't change. My only thought is subduing my prey and not getting injured. I twist my hips, kicking my feet out to trap his with mine. Sliding back, I straddle his waist, locking my feet under his thighs to arrest his movement. I lie down on top of him, bringing his arm around across his throat. With that arm pinned, I lower my elbow to his jaw, putting pressure on the joint. His free arm pummels into my side, the heavy blows feeding into my aggression.
With another hard punch, Aleksandr's hips thrust up against me, racking my balls a bit. I was too busy gloating in a victory I hadn't won to pay attention to what my bottom half was doing. The impact doesn't feel like much, but soon after, the pain blossoms, setting my stomach to roiling. I managed to keep my grip on his upper half despite the pain, but he used my distraction to his advantage, easing his hips out from under mine to roll me over.
Not wanting to give him the upper hand, I hold on and ride the wave as we exchange positions. Gritting my teeth, I slide out from under him, using his clothes to my advantage as I grab his shirt and fling him to the side. We collide in a large clash of bodies. Squirming and writhing, we both lash out, punching, kicking, grabbing any inch of skin we can. To his credit, he does leave my face alone, but already bruises litter my torso. I try to keep my head in the game. I try forcing my anger out and concentrating on the task at hand, but no matter how hard Aleksandr punches me, the anger is there, seething in the background.
Taking advantage of my distraction, he swipes his foot under mine, dropping me back down onto the mat. He's on me in an instant, pinning me down to the floor, punching every available surface. I dodge as best I can, eventually giving in and letting him hit me. If I lie to myself, I can consider this penance for what I'm about to do to Chelsea. I'm not a religious man, but in this way, maybe she'll have some karmic retribution.
Once Aleksandr realizes I'm not fighting back, he stops and leans back onto his heels before offering me a hand. We both stand and stare at each other; his expression is one of smug satisfaction, and I don't even have a clue what's going on with my face. I do feel better knowing Chelsea's learning from him. If my head was in the game, I probably would have won, but only by a small margin.
"I think maybe punching bags for you and a hot soak later?"
I nod, walking over to the hanging bags, picking up a pair of gloves as I near it. Shutting everything else out, I start punching, my uncle's face prominent in my mind. I can't kill him yet, not without proof. He has too many families in his back pocket that would come after me in an instant. It's bad enough I have many of them looking at me with unease and distrust after what happened between my father and me. Knowing Uncle Dima, he probably blamed me for his death, and rightfully so. But to take my only cousin in retaliation?
Punch. The fucker has family galore. Who knows how many bastards that man has fathered. Punch. To my knowledge, I only have my cousin. The rest of my family is connected with him. Once he's gone, then I'll go about integrating them into my life. Until then, they are dead to me. I keep punching away, ignoring the burn in my arms, the ache in my shoulders. I pour out my impotent rage into the bag, letting it bleed out of me one stroke at a time.
After a while, everything goes numb - my mind, my body, everything - until my existence feels like static all around me. A small voice cuts through the fog, and I turn to see Chelsea walking into the space, saying hi to Aleksandr. Have I really been here that long? I slink into the shadows, hiding myself among the bags and other equipment. She hasn't seen me yet, and as long as Aleksandr keeps his damned mouth shut, she'll never know I'm watching her. I want to see for myself just how well she's doing. It's been long enough that she should know something.
Her piercing is fully healed, so that shouldn't cause her issues either. As they stand huddled together, I look at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the fatigued way she holds her body. I've not been taking care of her in all the ways I should. As much as being with her hurts, seeing my neglect etched into her very skin hurts worse. They separate, and Aleksandr stalks towards her, intent on harming her. She ducks out of the way, grabbing his wrists and twisting until he's flung to the ground. Pride swells in my heart as I watch them spar. He's going easy on her, but she's meeting his attacks with precision.
I watch the entire session, slinking out the back while they talk over what she did well and what she still needs to improve on. Adjacent to the sparring room is a whirlpool tub. Shooting off a quick message to Chelsea, canceling tonight's training, I fill up the tub, step into the soothing heat, and turn on the jets. Groaning, I lean back, feeling my muscles let go as the water laps at my skin. As much as I want to see her this evening, I need to plan out my uncle's party. There's still a dress for her, a tux for me, and a special item she's been dying to get.
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