Page 14 of Maxim

“Good girl.” He presses a hard kiss to my lips before pulling back. “Now come with me.”

I stand only for my legs to start to go out beneath me.

“You’re shaking like a newborn fowl. Pull it together, Olena.” he demands as he catches me.

Once my legs are somewhat steady under me, he pulls me from the room. The hall is buzzing as we make our way through the venue until we reach the side of the stage. The auctioneer smiles when he sees we’ve arrived.

“Get your checkbooks out, ladies and gentleman, this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of buy,” he says as Szymon pushes me onto the stage.

I stagger, almost falling, but I catch myself at the last minute. My cheeks heat in embarrassment as the crowd begins to chuckle.

“Now don’t be shy, child, step forward,” the auctioneer says.

Automatically my body complies even though all I want to do is turn around and run away.

The bright lights make me squint, but the heat coming off of them feels good on my clammy skin.

When he starts calling out numbers and the bids start pouring in, my vision narrows.

Oh god, this is really happening. There is no going back.

I don’t know why, but I find myself doing something I haven’t done since I was a small child. I begin to pray. I pray that whoever buys me and I’m forced to be with will be…kind.

Please don’t let me end up with the worst of the worst.

I thought the security on normal nights was impressive, but it has nothing on tonight.

Tonight they have full-body scanners like in an airport and are still patting everyone down. After being fully vetted and approved, I walk into the main room. As I make my way to the bar, I feel eyes on me. It takes everything in me to pretend like I don’t.

I just need to blend in, and then when the auction starts, gather as many names and details as I can. Everyone in this room that bids is going to pay for their crimes, even if they don’t end up walking away with a new slave.

Slave.

The word sours my stomach. I hate thinking of the people being sold as slaves, but that’s exactly what they are.

What a fucked-up world we live in.

“Thank you,” I say as I lift my glass from the bar.

“You are welcome, Mr. Boyko,” the woman with a slight Mediterranean accent says.

I don’t know why the fact she knows who I am surprises me, but it does. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and shove it into the tip bowl. Compared to other tips she will make tonight, it’s pocket change, but as far as I can tell, she deserves it.

Turning, I step away from the bar and scan the room, only to freeze when I spot a familiar face off in the distance.

Borris Sokolov, leader of the Russian Bratva based in Saint Petersburg, Russia.

What in the ever-living fuck is he doing here? It’s a well-known fact the man doesn’t leave Saint Petersburg unless absolutely necessary.

Unease crawls over my skin. What if he recognizes me? I met him once, back when Nikolai took over the family and became the Pakahn. He came to congratulate Nik along with all the other heads of the Bratva before they fell into discussions and deals. It was four long days of peace treaty negotiations, and even though it was a serious time between the families, Sokolov left on day two stating he could do everything via video chat.

Before he left, though, the man was bold enough to ask all of us in Nik’s organization if we wanted to go home to the motherland with him. When none of us moved, he smiled and said, “Very well,” before walking away. It was…odd to say the least.

And now he’s here.

Oh, fuck.

Nik’s going to lose his mind when he realizes that one of the families he’s agreed to keep peace with is participating in this. This is surely going to mean war.