Her Russian Returns (Brie's Submission Book 15) Page 2

  “Nyet,” Titov replied, shaking his head. “My association with Yuri caused her death, and I will never forgive myself for it.”

  Rytsar could see the pain in Titov’s eyes as he thought back on the tragic events leading up to his sister’s death.

  “Would you like to help me kill the man who is to blame?”

  “What? Did you finally locate Yuri?”

  “Nyet. I believe he is already dead.”

  “Who then?” Titov demanded.

  “My father.”

  Titov took a step back, shocked by Rytsar’s words. “What?”

  “Not only is Tatianna dead because of my father, but now my mother is too.”

  “What is this? You’re telling me that your mother is dead?” Titov asked, looking devastated.

  “An assassin came last night as payment for my father’s gambling debt. Does that sound familiar to you?”

  Titov growled.

  “Da,” Rytsar replied, his voice choking up with emotion. “I have come to believe my father is responsible for both deaths.”

  “But why?” he demanded.

  “Apparently, I am about to come into my grandfather inheritance, but my father lusts after it and can only receive it if I die.”

  “Why not simply kill you then?”

  “Suicide is the only way it will revert to him, and there can be no hint I was murdered.”

  What Rytsar was telling him took time for Titov to process. He shook his head again, crying out, “But why my sister?”

  Rytsar put his hand on Titov’s shoulder. “We both know I considered following her after her death. It was a shrewd and heartless plan.” Tears filled his eyes. “I now have lost the two most important women in my life because of him, and I demand revenge.”

  “Why are we standing on this doorstep talking? He needs to die now!” Titov asserted.

  Rytsar squeezed his shoulder, keeping him in place. “I tried to kill him last night, but was stopped by Nikolay.”

  “Why would the Koslovs care?” Titov snarled, fighting against Rytsar’s firm grip.

  “The brothers have granted my father their protection.”

  Titov froze, reality setting in. “But shouldn’t you be dead then?”

  “Nikolay spared my life because he agrees my father should die.”

  Knowing that they had the blessing of the Koslov Pakhan, Titov immediately asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  Rytsar smiled—the kind of cruel smirk that mimicked his own father’s. “I want you to get me some ricin.”

  “Poison? But I want to rip him apart limb by limb. Where is the satisfaction in that? I need him to feel my wrath,” Titov growled.

  Rytsar tightened his grip on his shoulder. “I understand, Titov. I promise that he will feel your wrath, but it must appear he died of natural causes. It is the only way Nikolay can condone his death without interfering.”

  Titov roared. “It’s not good enough!”

  Rytsar loosened his grip and gazed deep into Titov’s eyes. “I promise you, it will be.”

  Letting out a ragged sigh, Titov said with resentment, “Fine, I trust you but I do not like it.”

  Rytsar let go of him, looking away as the scene of his mother’s violent death replayed in his mind, still too fresh to shut out.

  He closed his eyes and let out an agonized groan.

  Rytsar felt Titov’s hand on him. “I’m so sorry to hear about the death of your mother. She was a kind woman and has been a comfort to our family through the years. I grieve with you.”

  Rytsar nodded, not willing to look at him as the tears fell.

  “I hope someday, after justice has been dealt, I will finally be able to lead a normal life. Possibly we can even become friends again,” Titov stated hopefully.

  “It has been dark for far too long,” Rytsar agreed, walking away from Titov without looking back.

  Rytsar wanted revenge, yes, but without Tatianna and his sweet mother in his life, he didn’t see the point of going on. His inheritance made little difference, death tasting far sweeter to him. The promise of money and power was a cold substitute for the ones he loved.

  More than anything, he longed to be in their presence again…

  Guardian Angel

  Rytsar inadvertently let out a groan when the men dragged him off the plane.

  “Is the coward finally awake?” the instigator asked expectantly.

  Rytsar kept his eyes closed and didn’t make another sound.

  The leader quickly checked him over and announced, “He is still unconscious, but at least he survived the trip. We need to get him to the Koslov brothers before his health deteriorates any further, or it will be our heads on the line. Now be careful with him!” he ordered as Rytsar was lifted into the back of a van. “Secure him so that he doesn’t roll about and injure himself further.”

  Rytsar barely endured the rutted dirt roads with the van’s worn shock absorbers. His gut was racked with an excruciating pain on a level he’d never experienced.

  This kind of pain did not bode well for him…

  The only way he was able to keep silent was focusing all his energies on one thought—his need to hold the babe moye solntse in his arms. Even if he were truly dying, he would eke out every fucking breath until he held that little miracle.

  The van stopped and the door slid open. Instead of being manhandled this time, he was treated with kid gloves as he was carried by several men. The cold Russian air was soon replaced with the warmth of a crackling fire as he was taken inside.

  The leader spoke as they entered. “We have brought the merchandise.”

  “He’s a fucking mess,” Stas complained.

  “It was not easy subduing him.”

  “The shit was a coward and insulted you,” the instigator added.

  “I do not care what he said,” Stas replied coldly. “We charged you with delivering him and nothing more.”

  The leader quickly answered, “We had to muscle him down to subdue him, but he has been left untouched since.”

  Stas sounded unimpressed. “We cannot consider your mission a success unless he awakens.” Rytsar felt the unwelcomed hands of Stas as he examined his body thoroughly, poking and prodding as he went about it. “Broken ribs, internal damage… You may have brought him here alive, but he is dying.”

  The overly confident voice of Gavriil filled the room. “Do not concern yourself, brother. Durov is too spineless to die.”

  “But how am I supposed to fuck with him if he doesn’t regain consciousness?”

  Gavriil laughed. “I’ll show you how.”

  Rytsar heard the man walk out of the room and return a short time later. The buzzing electricity warned him what was coming before the cattle prod made contact with his stomach and the current shocked his damaged organs.

  His eyes opened of their own accord as he began choking, blood bubbling up in his mouth.

  “There you go,” Gavriil said proudly to his brother. “Now you can have your fun.”

  Rytsar remained on the floor, choking on his own blood.

  “Do something!” Stas demanded from the men who had brought him in.

  A cloth was brought to Rytsar’s mouth to wipe away the blood and then someone tried to force water down his throat. It only caused him to cough, aggravating the pain in his gut.

  Rytsar stared straight ahead, imagining moye solntse as he commanded his body to relax. With great effort, he stopped coughing and lay there, his entire body streaming sweat as he involuntarily shivered.

  “A pussy through and through,” Stas gloated. “Look at the way he cowers before us.”

  Gavriil bent down and snapped Rytsar’s head up. “The great Anton Durov, how does it feel to know you will be dying by our hands? My grandfather is no longer here to save your sorry zhopa.”

  Rytsar only glared at him, the pain rendering him speechless.

  “I couldn’t stand to hear my grandfather talk about you. You may have fooled him, but we know
the truth. You couldn’t even keep your woman and your own mother safe. You’re destined to die a fatherless man, and your name will soon be forgotten.”

  Rytsar smiled.

  “And now he grins like a fool,” Stas said with a laugh.

  “I think the big tough sadist is actually a masochist inside.” Gavriil chuckled cruelly. Addressing Rytsar, he asked, “Anton, do you like it when I do this?”

  A swift kick to his stomach had Rytsar coughing up blood again, but this time he could not stop it.

  “Get him out of here,” Stas demanded. “He is soiling the cashmere rug.”

  The men who had delivered him immediately picked him up and rushed him out of the room. They headed out the back and walked for several minutes until they came to a small cement building buried in the ground.

  The iron door creaked as it was opened and he was dragged inside. Rytsar rolled into a ball to protect himself as the heavy door was closed and its lock slid into place.

  “I highly recommend you don’t die, Durov,” the instigator called out to him, laughing as he walked away.

  Rytsar closed his eyes as blood fell from his lips. He could feel his body closing down, preparing itself for the end. He couldn’t stop the cold blackness as it began to envelop him.

  However, he was not afraid. He longed to see Tatianna and his mother again—but he would die with regret.

  Thinking of the promise he’d made to Brie, he whispered, “I am sorry, radost moya…”

  His breaths came in ever shallower gasps, but he fought for each and every one. Eventually, they came in further and further intervals until they finally stopped.

  In the middle of the warm, inky abyss, he heard Brie scream out in anguish, her cry coming to him from a great distance.

  “Rytsar!”

  His eyes immediately popped open and he took in a ragged, painful breath.

  The pain was excruciating, but he was grateful to be alive.

  It was not his time—not yet.

  Moving with immense effort, he positioned his body to better protect his torso from the unforgiving concrete.

  He lay on the cement floor, unmoving in his buried concrete prison, unsure of the passage of time. His only source of reference was the small barred opening near the top of the ceiling. The window was too small for escape, but large enough to remind him that the days were continuing on without him.

  Rytsar knew he was suffering from a severe fever and assumed it caused delirium, because he swore on several occasions someone had walked past the opening, but he was too weak to call out to them.

  Days melded into one another as he lay there suffering in unspeakable agony. The Koslov brothers wanted him dead, but they also wanted it to be a lingering end. To ensure that happened, each day one of their henchmen came to force water down his throat.

  Rytsar made sure to cry out in pain whenever he was touched. He needed everyone to believe he was on the verge of death even though he was slowly recovering. It was the only way he had any real chance of escape.

  Encouraged by his recovery, Rytsar felt a surge of destiny when he noticed the shadow appear at the opening again. He called out, but his voice was too hoarse to be heard. Slowly drawing in his breath, he let out a low whistle instead.

  He heard a whine and saw a black nose thrust its way between the bars.

  Fuck! It was just a damn animal.

  Rytsar groaned to himself in disgust.

  The beast continued to sniff and whine, as if waiting for Rytsar to respond. He cursed the dog in Russian and told it to go away.

  Instead of leaving, the animal began whining even louder. Rytsar tried to ignore the damn beast, but it refused to leave.

  “Go home,” Rytsar growled out painfully, needing it to obey him.

  It seemed excited by Rytsar’s attention and started turning in circles, its wagging tail hitting the bars as it circled itself.

  “Fuck off,” Rytsar barked, closing his eyes and rolling to face the wall. Maybe if he was quiet long enough the dog would take the hint and scram.

  No such luck.

  When the henchman entered the cell, Rytsar remained completely still.

  He soon felt the kick of a boot in his lower back and momentarily saw stars from the pain it evoked.

  “Roll over, you sack of shit,” the man grumbled as he pulled roughly on Rytsar’s shoulder, forcing him onto his back.

  The dog began whining.

  “Scat!” the man yelled up at the stray.

  The whining grew louder as Rytsar’s head was propped up and tepid water flowed into his mouth. His thirst demanded he gulp it, but Rytsar let some of the water dribble from his lips. This enraged his captor and he leaned his knee into Rytsar’s side as he tilted the cup higher.

  Water flowed from his chin and onto the floor. An unwanted waste, but necessary. As long as the Koslov brothers believed he was between life and death, he would have the freedom to observe and plan his flight.

  But that damn dog would not shut up.

  Rytsar saw the henchman take out his gun and point it at the beast. For reasons Rytsar could not fathom, he decided to intervene at the last second.

  Flopping around violently, Rytsar pretended to choke on the water left in his mouth. His carefully orchestrated movements allowed him to kick the man in the knee, causing him to miss as the bullet ricocheted off the concrete, taking a chunk out instead.

  “Fucking strays,” the henchman snarled as he turned the gun on Rytsar’s prostrate body. But without any authority to kill the prisoner, the man could only kick him in frustration.

  “I hope you die soon,” he hissed under his breath as he walked out of the cell and locked the iron door.

  Rytsar grabbed his side in agony after the lock slid into place. He was certain that his ribs had been rebroken with that final kick.

  Sniffing sounds started from above as the dog returned, sticking its black nose through the bars. Thankfully, this time Rytsar was spared its constant whining. Maybe the dog understood its whining had put it in peril.

  “You’re going to get us both killed,” Rytsar growled, rolling onto his uninjured side.

  Fuck it, he was back where he’d started—struggling to suck in enough air with the shallow breaths he could manage.

  Why he’d spared the mongrel he couldn’t say, but it felt like a victory. He decided to name the nuisance Glupyy, the word for foolish.

  “Scat, Glupyy…and don’t come back.”

  Rytsar laid his cheek against the hard concrete and closed his eyes, ignoring the rumbles of an empty stomach as he kept tears of pain at bay.

  The dog let out a low whine and then, to Rytsar’s relief, it disappeared.

  Rytsar let out a sigh, glad the beast had finally taken the hint. Maybe it would live to see another day.

  The lack of food was causing him to drift in and out of consciousness. When he smelled the sea breeze and heard Brie’s laughter, he smiled to himself. believing she was near.

  “Radost moya…” he murmured huskily.

  “Get up, you lazy aristocrat,” Thane told him.

  Rytsar opened his eyes and looked up at his old friend, who was holding a hand out to him.

  “How long have I been sleeping?” Rytsar asked.

  “Not long, but Brie’s anxious to get started so I agreed it was time to wake your ass up.”

  Rytsar glanced over at Brie and smirked. “So you want me?”

  She giggled in response. “I don’t think that has ever been a question.” Putting her hands on her hips, Brie said teasingly, “How long are you going to make me wait?”

  He chuckled, taking Thane’s hand and standing up.

  Brushing off the sand from his body, Rytsar turned to face her. “Being a sadist, I think you know my answer.”

  Brie stuck out her bottom lip, giving him big doe eyes. “Please, Rytsar, do not make me wait any longer. Ever since you gifted this island to us, I have longed to scene with you here.”

  Hearing Brie speak
of her desire for him naturally caused Rytsar’s cock to stir. He let out a low growl. “I have waited far too long for this.”

  Thane clapped him on the shoulder. “As have we, old friend.”

  Rytsar looked back at Brie. Her playful smile melted his cold Russian heart and her body inspired his sadistic passions. “Undress for me,” he commanded, longing to see her naked body again.

  Brie nodded and, without hesitation, undid the strap of her white bikini top, letting it fall to the sand. She looked at Rytsar flirtatiously as she shimmied out of her bottoms and handed them to him.

  He took a whiff of the alluring smell of her pussy lingering on the cloth and grunted. “I have missed your scent, radost moya.”

  “Miss me no more,” she answered, opening her arms wide for a hug.

  Rather than embrace her, Rytsar hiked her small frame over his shoulder and told Thane, “I aim to challenge this one today.”

  “Excellent,” his comrade answered. “It’s been a while since she’s had a healthy challenge.”

  Brie cried out, “I’m not a masochist, I’m not a masochist!”

  Rytsar chuckled with wicked amusement.

  He knew she both loved and feared him—it was part of the reason he was so damn attracted to her. That combination would make today’s play that much more stimulating, because he was serious about challenging her.

  Rytsar walked her into the tiny home and set her on the ground. She struggled to keep her open submissive pose as he circled her, objectively noting the areas of her body he wanted to explore.

  “Why are your eyes so big?” he teased, as he reached for his cat-o’-nines.

  She made a little squeak and looked to Thane.

  He moved to her, lifting her chin with his finger and kissing her on the lips. “You have but to say your safeword at any point.”

  Brie gasped. “You want him to use his ’nines on me?”

  “I desire to observe your session, as I was not present your first time. I am also curious to see how much you’ve grown, babygirl.”

  She glanced at Rytsar, now trembling as she smiled at him. “I am curious how much I can take since my first cat-o’-nines.”

  His cock ached upon hearing those words. Now that he had both Thane and Brie’s permission, he planned to put radost moya through her paces.