Her Russian Returns (Brie's Submission Book 15) Page 4

“What possible reason would he do such a thing?” Andrev asked, sneering at Rytsar. “This was clearly a hit by the Koslovs.”

  Even Timur, the most reasonable of his brothers, did not believe him.

  “Money,” Rytsar snarled angrily. “She died because our father is a greedy bastard.”

  “That makes no sense. Our father is a rich man,” Vlad told him, defending the wretch.

  “There are rumors floating around that Father is amassing a huge debt because of his gambling addiction,” Timur offered, looking at Rytsar.

  “I confronted the Koslovs last night, Timur,” he answered. “I planned to kill Father with my own hands—”

  “It is a cold day in hell when a son attacks his own flesh and blood,” Andrev interrupted, shaking his head in disgust.

  Rytsar told them, “Grandfather passed our father over when he allotted the Durov inheritance. He killed her wanting to get it back.”

  “What? Do the Koslovs have it now?” Pavel asked in concern.

  “No, you doorak,” Vlad hissed, glaring at Rytsar. “Grandfather always had a favorite.” He looked down at the ring on Rytsar’s finger. “But why didn’t Father just kill you if he wanted it so badly? He loves our mother.”

  “What? Are you saying Anton has all the money?” Andrev cried in anger.

  “I don’t have it yet,” Rytsar told Andrev, before addressing Vlad. “He cannot get it by killing me.”

  Pavel shook his head. “None of this is making sense.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “Mama is dead…why are we fighting?”

  “Because our father was the one who killed her,” Rytsar growled. “Why don’t any of you care? He needs to die.”

  Andrev looked at him suspiciously. “What if this is some crazy scheme of yours to steal his inheritance?”

  “Why would I do that?” Rytsar demanded.

  “Because you hate Father, you always have,” Andrev declared.

  “Do I hate the man who had me beaten as a boy? Of course I fucking do, but I would never want him dead unless he hurt someone close to me—to all of us.”

  “Your accusations are unfounded,” Vlad claimed.

  “Nikolay all but confirmed them while I was there. It’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

  Tamir looked at Rytsar thoughtfully but said nothing.

  “I refuse to believe Father did this,” Pavel snarled.

  Andrev scowled at Rytsar, then spat. “Everyone always favored you. Mama, Grandfather…even Father, and now you want to kill him.”

  “Are you insane, Andrev? I would have traded places with you in a second rather than being forced to suffer Father’s sadistic brand of ‘affection’.”

  “In the end, our mother is gone. Nothing we do will bring her back,” Tamir stated.

  Rytsar shook his head in disbelief. “What is wrong with you? You all want to let Father live after what he did to our sweet mother?”

  “As I said,” Vlad replied in a cold voice, “what you are proposing is pure speculation. How unjust would it be if we killed our father and you were wrong?” He lifted his chin, giving Rytsar a superior look. “I think you have held on to your resentment for so long that you are blinded by it.”

  “I am not seeking revenge for myself. This is for Mamulya. Do none of you care?” Rytsar cried, horrified by the passivity of his brothers.

  Pavel sniffled, wiping away his tears. “Of course we care, and we want to honor Mother as she would have wanted. We all need to grieve her loss as a family. Don’t ruin this for us.”

  “Would you seriously stand beside Father knowing he was the reason she died such a violent death?”

  “In this case, it’s your word against his. I personally would believe Father over you,” Vlad answered.

  Tamir looked sadly at Rytsar. “Brother, we must unite as a family. I don’t want to hear any more discussion about Father murdering Mama. It is cruel and untrue.”

  “Tamir,” Rytsar exclaimed, “don’t turn a blind eye to the truth. It’s not fair to Mamulya.”

  “There will be a service for Mama tomorrow. You are not invited to join us,” Andrev announced.

  His brothers all nodded.

  Rytsar backed away from them, horrified by the turn of events. They were all sniveling cowards, just like Vladimir. It seemed he was the only one with a backbone and a sense of justice.

  “I would never stand with you in mourning. You are all dead to me.”

  That was the last Rytsar saw of his brothers, other than that one time he went out of his way to help Andrev and was stabbed in the back—a bitter betrayal he could never forget or forgive.

  It turned out his brothers were as spineless as Vladimir, the only real difference being that they had not inherited his sadism as well. No, it had been passed down to Rytsar, and he had no trouble dealing out the kind of justice his father deserved.

  He’d never admitted to another person, not even to Thane, the hideous truth about his father or the true manner in which Vladimir finally met his maker.

  Rytsar’s thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected visit of Stas. The door swung open and he breezed into the room, smiling. “What do we have here? Wait. Are those tears I see?”

  Turning his head away, Rytsar grunted in pain to cover up the fact they were tears of emotion.

  “I kept getting reports you are on the verge of dying, so I had to come see for myself.” He gave a prodding kick to Rytsar’s back. “Turn and face me.”

  Rytsar did as he was told with exaggerated movements amid groans of pain.

  “You really are a mess.” Stas laughed unkindly. “Look at that face, still swollen and lumpy. And that stomach…I don’t think the dark purple hue bodes well for you.”

  Rytsar said nothing as he grimaced in mock pain, his eyes downcast.

  “You are nothing like I remember. The great Anton Durov, defender of the weak, because quite frankly, you look quite weak yourself—just like your father.”

  “Leave…my father out of this,” Rytsar grunted.

  Stas laughed. “What a worthless piece of shit he was too. Couldn’t even make things work to get his inheritance back.” He muttered to himself, “It’s not like we didn’t try to help his cause…”

  Rytsar glanced up at him, trying not to show the rage now building in his heart for him. So the truth was finally out. The brothers had personally sent the assassin to kill his mother at the request of his father. Just one more reason the Koslov brothers needed to die.

  “Hungry…” Rytsar whimpered, wanting to appear as weak and pathetic as Stas assumed.

  Stas dug in his pocket and threw him a piece of vzletnaya, a hard lemon candy. “Try that,” he encouraged. “It should help.”

  Rytsar didn’t trust the man, and felt something odd was up with Stas. When he didn’t move to pick up the candy, Stas suddenly became irate. “I give you what you ask for and you don’t even have the decency to take it?” He scooped the candy off the floor and unwrapped it, bending down to force it into Rytsar’s mouth, then clamped his jaw shut. With a glint in his eye, Stas watched Rytsar struggle as he choked on the lemon candy, the citrus flavor further drying out his already parched mouth.

  “There, that’s better,” Stas stated in a pleased voice once Rytsar forced the candy down. “I wouldn’t want you to have bad breath when I do this.” Before Rytsar knew what was happening, he felt Stas’s firm lips on his.

  Rather than reacting with a swift kick to the groin, Rytsar stayed still, allowing the unwanted contact. He had to maintain his ruse until the timing was right.

  “Come on, you bad boy, kiss me…” Stas said, pressing his tongue against Rytsar’s closed lips.

  “Oh hell.”

  Stas stiffened upon hearing his brother’s voice, as Gavriil walked into the cement enclosure.

  Breaking away, Stas laughed callously as he stood up. “I wanted to check his breath to make sure he’s still alive.”

  Gavriil did not seemed fooled by what he’d just witnessed. “When you
said you wanted to fuck with Durov, I never thought you actually meant you wanted to fuck him.”

  “Don’t be an ass. I was just checking him out,” Stas said defensively.

  “I could see that.”

  Stas sucker-punched Gavriil in the face, causing the older brother to fall to the cement floor. Rytsar was about to make his move against the two when three other men entered the cell, alerted by the commotion.

  Gavriil jumped to his feet and wiped the blood from his nose, roaring, “If you ever touch me again, I’ll fucking kill you!”

  “Did the prisoner do this?” Ivan, Rytsar’s “caretaker” blurted, ready and anxious to end Rytsar.

  “Nyet,” Gavriil growled, kicking at Rytsar’s still body. “We wasted our time bringing Durov here. He’s useless as a dead man. Go get the men who delivered him to us. Tell them I am not happy.”

  Rytsar silently laughed. The Koslov brothers were making his job easier by eliminating those men. It meant less work for him. Now he could concentrate on the brothers themselves. The men who had a direct hand in his mother’s death.

  Freedom

  Rytsar laughed out loud when he saw that black nose. It had become their nightly ritual now—two outcasts commiserating together in the dark. He picked up the sausage link the dog had pushed through the opening, chomping on it gratefully. Meat was a powerful weapon for the body when healing.

  Rytsar knew he’d lost considerable weight, but because of the dog’s diligence, he had maintained muscle.

  “It won’t be long now,” Rytsar told the dog. “Do not be upset when you come here one night and I am gone. It will be a good thing, and it means you won’t have to scavenge for me.”

  Glupyy danced in a circle, wagging its tail.

  Rytsar thought of moye solntse and smiled to himself. He’d been thinking of her more and more as his health slowly improved.

  “When I leave here, I will be going to America. Do you know why?” he asked the animal.

  Glupyy responded by sticking its nose through the bars and sniffing.

  “There’s a babe I am destined to meet. I believe it’s the reason you came to me. You are part of a greater plan, little pup.”

  The dog let out a gentle woof, which was unusual for the animal. Rytsar took it as a sign that Glupyy agreed with him.

  But suddenly, the dog disappeared.

  A moment later, Rytsar heard footsteps in the gravel path leading up to his cell. He tensed, unsure if his rescue was at hand—or his death.

  The lock clanked as it was slid back and the iron door creaked loudly as it opened. Rytsar watched as a hand holding a pistol appeared first while the person slowly entered the room alone.

  “Durov, we have unfinished business,” Stas said, inching toward him.

  Rytsar kept still on the floor.

  “I know you’re awake. I heard you talking. Do you normally talk to yourself?”

  Rytsar paused before speaking, making it sound as if he were laboring for his breath. “It keeps me…sane,” he finally croaked.

  Stas towered above him, looking down, a black silhouette of a man except for the barrel of the gun pointed at Rytsar’s head. “You know what I want from you.”

  Rytsar looked up, feeling that odd vibe again, his hackles now up. “Nyet.”

  “I want you to kiss me, and let me touch you.”

  Bile rose in Rytsar’s mouth.

  Stas slowly lowered himself to kneel beside Rytsar.

  Images of what had happened to him in college suddenly sprang in Rytsar’s mind. That night Samantha had taken his drunk ass upstairs to his dorm room, only to tie him up and spend the rest of the evening abusing him with his own instruments in an ungodly and intoxicated power play to dominate him.

  The maggot before him now was going to die. No one would ever violate his body again.

  As if Stas could read his thoughts, Rytsar felt the end of the barrel pressed against his groin. “This time I want you to kiss me like you mean it. Anything less, and I will be forced to shoot your manhood off. Now wouldn’t that be a shame?”

  Rytsar watched as Stas lowered his mouth within a few centimeters of his.

  “Open,” Stas commanded.

  Opening his lips invitingly, Rytsar immediately bit down hard when Stas’s tongue entered his mouth. The man screamed in pain as he tried to pull away. Rytsar fought for the gun but in the struggle, the weapon slipped from his hand and skidded across the floor.

  Stas covered his mouth, blood dripping from it, screeching in rage. Rytsar eyed the door but knew he would have to take care of Stas first before he escaped. Standing up, he faced the younger Koslov brother with an evil smile, the berserker in him ready to rumble.

  Light flooded the cell as men marched in, guns drawn.

  “That is enough!” Gavriil barked. He looked at his brother in disgust before addressing Rytsar. “We are done here. You’re done.”

  In that moment, Rytsar realized everything he’d been fighting for was about to be lost. He stared at the numerous guns pointed at his heart and a feeling of defeat washed over him.

  “Nyet,” Gavriil said, seeming slightly amused. “A firing squad is too good for you. There’s a storm coming. The temperatures are going to drop below freezing and you will die by the hands of mother Russia herself—in a cold and deadly embrace.”

  He turned back to his brother. “As for you, I hope you’ve finally learned your lesson.”

  His brother mumbled his words, difficult to understand. “He most bi my ong off…”

  “Yes, he did, doorak. You don’t play with mongrels or you might get bit.” Gavriil laughed unsympathetically.

  The men lowered their guns one by one as they exited the room, then the iron door was closed and locked for a final time.

  I’m going to die here.

  The cold reality of that statement had Rytsar sinking to his knees. All his suffering had been for nothing. He looked up toward the heavens in disbelief, a lone tear running down his cheek.

  Just as Gavriil had promised, just before first light the bitter cold arrived. Rytsar sat in the corner of the cell shivering. Because the building was underground, the cement beneath him still retained some of the heat of the earth, but it was slowly becoming as cold as the air around him.

  He heard the pup’s cry and looked up. “I’m done for. Go save yourself.”

  The dog paced back and forth for several minutes as if deciding what to do before it laid its body lengthwise against the bars. Rytsar wasn’t sure what it was doing, but got the feeling it did not want him to die alone.

  He was deeply moved by that and stood up, reaching up to touch the scroungy mutt for the very first and last time.

  Rytsar felt a deep connection the moment his touched the animal. In response, the dog began licking him excitedly with its warm tongue as if it felt it too. Rytsar petted its fur for several minutes, studying it, overwhelmed by the sense of love the animal had for him.

  The dog was an average-size mutt covered mostly in light brown scruffy hair, with a smoky gray muzzle and ears, as well as small patches above each eye giving the illusion of eyebrows. The unique coloring made the animal’s face more expressive when it stared at him with those soulful eyes.

  Eventually, he ordered Glupyy to leave, although the animal ignored his command.

  Rytsar settled back down on the floor, curling up in a ball to conserve heat. If he must die, there were worse ways to go.

  With the passage of time the painful shivering finally stopped as the numbness of hypothermia set in. He looked down at his hands, grateful they’d finally stopped aching even though he knew what it meant.

  Hands…he thought dully.

  The word made him think of Tatianna’s delicate hands. He grunted in sadness.

  Rytsar had blocked the memory, but it came back to him full force without his permission, his mind too numb to stop it.

  After five months of tracking her, Titov and Rytsar finally found Tatianna in a dilapidated building i
n the Ukraine with over twenty other young girls being housed for prostitution.

  They found her huddled in a corner, her clothes threadbare and worn, barely covering the skeleton she’d become. He didn’t realize she was drugged until Titov approached her.

  At first, Tatianna flinched when he drew close, but then she looked up at him, her eyes glazed and her speech slurred. “Please…be gentle, mister.” She lifted the hem of her shirt, exposing her naked body underneath the dress to him.

  “Nyet, Tatianna,” Titov cried out, pulling her dress back down and trying to embrace her.

  She backed away, looking terrified of him.

  “Tatianna, it’s me,” Rytsar called out, his voice warm and calming despite the fact his heart was breaking. She was a tragic vision with needle marks up her arm and bruises covering her small body. “It’s okay, I am here now,” he assured her.

  Slowly the light of recognition began to shine in her eyes. She looked to Rytsar and then her brother. Instead of relief, she looked even more tormented. “Don’t look at me,” she cried, huddling in the corner and crouching down, trying to hide from them as she covered her face in her hands.

  Rytsar looked at Titov, their expressions mirroring each other—one of defeat knowing they hadn’t been able to save her from this hell.

  As Rytsar approached, he noticed the fingers on her left hand had been broken. He shook his head, anger welling up inside him. However, he kept a calm exterior because he knew right now she needed tenderness not rage.

  “We’ve come to take you home,” Titov told her.

  She spread her fingers wide enough to look up at him. “Home?” she repeated, her voice wavering with emotion.

  “Yes, my little sparrow.”

  Her bottom lip trembled as she gazed into Rytsar’s eyes.

  “Anton…”

  She reached out to him, her arms shaking as tears filled her eyes.

  “I’m here, Tatianna. No one will hurt you again.” Rytsar lifted her up and wrapped his arms around her tiny skeletal form. She was so fragile…

  Tatianna shook her head as she pressed herself against him, unable to speak.

  Titov stood back from them, his countenance one of relief and devastation.