Chapter 2

I give him a short nod but promise nothing. The run in at last year’s virgin auction wasn’t my fault. An asshole called Georgy Veselov, pakhan of the Miami brotherhood, picked a fight with me.

I beat him and that was that. He’s a power-hungry idiot who thought he could beat me in a bare-knuckle fight. I’ve not yet met a man alive who can.

The place is heaving, as I step through the doors. I despise how many people show up to spend fortunes on slavery. Most of the virgins are tourist snatched from the airport. It makes it easier for the slavers to cover their tracks. The American government can’t trace foreign girls.

Rykov, the man who runs the auction, is lingering nearby. The moment he sees me, he rushes over.

I can’t stand the guy, but he’s part of my outfit. “Sir, I’m so glad you could make it.” He bows his head.

“What are the pickings like this year?” I ask, trying to sound interested.

He smiles a vindictive smirk. “There are a couple I think you will love, including a stunning redhead.” He shifts a little closer and lowers his voice. “Although, she is a feisty one who my men haven’t been able to break, so she may be more hassle than it’s worth. I’d be happy to offer you a sneak preview before the auction starts.” He straightens up and clears his throat, noticing Luka Romanov glaring at us.

“PERFECT, LEAD THE WAY.” I nod my head toward the stairs that lead into the basement, ignoring the Los Angeles pakhan’s glares.

He scurries ahead of me into the basement.

Alexi turns to me once he’s out of earshot. “Rykov is such a weasel.”

“Tell me about it.” I shake my head. “I’ve never liked him.”

“See you after the preview.” He claps me on the shoulder.

I descend into the desolate, damp basement, which will have been home to these girls for months. Subjected to the thumping bass of the club every night for God knows how long.

It’s a disgrace. These women have as many rights as any of us, but I know the brotherhood slavers don’t distinguish. The same thing happens to men they capture. Slavery runs rife in the Bratva, and I had always longed to change that within my brotherhood.

I wait at the entrance, watching the row of fifteen women standing naked and chained together.

Rykov is speaking to the trembling, petrified women. The flash of fiery red hair captures my attention.

A need to interrupt his pointless speech and walk toward her hits me. I want to discover more about this fiesty redhead Rykov’s men haven’t been able to break. Instead, I grit my teeth and wait.

One girl urinates out of fear, and he flogs her. I keep my expression neutral.

It grates on me witnessing one of my own brothers treat women this way.

This kind of brutality is lower than low. None of these women deserve this treatment, but it’s the Bratva way. That’s often the excuse everyone uses in these situations.

Rykov stop in front of the redhead, speaking to her and it irritates me.

“Keep your heads down. One of our most prestigious guests is here for a preview,” he instructs, breaking me from my thoughts.

I walk into the room and straight for the redhead without invitation. “Thank you, Rykov,” I say.

“Sir,” he replies.

I’m being drawn to her like a moth to the flame. My eyes drop over her curvy, naked form. Her hourglass shape so fucking perfect and breasts that I would long to suck and grope all night long.

Beautiful.

That’s the only way to describe her figure. As I come to a stop in front of her, I so desperately want to see her face. “Look at me,” I command.

The woman shakes in front of me, before lifting her chin to gaze at me. She doesn’t make eye contact, because it’s how they’ve been taught. She’s the most radiant woman I’ve ever seen. Her eyes are a bright emerald green, which complements her red hair. There’s no emotion in them, though, no hatred or anger.

“I want you to look me in the eye,” I command.

She hesitates for a moment, before forcing her eyes to meet mine.

“Krasivaya,” I utter.

Her eyes widen, as if she understands the word, which is unusual as the virgins rarely come from Russia.

I’m forgetting where I am right now. I’ve forgotten my own damn name. Krasivaya is the perfect word to describe her. She is the most captivating thing I’ve ever seen.

The only reaction I get is the blush in her cheeks, which speak down her neck at my opinion on her looks. She understands Russian.

All the blood in my body has rushed south, and I’ve lost control for a moment. Something that never happens to me.

Rykov clears his throat, breaking me from the daze I’m in.

I had been staring at her for far too long, considering I’m supposed to keep up appearances. “Return your gaze to the ground,” I instruct, keeping my voice cold, despite the inferno raging inside of me.

She does as I say in an instance, and I walk away, despite not wanting to. A wild part of me wants to claim her as mine now, offer Rykov whatever money he wants for her.

It would be frowned upon for a pakhan to behave that way. Rykov has given me a sneak preview which is bad enough. There’s never any buying allowed before the auction. All pakhans get a fair chance at any of the virgins on offer tonight.

I regard the other women with mild interest, despite being unable to get my mind off of the redhead. None of them stir my interest like she does. Once finished, I walk toward the stairs to ascend back to the main room.

“I’ll see you out there, sir?” Rykov asks, walking after me.

I turn and narrow my eyes at him. “Yes.”

I can feel him watch after me, as I walk up the stairs and into the viewing area.

There’s no doubt I’m leaving with a virgin tonight, and it will be the redhead beauty. I don’t care what the price is, I have to have her.