Page 3 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
The pain was white-hot. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her knees buckled. She grasped for the sink, missed, and hit the tile floor with a dull thud. Through her swimming vision, she saw a smear of red hair, wild and coiled like fire, towering above her.
And then everything went black.
When consciousness returned, it came with a splitting headache and the nauseating realization that she was moving. The surface beneath her was rough and cold, metal that vibrated with the rhythm of an engine. A van, she realized. She was in the back of a van, and her wrists were zip-tied behind her back.
Panic hit her like a physical blow, stealing her breath and making her heart race so fast she thought it might burst. This was exactly the kind of situation her brothers had spent years trying to protect her from, and now she was living it.
The van hit a pothole, jarring her injured head and making her bite back a groan. She needed to think, to assess her situation and figure out a way to escape. But all she could think about was how utterly unprepared she was for this moment.
Her brothers had taught her about guns and strategy and how to read people’s intentions in their micro-expressions. But they’d never taught her self-defense. They’d never shown her how to escape from restraints or fight her way out of a kidnapping because they’d been too busy making sure she’d never need those skills.
“She’s awake,” someone said from the front of the van. The voice was unfamiliar, rough with an accent she couldn’t place.
“Good. Boss wants her conscious for the handoff.”
Handoff. The word sent ice through her veins. They weren’t planning to ransom her back to her family. They were planning to sell her to someone else.
“Where are you taking me?” Her voice came out stronger than she felt, which was something.
The men in the front seats laughed, and the sound made her skin crawl. “You’ll find out soon enough, princess.”
Princess. The word stung because it highlighted everything she’d been fighting against her entire life. She wasn’t some helpless royal waiting for rescue. She was a Nikolai, and Nikolais didn’t go down without a fight.
But as the van continued its journey into the unknown, Irina couldn’t shake the terrifying realization that for the first time in her life, she was truly on her own. No brothers to call, no family guards to rely on, no safety net of wealth and power to catch her if she fell.
Just her wits, her will to survive, and the growing certainty that whatever waited for her at the end of this ride would test every assumption she’d ever made about her own strength.
The van began to slow, and through the small window, she could see lights. Lots of them. They were entering some kind of compound or facility, somewhere that looked far too organized to offer any hope of easy escape.
“Welcome to your new life, princess,” one of the men called back to her, and Irina closed her eyes, trying to summon every ounce of Nikolai steel in her blood.
Whatever came next, she would survive it. She had to.
Because the alternative was unthinkable.
Chapter 2 - Matvei
The warehouse smelled like rust and desperation, a combination that Matvei Volkov had grown intimately familiar with over the years. He adjusted the collar of his black suit, the fabric expensive enough to blend in with the other predators who’d gathered for tonight’s particular brand of entertainment. The alias he’d chosen for the evening felt foreign on his tongue, but it would serve its purpose. Viktor Petrov, a wealthy businessman from Moscow with questionable ethics and deep pockets. Close enough to the truth to be believable, distant enough to keep the Nikolais from connecting the dots until it was too late.
The auction house wasn’t much to look at from the outside, just another abandoned building in the industrial district that the city had forgotten about years ago. But inside, it had been transformed into something that made Matvei’s skin crawl even as he appreciated its strategic value. Velvet curtains draped the walls, expensive lighting cast everything in a golden glow, and well-dressed monsters milled about with champagne flutes and predatory smiles.
He’d been to plenty of auctions in his time, mostly weapons and information, occasionally art or jewelry. But this was different. This was human trafficking dressed up in silk and served with a side of vintage Dom Pérignon, and every instinct he’d inherited from three generations of Volkov men screamed at him to burn the whole place down.
Soon, he promised himself. As soon as the Nikolais were dealt with, he’d make sure places like this ceased to exist. But tonight, he had a role to play.
“Quite the turnout, isn’t it?” The voice belonged to his temporary partner, Dmitri Markov, who’d appeared at his elbow like a bad omen. The man had been useful so far, providing intel on Nikolai's operations and now delivering their youngest member directly into Matvei’s hands. But there was something about him that set Matvei’s teeth on edge, a greediness that went beyond simple ambition.
“More than I expected,” Matvei replied, keeping his voice neutral. He’d learned early that showing weakness or disgust in rooms like this was a luxury he couldn’t afford. “Your contact came through.”
Dmitri’s grin was all teeth and no warmth. “Told you I could deliver. The Nikolai princess is going to fetch a pretty penny tonight. Of course, that’s assuming you can outbid the competition.”
Matvei followed Dmitri’s gaze across the room, taking note of the other bidders. Oil executives from the Middle East, tech moguls with more money than morals, politicians who’d sold their souls so long ago they’d forgotten what conscience felt like. All of them here for the same reason, all of them convinced they had the right to purchase another human being as if she were a piece of art or a vintage car.
“Money won’t be an issue,” he said, and it wasn’t a boast. The Volkov family had built their empire on violence and strategic thinking, but they’d maintained it through careful investments and ruthless business practices. He could outbid everyone in this room without touching his personal accounts.
“Good man.” Dmitri clapped him on the shoulder with a familiarity that made Matvei want to break his arm. “Just remember our deal when you’re the most powerful family in the city.”
The deal. Twenty percent of all Volkov operations in exchange for Dmitri’s help in taking down the Nikolais. It was a steep price, but Matvei had every intention of renegotiating once the dust settled. Dead men couldn’t collect on their agreements, after all.
