Page 4 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice announced from the front of the room, “please take your seats. Tonight’s auction is about to begin.”
Matvei found a chair in the back, close enough to participate but far enough from the stage to avoid drawing attention. The first few lots were exactly what he’d expected: young women from Eastern Europe, probably snatched from their families and smuggled across borders in shipping containers. Each sale made him more convinced that burning this place down wouldn’t be enough. He’d need to hunt down everyone involved and make them pay for what they’d done.
But that was a problem for another day. Tonight, he had a specific goal.
“Lot number seven,” the auctioneer called out, and Matvei felt his attention sharpen. “A very special offering tonight. Twenty-four years old, excellent health, and from a very prominent family. I’m sure our discerning buyers will appreciate her... pedigree.”
The curtain at the back of the stage parted, and two men in expensive suits escorted a woman onto the platform. Even from his position in the back, Matvei could see the fury radiating from every line of her body. Her hands were restrained behind her back, but she held herself like a queen surveying her kingdom, not a victim being sold to the highest bidder.
This was Irina Nikolai. He’d seen photos, of course, surveillance images taken from a distance when his peoplewere gathering intelligence on the family. But none of those pictures had captured the sheer force of her presence, the way she seemed to command attention even in the most degrading circumstances imaginable.
She was beautiful; there was no denying that. Pale skin that looked like porcelain under the stage lights, black hair that fell in waves past her shoulders, and ice blue eyes that seemed to be cataloging every face in the audience. But it wasn’t her beauty that caught him off guard. It was her defiance.
Most people in her situation would be terrified, broken, pleading for mercy. Irina Nikolai looked like she was planning the murders of everyone in the room.
“The bidding will start at fifty thousand,” the auctioneer announced, and Matvei felt his jaw clench as hands shot up around the room.
Fifty thousand. They were talking about a human being as if she were a piece of livestock, and these animals were treating her like a casual investment. The number climbed quickly: seventy-five, one hundred, one-fifty. Each bid made the knot in Matvei’s stomach tighten.
“Two hundred thousand,” called out a man in the front row, and Matvei got his first clear look at the competition. Overweight, sweating despite the air conditioning, with the kind of smile that suggested he had very specific plans for his purchase.
“Two-fifty,” came another voice, this one belonging to a younger man with designer clothes and dead eyes.
Matvei raised his hand. “Three hundred.”
Heads turned to look at him, but he kept his expression neutral, playing the part of just another wealthy pervert withdeep pockets. The truth was far more complicated, but these people didn’t need to know that.
“Three-fifty,” the sweating man countered, and Matvei could see frustration building in his face. Good. Let him get emotional. Emotional bidders made mistakes.
“Four hundred,” Matvei said calmly, not bothering to look at his competition. Instead, he found himself watching Irina, noting the way her eyes had fixed on him. There was intelligence there, calculation. She was trying to figure out who he was and what he wanted.
If only she knew.
“Five hundred thousand,” someone called from the side of the room, and Matvei turned to see a man in his sixties with silver hair and a face that belonged in a museum of human cruelty.
The bidding continued to climb, each number higher than the last, each bid representing another level of depravity that these men were willing to sink to. Six hundred, seven hundred, eight hundred thousand dollars for the privilege of owning another human being.
Matvei had come prepared for this, but the sheer amount of money being thrown around was staggering. These weren’t desperate criminals scraping together enough cash for a gun or a car. These were titans of industry, men who could afford to spend a million dollars on a whim and not even notice the dent in their bank accounts.
“Nine hundred thousand,” he said when the bidding slowed, and he saw several of his competitors exchange glances. They were reaching the point where even obscene wealth had limits.
“One million,” the silver-haired man countered, and Matvei felt a spike of genuine anger. This wasn’t about money anymore. This was about power, about proving who had the biggest dick in a room full of monsters.
“One point two million,” Matvei said, and the room went quiet.
He could afford it. That wasn’t the issue. The Volkov family fortune could absorb the loss without breaking stride. But the principle of it, the idea that he was participating in this grotesque parody of commerce, made him want to put bullets in everyone present.
“One point five million,” the silver-haired man said, his voice tight with determination.
Matvei studied his opponent, noting the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breathing had become shallow. He was reaching his limit, both financially and emotionally. Time to end this.
“Two million,” Matvei said, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent room.
The silver-haired man’s face went red, then pale. He opened his mouth as if to bid again, then closed it, shaking his head in defeat. Around the room, other potential bidders were doing similar calculations, weighing their desire against their wallets and finding themselves wanting.
“Two million going once,” the auctioneer called out, his voice thick with excitement. This was probably the highest bid he’d ever seen. “Going twice...”
Matvei kept his eyes on Irina, watching as she processed what was happening. Her expression hadn’t changed, but he could see the slight shift in her posture, the way she’d gone fromdefiant to calculating. She was trying to figure out what kind of monster had just bought her for two million dollars.
