Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Have you done this before?” one of the men asks me. Yakov is younger than I am, lanky but strong, his crisp white dress shirt covering tattoos down his arms, neck, chest, and back. Once we’re inducted, we’ll earn the mark of our particular brotherhood, but each of us bears ink identifying our stature. Mine is fresh, newly laid over the ink I had removed, and the ink does not lie.
Domed cathedrals line my chest, marking my time in prison, the spider marking me as a thief, among others. But nothing that denotes familial connection to my Bratva brothers. For now.
I nod my head to his question. Hell yes, I’ve done this before. I finish my drink, and raise a hand to order another.
“How many times?” Yakov asks me. Though he doesn’t state his discomfort, it’s clear in his rigid stature and the way his foot taps on the floor. His reddish hair is cut short, his chin clean-shaven. If not for his eyes, he’d look like he just graduated high school. But his eyes tell another story.
“I’ve lost count,” I tell him truthfully. I’ve been to so many auctions, so many sales, in the hopes of finding Marissa, I can’t remember how many I’ve attended. I lower my voice. “And stop tapping your foot, Yakov. It betrays nerves, and there is nothing you fear.”
Yakov nods and stills. I’m older by several years. I already feel a brotherly affection for the redhead.
“Really,” my second companion, Erik, remarks, his lip curling. He’s bigger and brawnier, likely recruited for his size and ruthlessness. “So you’re the expert?” I swing my gaze to his, giving him a level glare. According to Jacobs, Erik served time for rape, assault, and identity theft. A solid asshole combination.
“Never said I was an expert,” I say, sipping my drink. “Vek zhivi–vek uchis.” Live and learn. “And fuck if being an expert in this trade would be something I’d brag about.”
“Something my father would say,” he scoffs, a rude reminder that I’m older than he is. He shakes his head and takes another drink, looks over my shoulder and smiles without humor. “Before he beat me to teach me a lesson.”
“Poor baby. Seems you didn’t learn that lesson,” I respond. I itch to teach him one of my own.
“Fuck you,” he snaps. That gets the attention of the two men sitting at a table next to us.
The fucking Boston Bratva’s methods are bullshit. My father would never send three new recruits on a task like this without someone in authority with them. The hierarchy of the Bratva is one of our strongest assets, the pakhan at the very pinnacle, followed by the brigadier and those under his command. New recruits need to earn their spurs, not bicker like fucking schoolchildren.
“Get your shit together,” Yakov snaps under his breath, learning across the table and glaring at Erik. “And deflate your fucking ego before I do it for you.”
I like this kid.
“Oh yeah?” Erik says, his shackles visibly rising.
“I’d be happy to help,” I warn. I can already see Yakov holding down Erik while I give him the beating he deserves. My hands clench at the mere thought. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten into a good fight, and it’s with chagrin I realize I fucking miss it.
Erik sulks like a child who didn’t get his way, and when the waitress comes around again, he orders another round. He points to me. “His tab.”
Fucking loser.
Our attention is drawn to the front, though, when the lights dim and a tall man stands in front of a podium. He wears an impeccable suit. Clean-shaven, with stern blue eyes and an air of… something that I can’t quite put my finger on. Authority? Detachment? He has an aristocratic nose, wide shoulders, and a commanding stature. But he doesn’t fit in here. He isn’t one of them. Something is out of place.
I look around. Isn’t it as obvious to everyone else as it is to me? It doesn’t matter, though, as he’s speaking now, and this is the news we’ve been waiting for.
“You’ve been given bidding boards,” he says, gesturing to the electronic bidding devices on our tables. “Each is assigned to you as an individual. Please take yours now.” Some auctions are old-fashioned, using bids on paper, but the higher end ones take electronic bids instead. I reach for the devices on the table at the same time Erik does, but I get them a split second before he does and drag them over to me.
“Mine,” I say, claiming the top one. “And yours.” I hand the other two theirs, as our emcee continues.
“Before we begin our bidding, we’ll showcase a preview so you know what’s up for auction tonight.” He smiles. “Who is up for auction.” It seems everyone laughs but me. “Shortly thereafter, we will begin bidding. After everyone has completed his or her purchase, we will secure payment and arrange delivery options. By midnight, all purchases will be delivered to the cabin of the owner, and you may enjoy the remainder of your time on board getting to know one another before departing in secrecy. Any questions?”