Chapter 32

"Fuck it. I'm a pussy whipped motherfucker," Ash grumbled to himself as he drove up to the gates of the Sitnikov mansion.
It had taken three hours after Anya's departure before he decided to go look for her. He realized he didn't care if she was spoiled brat. He loved the little troublemaker. He would just have to do his best to meet her standards, and if he came up short, he would take her to bed, where he knew he was capable of fulfilling her every wish.
He just had to brave the lion's den and convince her he was in it for the long run. He would then see about purchasing some restraints so when she got mad he could tie her down and keep her from flying away back to the gilded cage, under her brothers supervision. Hopefully he didn't get himself shot in the process.
"Asher Bowles to see Anastasia Sitnikov," he announced himself when the speaker box demanded to know who he was.
"Drive around," demanded the voice with a thick Russian accent.
Ash knew without a doubt that the voice belonged to Sitnikov's vicious enforcer, Boris Grekov. As expected, the giant met Ash at the door looking particularly grim. Despite Ash's expertise in the ring, he decided he was glad the Russian wasn't a fighting man. Ash wasn't entirely sure he would win that confrontation.
"Boss wants to see you," Boris said, stepping back to allow Ash into the spacious entryway.
"I want to see Anastasia," Ash pressed.
Boris grunted and shook his shaved head. The muscles in his neck emphasized the tattoos that snaked down his neck into the collar of his shirt. "She's not here," he said. "Mr. Sitnikov asked to see you when you arrived."
Frowning, Ash followed the other man into the depths of the house. He was beginning to wish he'd strapped on his guns before coming here. He never wore them when he wasn't working, but he would have made an exception if he thought he could get past the front door with them. He knew better than to bring a weapon anywhere near the city's brutal mob boss though. Even a perceived threat to Vlad Sitnikov would be asking to die a slow and horrible death.
"When I arrived?" Ash asked, raising his brow in question.
Boris shrugged.
They passed several doorways and what looked like a ballroom when Boris halted in front of a heavy, wood-panelled door. He knocked briefly and opened the door.
"In," he said shortly.
Ash stepped into the office of Vladimir Sitnikov and looked around. The Russian boss was making a couple of drinks at a bar tucked into the corner of the room. Ash was impressed with the luxurious but not ostentatious decorating style of the room. It definitely had an old-world feel without coming across as too heavy. He relaxed slightly. He was pretty sure Sitnikov didn't kill people in such an expensively furnished room , too messy. He would have them taken somewhere else for disposal.
"Asher," Sitnikov greeted him with a cold smile and extended his hand with a drink.
Ash took it saying, "Please, call me Ash. Vodka I assume?"
"The best," Sitnikov stated, tossing his own glass back. "Please, sit."
Ash sat in the chair indicated and drained his drink as well. He didn't drink often. He took his sobriety very seriously, knowing how easy it would be to sink into the pit of addiction. He had too much to live for , owed Khalid too much , to allow himself that course in life. He placed his tumbler on the desk and covered it with his hand, shaking his head when Sitnikow offered him another pour. He hoped the lethal Russian didn't take offence, as refusing a drink was not something done in his culture. But the other man said nothing and simply put his own glass down.
"So, you have come for my sister, no?" The words were simple, but through the thick accent, Ash could tell they were anything but. Ash realized he needed to tread extremely carefully in the next few moments.
"She left my home this afternoon, before we could properly finish our conversation."
Sitnikov nodded. "You let her go."
Ash shoved a frustrated hand through his hair, spiking it up. He wanted to tread carefully, but he was also a blunt man.
As though sensing his discomfort, Sitnikov said, "Speak your mind. I will not have you killed today."
Ash snorted. "I believe it. This place is too nice to spray with blood."
Sitnokov laughed out loud slapping his palm on the desk. "That is funny, American."
"Yeah." Ash looked at the harsh man skeptically, picturing a crazed Al Pacino in Scarface. Funny wasn't how he would describe this situation.
"You want blunt, Russian? I'll give it to you straight," Ash said sitting up in his chair and staring the other man in the eye. "You're sister acts like a spoiled child half the time I've been with her and like a world weary siren the other half. She covers herself in makeup and plays games that will get her into trouble if someone doesn't watch over her. She tried to kick my damn ass in my own house. If she'd tried that trick on any other cage fighter, she'd have ended up bleeding and broken. She's a walking contradiction. If she were any other woman, I'd say she wasn't worth the trouble, but I can't stay away from her. So yes, I'm here to see her. To try to talk some sense into her and convince her she's better off with me than here, where her dangerous games are indulged."
The atmosphere in the room became so tense that Ash began to wonder if Sitnikov was rethinking his ‘no killing in the costly den' policy. Finally, Sitnikov rolled his shoulders, as though to ease some of the tension. He got up and paced to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another drink.
"You are right about one thing. My sister is impulsive. And yes, sometimes childlike. But it is clear to me you have no real understanding of her. You have let your assumptions blind you to her true self." Sitnokov glared at him, tossing back the clear liquor. "I am disappointed. I had believed you might be the man to teach my Anastasia that life needs not be so complicated."
Ash wanted to defend himself, but something Sitnikov said echoed Anya's parting words. He assumed he knew what she was about. Maybe he was wrong. "Tell me about her then. Tell me why a twenty-four year old woman still lives with her brother. As far as I can tell she has no job and no educational aspirations. Tell me what I'm missing."
Sitnokov made an angry sound. "You know nothing!"
Ash nodded. "Then enlighten me."
The other man visibly dug deeply for the patience he was not known to have. Finally, he spoke. "Anya was only five when I brought her and our mother, Nadia, to this country. She was born late in our mother's life, unexpected but still very cherished. She has always been a precocious, outgoing child. Her love of life came from our mother. When Nadia died only one year after our arrival here, Anastasia was devastated. She had no mama and no papa to care for her. Only an older brother who was married to the mob. Yes, I indulged her, but not out of the ordinary."
Sitnikov paused as if the memories were too much. Ash sensed something else coming. Something that would explain why Anya was the way she was. He needed to hear it, even though he suspected he wouldn't like it.
"When Anastasia was fourteen, she was kidnapped by my enemies, men that did not adhere to the rules of our world , the rules forbidding us from touching family. She was to be sold as a slave and shipped overseas, far out of my reach. This was to be punishment for my success, for taking business away from them." Sitnikov paused again and then reached for the bottle of vodka. He drank straight from the bottle this time before slamming it down. "They decided to take the time to rape her before shipping her out. The bastards knew taking her virginity would take away from her value on the foreign slave market, but thought it was worth it to increase my suffering when they sent me the photographs."
Ash felt sick. He felt as though he might actually vomit on the expensive rug that was swimming beneath his feet. After the nausea passed, a rage engulfed him, so intense it dwarfed anything he had ever felt before. He gripped the arms of the chair tightly so as to not act on the fury.
"Dead?" he gritted out. He could only manage one word.
Sitnikov watched him, his expression satisfied. Ash wasn't sure if it was his reaction to Anya's story or if it was the memory of what he did to the men that hurt his sister. "Oh yes, quite."
Ash nodded jerkily. "Finish," he managed to say.
Sitnikov took another swig of the expensive vodka and sat heavily in his massive leather chair. "I hunted them almost from the moment they took her. I was much closer than they thought. My men and I took them out while theywhile they were still hurting her. They were vicious with her, brutal while they broke her tiny body. It was bad. Quite bad. But not as bad as it could have been. There were six men there, only two had a chance" He trailed off unable to finish.
Ash didn't press him. He didn't want to know more. He now understood how Sitnikov had rocketed to his position of power from being a common street thug. He had taken out an entire criminal faction in bloody revenge for his sister. He likely left no one alive who would talk about what had happened to her. Which was why not even Khalid had known. Hell, most of the city barely even knew of Anastasia Sitnikov's existence.
Sitnikov laughed bitterly. "Sadly, she got over it before I did. She was never quite the same happy person that she once was, but she became more independent over the years. And for the record, she is attending school. She takes literature classes through an online university. She would have moved out years ago and probably attended a regular university and gotten a job if I hadn't begged her to stay. I am the sole reason a twenty-four year old woman lives with her brother. I cannot bear for her to live alone, unprotected, where she could be taken again. I taught her how to defend herself, but"
"I understand," Ash said quietly.
He finally did understand. He felt like the asshole she had called him. She might have a few issues, but it was a miracle the woman could function at all after what had happened to her ten years earlier.
"She hasn't been as happy as she could be," Sitnikov said heavily. "I had hoped, when she met you, that perhaps she could find happiness with someone else, someone capable of protecting her."
Ash nodded. He opened his mouth to assure the Russian that he intended to do exactly that when the door burst open with enough force to shake the entire room. Boris charged into the room, eyes wild, speaking rapid Russian. The only word Ash understood was ‘Anya'.
Sitnikov surged to his feet, ignoring the bottle of Vodka that fell, spilling across the floor. He spoke to Boris, his voice low and furious. Boris left immediately.
Sitnikov turned to Ash, his eyes glowing with fury. "She has been taken again. It is time to prove to me that you mean what you say."
Ash felt something inside his body explode in fear and rage. He also came to his feet, demanding, "Where is she?"
"Come, I will explain on the way."
The Russian mob boss reached into his desk, pulled out a gun and tossed it to Ash. Without another word the two men left the office, an atmosphere of deadly intent following them out to the waiting SUV.