CLAIMED BY THE RUSSIAN TYRANT

9

The drive to the shopping mall was one Anastasia both dreaded and desired.

The pros? She was finally out of that house, feeling sunlight warm her skin through the glass of Alexei’s Tesla. Her phone was hidden in the waistband of her borrowed shirt—a promise of escape if handled correctly.

The cons? Guards surrounded her—two in the front seat, two tailing them from behind in a separate car.

She clenched her jaw.

The shopping center came into view: a wide expanse of glass and multi-chain stores, electronic billboards advertising women’s lingerie.

Anastasia blushed. Never in her life had she needed this much security just to buy underwear.

As they stepped out of the car, People pushing shopping carts stopped to look. Mothers shielded their children’s eyes from the guns in Alexei’s men’s grasp.

An old couple crossed themselves in silent prayer.

“You can send your goons back, you know. They’re drawing too much attention,” Anastasia hissed at Xander.

“And risk having you escaping? Not a chance, miss. The boss gave strict orders to follow you into every shop you enter.”

“And I assume you’ll follow me into the changing rooms too?” she growled.

Xander chuckled, unfazed. “If deemed necessary, then we will.”

Anastasia flushed with rage and humiliation. For fifteen minutes, she led them in circles—stopping at a designer store, a luxury bag store, and a lingerie shop—sifting through items only to emerge empty-handed, claiming nothing fit.

This charade went on for two hours until Xander’s patience finally snapped when she walked out of a hat store empty-handed after testing almost everything.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“The meaning of what?”

“Entering a*****e, wasting time, and coming out empty-handed. The boss wants you back in the house before three!”

“So a girl can’t do a little window shopping anymore?” Anastasia asked innocently.

Xander wasn’t having it. “Pick a shop, woman. Let’s get this over with. Or so help me God—”

“Fine. Fine.” She cut him off with an eye roll, wishing she could use the table knife she had smuggled. But they were in public. All good things.

A boutique with a pink storefront came into view, the windows lined with mannequins in silk shirts and lace. She ducked inside, the shop bell jingling, and was hit by the overwhelming scent of artificial strawberries.

A worker appeared and whisked her to the back where a line of beautiful dresses lay in orderly fashion.

“This would look magnificent on you,” the woman, a scruffy thing in thin chiffon, said, already tugging Anastasia toward the dressing room.

Anastasia held up her hand, seizing an opportunity. The store had a restroom—something others lacked. “Can you tell those guards of mine to wait out front? They’re… intimidating the other customers.”

“Oh, no, my dear. That is against our policy—”

“Alexei Morozov will pay for your time,” Anastasia interrupted.

The woman froze, blinking between Anastasia and the hulking men milling the shop, looking out of place among the pink decorations.

“Mr. Morozov, you say? Those hefty men are his guards?”

“Yes!”

“I knew they looked familiar. Oh my. Are you by any chance his wife?”

Anastasia’s eyes widened. “No. No. No. I’m his—” she couldn’t say mistress. “Friend.”

The woman hummed.

Immediately out of sight, Anastasia packed the clothes to her chest and darted through a nook of dresses into the women’s restroom.

Dumping everything on the floor, she removed her phone from her waistband. Warm from her skin, she saw missed calls—and surprisingly, texts from Dmitri:

‘Anastasia, I want to ask for your forgiveness. I heard from my family that you’re now in the hands of a dangerous man. It’s my fault. Please, if you’re still in control of your phone, call me. I can help you get back to New York. Your family will never know where you are to ruin your life further. I’m sorry for calling you a spineless fool. I still love you. Very much.’

Anastasia blinked, head spinning. Was this some sort of trick?

He answered the first ring, breathless. “Anastasia. Thank goodness. You’re not dead. Where are you?”

“Why do you want to help me, Dmitri?”

“Why? Is that even a question? I love you, Anastasia. Always have and always will.”

“Yet you cheated on me—”

“You can’t classify what you saw as cheating! It was merely stress relief. I was doing you a favor, Ana. You were busy with your rehearsals and—”

Anastasia didn’t have time for this. “How do you plan to help me, Dmitri?” she hissed. “I don’t know how long I’ll have this phone, so please, talk quickly. I’m currently in the restroom of a dress shop.”

There was a pause. “A dress shop?”

“Yes,” she answered impatiently.

“What are you doing in a dress shop?”

“Isn’t it obvious? My new ‘owner’ thought I should get clothes. And underwear. Stop asking stupid questions, please.”

Silence. Then, “Have you slept with him?”

“What?!”

“I… uh,” he started, then stopped. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry.”

“No s**t Dmitri. I was just about to tell you to go to hell. Is this why you called? To know if my virginity is still intact?” Anastasia was fuming now.

“Okay, relax. Breathe. Look around. Are there any windows?”

She looked around. There was a window, yes. If she were a toddler, she would surely consider it one.

“There is, but it’s too small.”

“Okay. Remember that move I taught you? The one where you put your leg in front, stretch, then lie on a flat split all the way out?”

The memory dawned on her, and she grinned. “Yes! Wait one second. Let me see what’s on the other side.”

Fence.

Tall fences lined with barbed wire. Not a challenge for a trained ballet dancer. She was practically as flexible as rubber.

“I’ll call you back.” She hung up, wore a new cloth for disguise, and maneuvered out the window.

The ground felt hot and rough beneath her feet.

Her heart pounded.

All she had to do was run a few blocks, hitch an Uber—

Shit. She didn’t have any money.

Just as she was about to run down the street, a voice boomed behind her, skidding her to a halt.

“Going somewhere, Miss Sokolov?”

She turned. Xander stood with three guards. That bloody shopkeeper in the center, a disappointed look on her face.

Anastasia’s shoulders slumped.

Alexei would kill her now, for sure.

~~~

Anastasia felt like a deer in headlights as Alexei circled her with slow, predatory steps, his expression too calm.

She felt the pulse thumping in her legs where she had been injured trying to flee Xander and his goons.

Alexei came up behind her. She shivered as his beard grazed her neck.

“Which one of my men gave you the phone?” he asked for the tenth time that afternoon.

“I already told you. I took it myself.”

Alexei hummed. “I want to be open with you, Anastasia. I really do. I believe I haven’t told you how much I despise liars.”

Anastasia swallowed audibly.

“Who is he? This person you’re trying to cover up for. Do you fancy him? Do you want him in your bed? Is that why you’re scared to call him out?”

Anastasia was appalled. “I don’t want to sleep with him!”

“Ahh,” Alexei pulled away, moving in front of her, leaning to meet her eye level. “So you admit that someone gave you the phone.”

Crap. He’d caught her.

She looked away.

He gripped her chin, steering her gaze back to his. “Answer me.”

“f**k off! Monster!” Anastasia gritted. “What are you going to do anyway? Hurt me? You’ve already ruined my life.”

Alexei just watched her for a beat. When he spoke, his voice sounded… soothing. Almost, intimate. “I told you before. I will never hurt you. I just need your total honesty.”

“You’re not getting it.” Anastasia snapped.

“Very well. You’ve made your choice.” He pulled away and called over his shoulder, “Bring him in.”

Anastasia’s eyes flashed. “Bring who in?”

Alexei said nothing. Moving instead, to the center of the room. To relight his vile cigar.

Then she heard heavy footsteps.

A click. She turned, eyes wide, to see Xander dragging a bleeding man by the neck. His face was swollen from a recent beating.

“What is this? What do you want to do with him?” she screamed.

“Relax, sweetheart. This is Ilya, a guard of mine. I’ve had him for almost three years. Found him in the rubbles in Siberia. Starving, a good pick-pocket too Right Ilya?”

Ilya said nothing. Not that he could, not with his injuries. Blood coated his face, his eyes wide with pain and fear.

Anastasia’s hands shook, tears brimming. “What is he doing here? Why is he beaten like this?”

“Simple,” Alexei said. “I want you to tell me the truth, or God help me, I’ll have his head severed—and it will be on your conscience. Think of it like this: the more you disobey me, the more people I kill. Innocent people.”

Her stomach churned. Could he really hurt his own men just to get what he wanted?

“You’re bluffing,” she said at last, her voice trembling.

Alexei chuckled. “One thing about me, sweetheart, is that I never bluff.” He turned to Xander. “Kill him.”

“No! Wait!”

Light flashed as Xander plunged a swiss blade into Ilya’s throat, twisting. The head separated cleanly, rolling across the floor toward Anastasia.