The State Tretyakov Gallery was one hell of a sinister place under the moonlight of the Russian sky. Maybe it was the fact that Stryder knew what was about to happen beyond the entrance doors that added to that illusion. Or the fact that every person entering was wearing a black suit and some sort of black mask. Regardless of why, he had to fight back the urge to fucking puke.

There were some sick bastards out there. He knew this all too well. Working around some fucked up individuals happened in his line of work. There was no avoiding it. But this was different. Selling women? Sex slaves? Wealthy men who could have anything they ever wanted in the world, and sure as shit, now they would have a sex slave too if they bid high enough. It really would take all his strength not to kill Vasily the minute he set eyes on him, as well as all the other sick fucks in the room.

“We look like idiots,” Anson mumbled as they walked toward the entrance to the gallery.

“Yeah, well, lucky for us we managed to find masks.” Stryder smirked as he glanced at Anson. “You look like Zorro.”

“You look like a dickhead.”

“No arguing there.”

The playful banter was exactly what Stryder needed to calm his wrecked nerves. Taking a deep breath as they approached the security guards in front of the doorway, they were patted down for weapons, which both he and Anson had anticipated. Showing their invitations and passing all inspections, both he and his brother had finally completed the second stage of the mission.

They were in.

The next stage, however, would take everything in him to control his rage.

There was a large stage in the back of the room that served as the focal point. Forty to fifty men milled around with cocktails in their hands. Some smoked cigars or cigarettes, and others took bite-sized hors d'oeuvres off the platters that were being passed out by women wearing nothing but body paint. Stryder shook his head at the sight of flaws disturbing the smooth palette on a few of the women’s skin.

“They can’t even keep their fucking fingers off the servers,” he growled softly.

“We’ve only been here five minutes. Don’t lose it, Stryder,” Anson said just as softly.

Stryder chuckled. “Don’t lecture me, George,” he said in an even lower tone, reminding his brother that they were using aliases. Stryder was now Michael Gardenzio, a moniker that Anson had insisted upon to remind him that, while he couldn’t go all Rambo, he could secretly use a portion of Sylvester Stallone’s full name of Michael Sylvester Gardenzio Stallone. As for Anson, it hadn’t been a surprise when he’d chosen to become George Niven, taking the names of two actors who had portrayed his hero James Bond in the late 1960s. Anson gave him a grin and a nod indicating his understanding.

Classical music played through the hidden speakers in the walls—not loud, but loud enough to blend perfectly with the men’s voices to form a constant hum which added to the ambiance of the room. The lights were dim, shadowing all the masked men, making identification near impossible, which Stryder no doubt figured was a planned effect.

A nude waitress approached with a tray of tumblers holding a caramel-colored liquid that Stryder assumed was bourbon or something of like nature. Both he and Anson took a glass to appear casual and relaxed. Appearance was everything if they were going to pull this off. Bidding on, and then buying a sex slave was treading in uncharted territory, but it needed to be done. This was a crucial step if he and his family had any chance of bringing Poplov’s operation down completely.

“Most of these men are surrounded by their own security,” Anson mentioned casually as he glanced around.

“Yeah, it’s easy to see who are the goons and who is the weasel in each group.”

“Are you sure we are going to be able to outbid all these people on one of the slaves?”

Stryder clenched his jaw at the thought of losing, as well as how the word “slave” sounded on Anson’s lips. “It won’t be cheap.”

“Do you recognize anyone?” Anson asked, careful to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation.

Stryder shook his head. “I can’t be positive without being up close. Though I think it’s fair to say that many look familiar.” He nodded toward the direction of an obese man surrounded by four dark-skinned men. “I think that fat fuck over there is Juan Montez, the Argentinian drug lord. I can’t be sure, but his weight, tan skin, and balding black hairline is a fair giveaway.”

Anson glanced over carefully and then nodded. “Agreed. I would recognize that sweaty forehead anywhere.”

Their scanning the room came to a complete halt when the music shut off, the lights dimmed even more, and the spotlights of the stage turned on. A loud voice came over the speakers announcing that the auction was about to take place. The men all worked their way toward the stage. It was standing room only, and there were only a few chairs placed along the edges of the room for the more elderly customers. Otherwise, every man stood shoulder to shoulder, front to back, facing the stage in anticipation.

Stryder led the way and decided to go stand closer to Juan Montez to see if, in fact, he could get a positive identification. At least one guaranteed member of the guest list would help later. A casual look to his right, when he and Anson got into position, confirmed what he and his brother already thought they knew—Juan Montez was in the house.

A figure walked out onto the stage. Stryder instantly recognized the man. It was Vasily Poplov himself. Motherfucker.

“Gentlemen,” he began, speaking without benefit of a microphone or needing one. Silence had descended with their host’s entry and every man’s attention was on the stage. Vasily wore a black tuxedo, but did not wear the required mask of the guests. Stryder noticed the man had a whip coiled and clipped to his belt. Being a connoisseur of the whip himself, Stryder wondered if its presence was a testament to his adversary’s kink or simply an accessory to ensure fear in the women he had stolen from their lives to sell for his profit. His question had to be shelved when Vasily began to speak.

“Gentlemen, I have a special treat for you tonight.” He began to walk back and forth on the stage, mastering his domain. “These women tonight are nothing but the best. Each starting price will be based on their beauty, their charm, and yes, my friends, if they are a virgin or not.”

Men cheered and clapped, which only fueled Vasily to continue.

“Oh yes, my friends. For the right price, you will acquire your very own virgin pussy to do with as you please.” He gave a wicked smile. “But rest assured, gentlemen, even the women who have lost their delicate little flower still have so much to offer. We have only put the most worthy up for auction.”

Evil dripped off every word Vasily spoke, and fury bubbled inside Stryder so much that he instantly regretted coming on this mission. He wasn’t the right person for the job. He shouldn’t be here. Maddox or his father would have a much cooler head than he. If he didn’t get out of here, he was going to blow it and get himself and Anson shot.

“Focus,” Anson whispered as if he could read his brother’s mind. No doubt he was feeling the same anger, but he was holding it all inside as Anson had such skill in doing.

“Let’s start with our first little slave, shall we?” Vasily said as the men applauded their approval all around.

An obviously terrified woman was shoved onto the stage, and she stumbled forward. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back. Her ruby-colored dress made the green of her eyes stand out, only intensifying the fear that Stryder could clearly see in them. Her legs shook, and she nibbled her lip as her eyes darted about the crowd.

“Our first piece of merchandise for this evening is sweet Natalia. Her Latin blood makes her feisty, but I’m sure there is a man here tonight who would love taming this little vixen. She is not one of those magical virgins I spoke of,” when there were boos in the crowd, Vasily used his hand to silence the spectators before adding, “but she definitely has a body to drool over. Think how jealous your friends will be when they see her on your arm… or kneeling before you, her mouth full of your cock.”

A loud eruption of whistles, cheers, laughs and other lecherous sounds came from the men just praying they had a shot at winning the bid for this exotic princess. Stryder had to admit she was gorgeous.

“But wait, my friends.” Vasily reached for the woman, and when she flinched and made a whimpering sound, he chuckled. “Come now, my sweet. No reason to be shy.” His hand slid beneath the curtain of her hair to untie the bow behind the woman’s neck. Giving a dramatic pause, he gazed out to the crowd again, his smile promising the men would be delighted with the next move. And he was right. As he undid the bow, causing the red fabric to fall to the floor, the men gave a collective gasp of appreciation. Her nudity was on full display. When Natalia moved to shield her sex from the approving audience, Vasily swatted her hard on the ass in warning.

“Bastard,” Anson said beneath his breath, but he maintained his position even though Stryder could see it took all of his brother’s might. The visible vein in his neck was a sign that even Anson was losing control.

Stryder tried to focus on Natalia’s eyes out of respect to the woman. Though every single other man was focused on every part of her body that was not her eyes, Stryder would not invade this woman’s privacy if he could help it.

“Let’s start the bidding at a quarter million,” Vasily cut in, the cheers dying down as the business was finally about to take place.

Fuck, that’s a beginning bid? Stryder cut his eyes to Anson, and though his brother didn’t move a single muscle, he knew the amount had staggered him as well. However, the price didn’t seem to cause even a small hesitancy in the bidding. The animals all around began raising their paddles with their assigned number, driving the price higher and higher. It wasn’t just about the men wanting this particular woman, Stryder knew damn well that this was about pride. The men in this room weren’t accustomed to losing, and weren’t used to not getting exactly what they wanted.

Anson raised his paddle and called out, “One point two million!”

Stryder shoved him lightly. “The plan was that I would bid,” he chastised his brother softly. He understood Anson’s need to save this woman, because he wanted to bid as well. To do whatever he could to prevent this woman from landing in the hands of one of these monsters. But he also knew they could only save one. Even if they had unlimited funds, if they bid and won more than one, they risked bringing attention to themselves, and it could jeopardize the entire mission. Plus, if Stryder were honest with himself, he wanted the blonde beauty he had seen on the surveillance video. He had been haunted by her eyes since the moment they’d held his, almost hypnotizing him with the hopelessness revealed in their depths. He knew he would not be able to leave Russia without her. But now that Anson had bid, he might have no choice but to walk away and let her go with someone else.

“One and a quarter million,” someone else shouted from behind them.

Stryder leaned in and whispered, “Let her go, man. We can’t win the first one. Let all these initial egos battle it out. Even if we can compete money wise, we don’t want to piss someone off. We have to stick to the plan.”

“I know, man,” Anson whispered back. “But look at her. She’s terrified.”

“I promise you,” Stryder said, “we will find her and rescue her. We will.”

Anson nodded, never taking his attention off Natalia. Her eyes glistened and yet no tears slid down her cheeks. God, she was nude, standing before a room full of disgusting pigs, and yet she did so with as much dignity as possible, refusing to cower. “I’m going to hold you to that promise.”

The bidding continued on and on while Natalia simply fought back her tears, showing an unusual but respectable sense of strength considering her situation. Stryder had known tonight was going to be hard, but he had no idea just how much it would take from him. He actually gave a sigh of relief when the final bid came in and Natalia would at least be able to leave the stage.

“We have a winner!” Vasily announced with a disgusting smile. “Three million dollars to #17.”

Both Stryder and Anson turned to see who the lucky winner was. Stryder had to calmly place his hand on Anson’s arm in preparation of what he might do when he saw it was Juan Montez from Buenos Aires. No doubt about it, the winner was the gluttonous, ruthless, murderous, Argentinian drug lord. Of course he wanted the Latin beauty. And of course he wanted to be the first to win.

A trembling Natalia was escorted off the stage, and Vasily continued. “Our next little sex slave is from right here in Russia. Please welcome Zoya.”

The blonde from the video was shoved harshly onto the stage. She too had long hair that flowed down her back in thick curls. Her white-blonde tresses and pale skin were the exact opposite of Natalia’s coloring. Even her dress was in stark contrast to Natalia’s. Zoya wore brilliant white, the dress hugging her curves, and her big blue eyes sparkled from the lights beaming down on her. That was where the differences ended as, exactly like Natalia, this poor woman was just as terrified, her entire body trembling. Stryder wanted nothing more than to jump up on the stage, wrap her in his arms and whisk her off to safety, giving her promises that no one would ever hurt her again.

“Zoya here has a gentle soul. She is so very pure, and so very innocent. Naïve. Though she is not a virgin, her tight little ass is. Our little Russian has a very child-like appearance. Can’t you just picture her in pigtails with pink bows wearing a frilly little girl dress? What would you give to hear her sweetly calling you Daddy as you fuck her brains out?” Vasily laughed loudly, joined by others in the crowd. He walked over and unfastened the white dress, causing the fabric to crumple to the floor.

The horde of shitheads celebrated, hooting and hollering, and some asshole called out, “Turn her around. I want to see her tiny little ass to see if it’s worth the price.”

Vasily smiled and nodded. “Very good idea indeed.” He spun Zoya around and when she barely bent forward at his instruction, he barked, “Legs apart, palms on the floor!” With his hand pressing against her lower back, Zoya had no choice but to obey. Her position displayed her puckered hole as well as the lips of her pussy. Unlike with Natalia, there were no eyes to focus on, and Stryder was forced to see her most intimate spots. He felt dirty for doing so and felt that he had somehow betrayed her.

Vasily spanked her ass as he held her bent over, not once, not twice, but three times. The audience heard each of her whimpers, and Stryder’s heart shattered. He would kill this fucking bastard.

Not once.

Not twice.

But three fucking times.

Vasily spun her around to face the crowd again, and the humiliation she felt was washed all over her delicate-featured face. She didn’t cry like Natalia had, but the pain ran so deep in her eyes, tears were not needed to show how miserable she was. And unlike Natalia, she actually stared directly into the crowd. It was as if she were forcing each of the men to stare at her. Force them to see what filthy beasts they truly were.

“Let’s start, shall we?” Vasily said.

“Two million,” someone shouted.

Anson leaned over and whispered, “Do whatever it takes. Save her.”

“I plan to,” Stryder said and raised his paddle. “Two and a half.”

“Three million.”

“Three and a half.”

“Three and three quarters.”

“Four million,” Stryder shouted, not caring about the price at all.

He could see out of the corner of his eye that an elderly man who held a cane in one hand was the one raising the price. The thought of that old fucker hitting Zoya with that cane while making her call him Daddy ensured that he’d keep bidding until he won.

“Five million,” the old man called out.

“Seven million!” Stryder shouted in a deep and booming voice.

The room remained silent, and the old man put down his paddle.

“Do I hear eight?” Vasily asked. When no one answered, Vasily finally announced, “Seven million to #36.”

“Good job, man,” Anson praised with a pat to Stryder’s back.

“Yeah, good job. I just bought a sex slave.” Bile rose in the back of his throat, and tears of rage burned the backs of his eyes. He had never been so disgusted in his entire life. Flashes of his mother being fucked against a dirty clay-brick wall in a rat-infested alley flooded his vision.

He would kill every last motherfucker in this room…

“Stick with me, man. The night’s not over. Focus,” Anson said softly, snapping Stryder out of his fucked up thoughts.

The auction continued in a blur, and all Stryder could focus on was when he could claim Zoya and get her the fuck out of Russia. He had never missed The Black Stallion Ranch more than he did right now.

The poor woman. Would she ever recover from this nightmare?

And her nightmare, as well as his, was far from over. He would have to pretend to be her Master, make her believe he owned her, and scare the fucking shit out of her. It was the only way. He and Anson couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t blow their cover if she knew they were really there to rescue her, take her back to Texas, all to have her help them by giving vital details needed to bring Poplov’s empire down.

Vasily and all those who worked around him had to believe she was frightened. No clue could be given that she was being rescued, and the only way to do that was to make her believe she would be going to America with her new owner to be his Russian sex slave. Stryder concentrated on the mission, went over the plans again and again in his head as woman after woman was paraded onto the stage.

“Well, gentlemen, that is all we have for tonight. Rest assured that we will have another auction very soon with even more lovely ladies,” Vasily said, pulling Stryder from his plotting. “But I would like to end the night with a little voyeur fun. It is only fair, after all.”

All the bought women—who were all still naked—were pushed onto the stage in clear view of the winning men as well as the losers.

“So that we all walk away from this glorious evening feeling as if we all benefited from the night, let’s have all our lucky owners join us on the stage. I think the women would like to offer a welcoming gift to each of you.”

Stryder’s heart skipped. “What the fuck?” he mumbled under his breath so only Anson could hear him. This wasn’t part of the plan. It had been difficult enough watching each woman being dragged forward to be sold. Every single one had looked terrified, including the three virgins offered as the bids rang about the room. Now this? They hadn’t even considered this scenario. Who could possibly have contemplated this as a possibility?

“What that gift will be exactly is completely up to you as their Master and owner. But I do hope you will make it good for all the rest of us. Have them suck you off, fuck them for all I care… frankly, demand whatever you want. Just allow the rest of us to watch.” Vasily laughed loudly and asked the audience, “What do you say, men? Wouldn’t you all like to see these little slaves get right to work?”

The sick crowd shouted in agreement and a wave of motion began in the sea of monsters as the winners, some followed by their entourage, made their way toward the stage.

“You have to, bro. Don’t blow our cover,” Anson said, obviously knowing what was running through Stryder’s head. “Think about the big picture.”

“This is sick.”

“It’s necessary. Don’t play the hero now. We will die, and none of those girls will ever get rescued.”

“Fuck!” Stryder growled as he walked toward the stage. What the fuck was he going to do?