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  Master

  Catherine Taylor

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, any person living or deceased is entirely coincidental. Any references to real places or events are used fictitiously. All characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination.

  © 2014, Catherine Taylor

  Cover design by SelfPubBookCovers.com/RoBarts

  Published by Catherine Taylor

  Smashwords Edition

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support

  For more information about the author and her books please visit

  www.catherinetaylor.co.nz

  Dedication

  This one is for my husband in our thirtieth year of marriage.

  Acknowledgements

  The story of Master would not have been possible without the support of many people who have been there through the hours of writing, researching and editing. As always, my family have been my greatest support, giving me their love, encouragement and humour to get me to the end.

  My love and thanks to my husband, who has invested time to read, advise and edit, and listen to all my doubts, anxieties and triumphs.

  Love, appreciation and thanks for the friendship I have in Maggie, Aroha, Nicole, Aisha, Mikyla and Leisha, who gave their time to read my work, gave me sound advice and never allowed me to give anything but my best.

  To my readers who have taken time to contact me, leave reviews and give me support, this book came about because you loved the characters and wanted to know more about them. It was a challenge that I am so happy I took up, and writing Master has been an incredible adventure. Thank you for giving me the push I needed.

  PROLOGUE

  “There are rats in her room. There are lice in her hair. I want the lazy bitch out of my house.”

  Dmitri Petrenko didn’t often sit down to read the paper in the morning, and was quickly reminded why. He looked up, snarling at his wife, and wanting to punch her solidly in her gaping mouth. The only thing stopping him was the sight of her swollen belly. Maybe, once his son was born, he could get rid of her and find someone younger, someone mute with any luck.

  “I sent her away, didn’t I? They sent her back. They can’t do anything for her, so what the fuck do you expect me to do?”

  Vera Petrenko made her own vicious face and brought it close to his. “The girl is an imbecile. All she does is lie on her fat arse in bed and watch movies, except when she’s raiding the restaurant for food. She doesn’t wash, she just eats, and plays with that stupid doll of hers. For fuck’s sake, she’s nineteen and still playing with dolls. She needs to be committed, not just sent to some hospital for a holiday.”

  “I can’t fucking commit her.” Dmitri sat up and grabbed a fistful of her hair, bringing a cry from Vera. “If her grandfather showed up, you and I would find ourselves chopped into little pieces and fed to the fishes. Is that what you want?”

  Vera pulled away, ignorant to leaving several strands of hair in Dmitri’s fist. “Moscow is a long way from Donetsk, and he’s too busy making money, and sticking his nose in politics to worry about her. And how much would he care for her if he knew her like we do?”

  “Which is exactly why we have to sort her out,” Dmitri gasped. “The last time he saw her she was slim and pretty and not a halfwit. Do you want him to start asking questions, because I can tell you, he isn’t going to like the answers.”

  Vera straightened up and stared down her nose at him. “Then fix the problem permanently.”

  Dmitri folded his paper, placed it on the table and slowly got to his feet. Vera maintained her ground until the back of his hand sent her sprawling to the floor.

  He glared down at her. “She’s still my daughter, no matter what she is.”

  Clutching her face, her lip curled in a savage sneer. “You put us all in danger over that bitch.”

  “Shut your fat, ugly mouth and get up.”

  Vera slowly got to her feet. “I won’t be alone with her.”

  “Fine,” Dmitri replied angrily. “I’ll take her downstairs with me. She can do some cleaning in the restaurant. I’ll just keep her out of the kitchen, so she doesn’t send me broke by eating all the stock.”

  “I don’t want to go downstairs. I want to stay in my room.”

  Dmitri turned to see his daughter, Lena, standing at the door of the kitchen, clutching a baby doll to her breast. The pouting face thinned out her plump cheeks, unlike the thick, cotton nightie clinging and outlining distinctive curves. Her greasy brunette hair sat flat, long and lifeless against her head, falling to rest on large breasts. Only the wide, dark brown eyes were vivid, sparkling with unshed tears.

  “You’ll do as you’re fucking told,” he said quietly. “And stop harassing your stepmother.”

  Lena’s face filled with contempt as she shifted her gaze to Vera. “She’s nothing to me, just a cruel, ugly whore.”

  In three strides Dmitri had closed the distance between them and wrenched the doll from his daughter’s grip. Lena shook her head in terror.

  “No, Poppa, no. Don’t hurt Greta.”

  “It’s over. The sooner you get used to that, the better.”

  With one strong pull, Greta’s head was ripped from the body. He threw each part down in disgust at her feet. Trembling, Lena bent down and picked them up, a vacant stare coming over her face.

  Dmitri yelled and punched the wall. “Go back to bed. Go back to fucking bed.” He turned to Vera. “And just leave her alone. If she’s in her room, she can’t bother you.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Every Friday night for three months, Jahn had watched from the shadows and moved quietly amongst the crowd. Tonight it was time to put the plan into action, no matter how risky. It would either succeed, or he would end up with a bullet in his head.

  He had attended long enough to know how these men thought. They were no longer strangers. In three months, he had barely spoken a word to anyone, but he knew them intimately, and the rules they lived by.

  He had worked beside most of them, but in the coal mines there was little talk. It was inside the warehouse, with bodies packed tightly together, where most of the information was gathered. Men spoke to one another openly, stupidly believing that their conversations were safe in a thick mob where people were yelling constantly, and even safer if their words were spoken in a foreign dialect. No one was safe, especially from men like him.

  Pushing through bodies, some gave him a savage look, only to allow their abuse to die on their open lips. He was not a man to challenge lightly. At six foot three, he towered over most of them and was broad across the chest and shoulders. His thick black hair was long to his neck and fell unkempt about his forehead.

  They liked him well enough. He was always polite and worked hard, but he avoided conversation and kept to himself. The old miners respected this, having lived through the days of the Soviet Union when loose talk was dangerous. All that was gone now, and young men were supposed to be loud and sociable.

  Only the fights guaranteed his presence, and even then he didn’t talk or gamble. He just watched, with those strange, ice blue eyes, an imposing feature in an otherwise attractive face. One hard stare was enough to silence them, and then his eyes would return to the large cage, where the fighting was taking place.

  Jahn knew the outcome was only minutes away. It had only lasted this long because the Slav was toying with his opponent, giving the massive Russian a glimmer of hope, that his bulk would win out. It was nothing to do with siz
e. He still had the memory of a twelve year old boy killing a man with his bare feet, snapping his neck like a twig.

  Looking up at the mezzanine floor, he could see the amusement on the Slav owner’s face to know he was not alone in his thinking. Dmitri Petrenko had a knack for spotting good fighters in the local gymnasium. Those that came under his approval were taken from the mines and given new employment. All too often their careers were short lived.

  Those that were reluctant to join in Dmitri’s criminal activities soon found themselves sizing up against his champion, Radek. For many, it was the last fight they would ever have. It didn’t stop them from trying. The alternative was the slow, miserable life and death that came with the mines.

  The Russian was tiring, his punches stabbing at the air but getting nowhere near Radek’s body. Dmitri was chuckling, his large belly wobbling against the rail. Turning back, he excitedly addressed the girl sitting listlessly on a chair behind him.

  She raised her head to acknowledge him, her hair sliding back to reveal a pale, miserable and sweating face. It was the only part of her visible, with the rest wrapped in a thick coat, gloves and boots, making her look like a bug in a cocoon. The reluctant glance that she gave to the arena was filled with horror and contempt and she quickly looked away. Slowly her head went down again, her attention returning to the headless body of a doll in her lap. Dmitri scowled, cursed and returned his attention to the fight.

  A fist found its way into Radek’s ribs and for a moment his confidence seemed to wane. It was enough to spur the Russian into a full out attack which began to result in a decent beating. The roar of the crowd swelled as they saw the possibility that Radek would finally be defeated.

  It made it easier for Jahn to push through until he was out of the mob. On the outskirts he stopped to watch the finale, his height, and the raised cage allowing him a clear view over their heads.

  The Slav was smiling, his tattooed muscles barely wet, while the stark white body of the Russian was glistening with sweat and blood. Just as expected, the punch came out of nowhere, the sledge hammer, bare knuckled fist finding its mark, dislocating the Russian’s jaw and sending teeth and blood spraying out over the concrete arena floor.

  The shouting and cheering instantly ceased as if sucked into a vacuum. It almost seemed like a moment of respect, as the Russian stood for a moment, slightly swaying on his feet. His head was turned abnormally to the side. His bloodied face had become monstrous with his jaw hanging down at an unnatural angle and bone sticking out through his cheek.

  He fell straight down backwards, his skull smashing into the concrete like a melon, sending more blood fountaining out and slowly spreading out into a thick, scarlet pool.

  A few weak stomachs began retching, and were quickly disguised into bouts of coughing. Someone laughed nervously, and gradually the murmur of voices got louder. From the cage came a roar of victory as Radek punched at the air in triumph. Quickly the revulsion was overcome and a voluminous din of approval erupted as they shared in his victory. The money that most of them would win would make it easier to deal with the loss of a good man. Even if he was their champion, most of them had still put their money on Radek.

  This was when Jahn made his move, stepping into the gambling area. During the fights it was closed off while large amounts of money were tended to. Immediately, four suited thugs were blocking his way. Unlike the spectators, there was no intimidation in their glares.

  His mouth moved into a thin smile. “I want to fight.”

  “Your sponsor?” one asked.

  “It’s in my pocket.”

  They moved to surround him. His arms were seized and held behind him as one of them began to survey his coat. He offered no resistance and waited as big, rough hands went over him. There was a pause as a hand disappeared into the inner pocket and drew out a bundle of notes.

  The thug looked down at them and then stared back at Jahn. Silently, he turned and walked over to where other men were seated behind tables. Speaking to an older man, he stepped aside to allow him to see the intruder. The money was flicked through and the man got to his feet and approached.

  He was dressed less formally than his security, in a thick cardigan over his baggy trousers. Sparse grey and white hair hung from a balding head to his shoulders. His mouth was partially covered by a drooping grey moustache and beard.

  “Who are you?” His brow furrowed into a frown.

  “Jahn Zaleski. I work in the mines and I have the fee to fight.”

  Andrei Koltun peered at the man still held by his men. “That’s an interesting accent. Where are you from?”

  “Here.”

  “You look Ukrainian, but you don’t sound like one.”

  “I was born here. I spent a lot of time in Russia, and other places.”

  Andrei nodded, his curiosity sparked by more than the accent. Usually men were an open book to him. Within a few minutes, he was able to determine where they were from, their class, whether they were weak or strong and more important, what they were after.

  He had to look closer at the hard face to see that this man was still young, in his late twenties, early thirties at best. His features were Slavic with a powerful jaw, but he knew no one with eyes that colour. The lightest of blue, grey maybe. They reminded him of some cough lollies that he had once bought in Odessa.

  In Russian, Andrei spoke to him, “You’re a bit late. The fights are over, and I have no one left to pair you with.”

  Jahn continued to stare, but then turned to the direction of the arena where Radek was still savouring his victory. He turned back to Andrei and replied in Russian. “You still have him.”

  Andrei was genuinely amused, the lines around his eyes becoming deeper as he grinned. “You don’t have enough money to fight him.”

  “Your men were too reluctant to grab my cock. You’ll find the other half of the fee located there.”

  Andrei burst out laughing, but then viciously turned on the closest thug, backhanding him. “You call yourselves security. This man has not been searched thoroughly, you imbeciles.”

  “I’d prefer to retrieve the money myself,” Jahn said.

  Andrei looked back at him. “I’m sure you would. You’ll understand that I am a very cautious man, and that is why you’ll remove your clothing. I’m a little curious to see what else you have under that coat… from a professional point of view, of course.”

  “I’ll need my hands.”

  Andrei nodded to the men and they released him. One of them, a heavyset giant with a shiny bald head, opened his own coat and brought out a machete.

  “You may proceed,” Andrei smiled. “But be aware that Gregor is fast and his weapon is sharp.”

  Jahn slipped the coat from his shoulders and held it out to one of the thugs. After a frowned, enquiring glance to his boss, he reluctantly accepted, draping it over his arm. A black jumper and singlet were laid neatly on top of it, soon followed by boots, socks and a pair of track pants, leaving him in a pair of shorts.

  Andrei stilled a gasp but one of his men voiced his thoughts.

  “Fuck.”

  Most of them recognized the large tattoo to the right of his collarbone. It was an intricately designed, nautical star above the hilt of a knife, stabbed through the top of his breast and emerging again under the prominent curve. The long blade rippled over the muscles of his abdomen, the faded blue-grey indicating that it had been there for a long time, though the symbolism remained ominous.

  There was another tattoo was under the blade, low on his hip. It was one that Andrei was unfamiliar with. Two tigers were on the prowl, sizing each other up. Surrounding them was Asian lettering which disappeared into his shorts. Unlike the other tattoo, the ink was clear and the artwork precise and bright.

  Andrei’s gaze returned to Jahn’s face. “So when do I start to get worried?”

  “The tattoos are history,” Jahn replied. “They needn’t concern you.”

  “If my memory serves well,” An
drei laughed softly, “Ivanchenko does not give out his symbols easily. You’ll understand my concern.”

  “It’s been thirteen years since I saw him and he is no longer alive anyway. I’m here to fight and with no association with former acquaintances.”

  From the front of his shorts, Jahn pulled out another bundle of notes and tossed it onto his clothes. “There’s my money.”

  Andrei frowned at the amount. “I didn’t know miners were paid so well.”

  The thin smile appeared again. “I live frugally and save my money.”

  By now some of the crowd had noticed the proceedings in the gambling area. Their whispers spread quickly and eventually one of the men called out.

  “Are you fighting, Jahn?”

  Andrei looked at the miners staring incredulously as they took in Jahn’s powerful body. He called back to no one in particular. “Do you know this man?”

  There was a nodding of heads, and some of the men came forward. “He works with us in the mines. Swings a pickaxe like a battle axe. Now we can see why.”

  Another called out. “Who are you fighting, Jahn? I’ll put my week’s wages on you.”

  Jahn remained silent, his eyes never leaving Andrei. The older man frowned and looked up to the mezzanine floor. Dmitri was staring down at them, a pair of binoculars dangling from his hand.

  “Hang on,” he said to Jahn. “I need to clear this with the boss. We might have someone to match you up with.”

  Jahn shook his head. “It’s Radek or no one.”

  “Radek has just fought. It would hardly be fair.”

  “Two months ago he took on three fights and won each one.”

  Andrei scowled. “Don’t remind me of that fiasco. That was a night I could have done without.”