I stood in the center of the small, dark room with concrete walls. The only light shone in from the doorway, where brilliant fluorescent light framed the hulking man. His lips twisted as we observed each other. He swore in Russian, then slammed the door shut, surprising me with its finality. Okay, then.
Weariness settled in my bones as the misery of a day of abuse and torture caught up with me. Holding back the tears that once again threatened to spill over, I shuffled over to the wall, then slid down to the floor, leaning backward on my arms. As I fought to contain my misery, the door cracked open again. The man who’d brought me here knelt before me.
“Behave,” he commanded.
I nodded, angry with myself for my compliance, but unable to resist the temptation of the water bottle he dangled in front of my face. He twisted off the top and let me slake my thirst, heedless of the water that dribbled down my front. When I finished, he unwrapped another protein bar and fed it to me bite by bite. He rocked back on his heels, his sharp eyes observing me as I trembled, determined to present a brave front no matter how scared I was.
He pulled a knife out of his pocket. I flinched back, despite myself, and his lips twisted again, his expression indecipherable. He reached around me and slashed through the tape holding my wrists together. My muscles screamed as he dragged them in front of me and retaped them.
“Behave,” he repeated, waving the knife in front of my face.
He had to know I’d spend the night trying to free myself. I nodded anyway, and he stood up, slamming the door behind him on his way out.
The room was small, ten steps in each direction, more of a closet than a room. The walls felt like they were made of cinderblocks. I suspected they were interior walls, as I couldn’t hear the noises from traffic and the street that I’d caught while in the warehouse earlier. There was no handle on the interior of the door, no sharp angles for me to rub my wrists on and break the tape.
As exhaustion overtook me, I allowed my tears to fall. Rian, Cormac, and Liam had promised to keep me safe, and I had to believe they’d find me.
I awoke with a jolt,the terror of my nightmare bleeding into the terror of the present. With a whine, I brought my breathing under control, softly counting out loud to ground myself. I struggled to separate my memories of my teenaged captivity from the frightening situation I now found myself in.
Trembling and crying, I sat up from where I’d curled up in the corner and leaned back against the wall. If I got out of here, when I get out of here, I was so fucking done. I swallowed a sob as my heart cracked at the thought of leaving the men who’d wormed their way into my affections over the last week. But even the best sex I’d ever had and our budding love didn’t make up for this bullshit.
I looked up at the ceiling and roared my frustration, my fury at the pain, and my sorrow at this fucking life that drove men to capture and abuse women, echoing against the concrete. Fear of nightmares chasing me in my sleep kept me awake and trembling until the door clanged open the next morning.
“Good morning, sweetness,” Alexi said, staring at me with dead eyes, his frame illuminated by the light from the hallway. He stalked forward and dragged me to my feet by my hair as I shouted and struggled, trying to get away. By the time I got my feet under me and could follow under my own locomotion, we were halfway out of the room. I tried to kick out at his knee, but missed.
Alexi shoved me to the ground. My bruised and throbbing cheek smacked into the concrete when I failed to catch myself with my bound hands. I cried out at the pain, then clambered back to my feet, cursing his name, his mother’s name, and the fucking Bratva.
He just laughed and dragged me by my bound arms into the crate-filled warehouse, not bothering to throw a hood over my head this morning. Fuck. My chances of survival decreased with every moment I stayed here. Surrounded by brutal, ruthless Bratva, I didn’t see a way to escape.
Alexi taped my legs to the chair with quick and efficient movements. Yuri watched, his eyes cold and furious. When I tried to slam my bound hands into Alexi’s chin, he grabbed them and squeezed until I whimpered in pain, scared he was going to break my fingers. “Don’t pull that shit again,piccolina.”
He sliced through the tape and then roughly bound my hands together behind the chair. My breath caught at his carelessness as I felt the looseness of the connection, but continued to struggle and swear, hoping, praying to a God I didn’t believe in, that he wouldn’t notice.
Alexi stood up and eyed me with satisfaction, setting up the camera on a tripod. Yuri posed next to me as Alexi snapped photos, tracing my lips with a knife, then pushing the sleeves of my dress down once again, baring my breasts to the lens.
“How does it feel to know that your remaining hours will be nothing but pain, bitch?” Alexi asked, spittle flying out of his mouth as he ran a knife down my chest, blood dripping off the curve of my breast as he grinned madly.
“How does it feel to know you’re wasting what few hours you have left on this earth on a goddamned Russo? You might hate me, Alexi, but you’re a dead man the moment my men find you.”
He laughed wildly, waving the bloody knife in my face. “Do you think your men are going to have time to search for you when your father is burning down the Russian warehouses, murdering the Bratva’s daughters?”
My eyes shot to his. Alexi smiled, evil intent in his eyes as he plunged the knife into my thigh. I screamed in pain and terror, and he snapped a photo, capturing my fright. As I sobbed in agony, I cursed myself for not trying to escape earlier. If he fucking stabbed me again, there’d be no walking out of here.
Taking a deep breath, I packed all of my pain and terror into a tiny box and shoved it into the back of my mind. I needed to focus entirely on convincing Yuri that I would do anything,anything, for freedom, as my wounds bled out on the concrete floor.
By the time lunch rolled around, Yuri was sloppy and careless. When I refused his offer of water and a protein bar, he slapped me, then walked off to enjoy takeout with his soldiers.
This was my opportunity. As soon as they disappeared into the maze of wooden crates, I began working my wrists loose, wincing as the movement aggravated my injuries. Minute after terrifying minute, I flexed my wrists until I found a rough spot on the chair and began the arduous work of sawing through the tape.
Rat-a-tat-tat!The sound of automatic weapons firing outside spurred me to move faster toward freedom. All of a sudden, the tape gave way, and my hands were free. I ripped them out of the bonds holding them to the chair, then freed my ankles. Oh, thank God, sweet freedom. I pulled my dress up, not that modesty really mattered now.
When I stood, I wobbled, the combination of not eating, blood loss, and exhaustion making me dizzy. Woozy, I leaned on the back of the chair, searching for balance. Fuck, getting out of here was going to be a problem. Gunshots rang out. Men shouted in Russian and English on the other side of the warehouse. I had no idea where the closest entrance was, but I bet my life that following the sound of gunfire would get me out of there.
Staggering from wooden crate to wooden crate, I stumbled over first one dead body, then another. A bullet whizzed by my head. I slammed my body flat against the nearest crate, swearing angrily. I was too beat up, too tired, and in too much pain for this bullshit.
I waited for a break in the shots, then peeked out from behind the crate. The path seemed clear. I dashed to the next crate, and then the next, praying the entire time that a stray bullet wouldn’t find me. When the gunfire started up again, I sank to the ground. I had to be getting closer to the entrance.
“Stupid bitch,” Yuri’s voice snapped behind me. “Did you think you were going to get away?”