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“Tell me, have you enjoyed your cushy life spending Daddy’s blood money while innocent men suffer and die at his hands?” he asks casually, his hot breath washing across my face.
His voice is hoarse, like it, too, endured serious damage, and I can’t fathom the agony he must have experienced to still be alive after such terrible wounds. But beneath all that pain and suffering lies the hint of a Russian accent just like the men who took me.
How? How could they possibly have known to take me tonight? Have they been watching our house? Following us this whole time?
I shake my head no to answer his question, my throat so raw, I’m not sure he could even hear me if I try to speak around my gag. My body manages to manufacture a single tear that escapes my eye.
The disfigured man laughs cruelly, drawing the same response from his colleagues as he glances behind him.
“Liar,” he accuses flatly.
Then his scarred fingers brush roughly across my skin to hook beneath my gag. He pulls it from my mouth with unnecessary force, splitting my dry lip in the process. I don’t care. I gulp in air and lick my lips at the sweet relief of being able to close them again. My jaw aches from so many hours of being forced open, and my throat swallows convulsively, seeking moisture it’s not going to find.
“How much do you think your father would give me in ransom to have you back?” the leader asks, crouching before me and resting his forearms on his knees. He’s tall enough that our eyes become level as I remain seated in my chair.
And while every fiber of my being urges me to spit in his face, to breathe fire and tell him he can go straight to hell, I have more than just my own life and safety to consider here. The innocent life I’m carrying has no way to protect itself. My baby only has me, and that leaves me feeling desperate—and vulnerable.
The tiny being Mishka and I created together has shifted my survival instincts massively, and rather than fighting, I find I’m ready to do whatever it takes to flee. “My father would pay anything to get me back, so long as you don’t hurt me,” I assure him quickly, the words rasping from my dry throat. I clear it uncomfortably, but I refuse to look away so he can see the sincerity in my eyes.
A slow smirk spreads across his permanently chapped lips, and he steps back, straightening to his full height as he gives me some space. “Would the great Sergio Sakharov give up his life for his only daughter?” he asks playfully, like the thought amuses him.
I pause, my heart rate doubling at his question. Because I know that as much as my father loves me, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t give up his life for me because he loves no one more than he loves himself. Not even Viktor—though I imagine my brother would be the only person on this earth who could make him think twice.
As if he can read my thoughts on my face, the scarred man nods. “I figured as much. Which is why I intend to ship you back to your father in little pieces instead.”
Panic floods me, making the world spin dangerously beneath me, and I’m almost grateful for the chair as I face the horror of his words.
“W-What? W-Why?” I gasp, searching desperately for any reason I can think of to convince these men not to hurt me.
“Because your father needs to pay for what he’s done. And I imagine receiving little morsels of the daughter he dotes upon will have to do if we can’t make him suffer directly.”
The man’s tone says the logic of it all should be obvious, but I can’t think past the terror crushing my chest.
“Don’t worry, Princess. I’m sure the anticipation must be killing you. We’ll begin shortly, once I’ve finished attending to a few other obligations,” he purrs.
“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” I beg, on the brink of hyperventilating. “I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. Just spare my life.” I have no doubt I would come to regret those words, but there is little I wouldn’t do to keep my baby alive.
“And why should I?” he asks, making my skin crawl as he comes closer once again.
“I’m pregnant,” I murmur, hoping against hope that he has an ounce of humanity that might make him think twice about hurting me now. “You can’t possibly be willing to kill an innocent child,” I breathe, pleading with my eyes.
And icy chill stills my heart as my captor simply scoffs.
Then he leans in to grasp the arms of my chair once more. “Do you know how many innocent children have died at your father’s hands?” he asks, his husky voice like a death rattle in my ear. “What’s one more dead baby? Besides, the way I see it, I’ll be doing the world a favor, disposing of a Sakharov before it has a chance to pollute this world further.”
His eyes flick back and forth between mine, the milky blind one searching fruitlessly as his one good eye pierces deep into my soul. And though his pupil has dilated until the iris has almost been completely swallowed by the black center, I can see a hint of the sapphire blue they must have been.
I shudder violently, shivers crawling across my frigid skin. “You monster. I hope you burn in hell!” I shriek, narrowly missing his face as I try to headbutt him.
I struggle viciously against my bonds, determined to attack him—to fight back in any way I can. I cry out in pain as the ropes bite into my flesh with the effort. But if I’m going to die and nothing I say will change that, then I can’t just sit by and do nothing.
The men residing in the shadows behind the scarred man give throaty chuckles, finding humor in my fury as their boss moves out of range of my wrath.
“You are a feisty one. I can see the appeal.” He chuckles.
“Drop dead,” I hiss, wishing I had enough moisture in my mouth to spit at him.
The amusement drops from his lips in a flash, and my stomach knots as the ice returns to his eyes.
