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A stab of pain lanced her heart at that thought. Her men. Cannon. Hawk. She’d never see them again.
“Just think. Figure out your options…”
It took seconds to figure out she didn’t have many. Judging by the snowy treetops and other structures visible through the open curtains on the large window, she was on an upper floor, possibly facing a courtyard. And she was shackled to the bed. The short chain kept her legs straight out in front of her when she tried to scoot toward the headboard, so she moved closer to the foot of the mattress.
When the links had some give, she drew her legs up to her chest, crossing her ankles, and wrapped her arms tightly around her knees. At best, it was a short-term solution to cover herself while she scrambled for what to do. Her brain was screaming, though, blanking against anything but panicked terror. No amount of logic or planning would erase that she’d been dragged back across the country and plunged into an abyss of horror.
Her men would never find her. They wouldn’t even know where to look. Nevertheless, if by chance they did locate her, there was no way they’d have no access into this place. She could only guess where she was, but she had no doubt she was in some Bratva fortress. Based on what she knew from before she’d run five years ago, and what Jax’s friend had revealed, she was still sure of that fact. Hawk and Cannon would never get in.
Drawing on her strength, her teeth digging into her lip as she fought tears, she studied the “cell” where she’d woken. In many ways, the snow-white room looked like a normal bedroom. She was on a four-poster bed. Heavy curtains hung open at the window. She could see a large—empty—closet and an opulent bathroom. Across from her was dresser with still-life floral painting above it on the wall. The blood-red flowers were the only color in the entire space.
What was abnormal, decidedly freaky and weird, aside from no linens on the bed, were the chairs. Six of them. Placed in a semi-circle around the bed as if it were a stage. She wasn’t positive because everything about being here terrified her, but the chairs might have been the most blood-chilling aspect.
Her nails bit into her legs where she hugged them. The pain sidetracked her panic. For the moment.
Fucking think, Dev. Think!
Straining her ears, she tried to detect any sounds from the house. She didn’t hear a thing—not other people moving around, no road traffic. Just her harsh breathing and the unsettling silence, a quiet so absolute she could practically hear the electricity buzzing through the light fixtures overhead.
She swallowed hard, again looking for options. There were none.
Her chest tightened, and she started to shake, the tremors so hard she couldn’t stop her teeth from clacking together. Her nails dug into her legs where she hugged them, and she knew that pain was nothing compared to what lay before her.
Until that instant, the reality hadn’t fully sunk in. She’d been scared, but suddenly, the futility of her circumstances eclipsed everything. What would she do? What could she do?
She wouldn’t give in or cooperate. Which probably didn’t bode well for her. She just couldn’t cave to this; she couldn’t! She’d fought so hard to be free. And she didn’t understand why. Why her? Why did this group even care about her after all this time? Why hadn’t they given up?
It didn’t make sense.
It probably never would.
Before she had time to calm herself, a task she wasn’t sure she could even do, the door cracked open. Her wide-eyed stare whipped in that that direction, her fight instincts snapping into place. She tensed, poised for battle, despite being hampered by the chain around her ankle.
“Walter,” she whispered his name, growling under her breath. Rage burned through her. If ever she’d despised a person, it was him.
Unfazed by her fiery glare, her stepfather smirked at her. Shutting the door before him, he sauntered into the room. He stopped beside the bed, his smirk turning lewd as he studied her.
“Well, well…here you are. Was it worth it?” He ran his hand over her hair.
Devon shuddered and jerked away from his touch, her skin already crawling.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.
He snort-laughed, yanking at her ear and twisting until she cried out. “That’s the least of the touching you need to worry about, little bitch.”
Letting go, he patted her cheek a little too hard then turned away. The sudden urge to leap on him, wrap her arm around his neck, and squeeze the life from him struck her, but before she could move, he dropped into the chair directly in front of her. Nonchalant, completely unconcerned by her murderous stare, he crossed his legs and draping a forearm over his thighs. His avarice-filled eyes raked over her, again.
“You’ve been a very bad girl, haven’t you? Bad enough we had to send a catcher after you and chain you up like the little bitch you are.”
“I’m not the bad one here, asshole.”
One of his shoulders lifted, and he tipped his head as if her words meant nothing to him, his expression mocking her.
“Bad?” He chuckled. “You’re the one who’ll learn to obey.” His chin jerked toward her. “Open your legs. Let me see you. Now.”
Her lip curled. “Fuck you.”
“Exactly.” His eyebrow lifted. “The Baranovs might own you, but Daddy has first rights at breaking you in.”
