Fingers closed around my throat—hard. It wasn’t a hold, it was a shove, brutal and fast.
The owner threw me to the floor like I was weightless. I landed hard, shoulder first, skidding awkwardly across the concrete. My head smacked against it with a dull thud—enough to spark stars behind my eyes. It hurt like hell, but at least nothing felt broken.
My breath choked out of my lungs in a pitiful wheeze. I coughed, gagged, tried to suck in air. A ringing flooded my ears.
By the time I blinked my vision back, the bastard was looming over me. His grin was sharp and slick with cruelty.
“Well, darling,” he said, crouching beside me like he was about to whisper something sweet, “you said no to the drugs. So now you get to enjoy the show.”
My fingers scrabbled uselessly against the floor.
They dragged Valeria onto the pool table like she was a sack of meat. One of them knocked balls out of the way with a careless sweep of his hand. Her head lolled. Her limbs were boneless.
“Don’t touch her,” I rasped. “Please. Please, she’s not… she’s not even awake.”
He laughed. “I know exactly who you are,” he said, leaning closer until his face was inches from mine. His breath reeked of whiskey and something chemical. “And do you know how stupid you have to be to come here, princess?”
My stomach was turning. The world kept tilting sideways. My hands were trembling.
“My brother worked for your father,” he said. “He served that pig like a dog. And your father had him killed.”
He smiled, and there was nothing kind about it.
“Now it’s your turn to lose something.”
He stood and nodded toward the men by the table. “You’re going to watch every second. And then, when it’s over, you’ll get your turn. And after that? I’ll sell what’s left of you.”
Valeria moaned softly. Her head twitched, barely moving, like some distant part of her was registering the chaos around her.
“Lera,” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat, raw and broken. Tears streaked down my cheeks, hot and wild, blurring my vision. “Lera, get up. Stand up. Run, please—run.” I tried to crawl toward her, dragging my body forward inch by inch, my palms slipping uselessly against the grimy floor. I barely made it a few feet before a heavy boot came down on my wrist, pinning me in place. Pain splintered through my arm. I gasped, choked, but still sobbed her name. “Lera—please—you have to run.”
The men circled her like jackals around a carcass, drunk on cruelty. One of them yanked up her dress with a sickening casualness, his fingers digging into her thighs with ruthless force. Another grabbed at her legs, tearing through her stockings as if peeling away the last defense she had left.
My pulse thundered in my ears. I was shaking so hard it felt like my bones might splinter.
One bastard pinched her cheeks together and spit into her mouth, “Open your pretty mouth, bitch. Swallow it like candy.” Then he fumbled with his zipper, pulled out his half-hard dick, and dragged it across her cheek, smearing pre-cum across her skin. He laughed, low and cruel, stroking himself against her face as if she were a goddamn napkin.
My stomach clenched, acid rising like bile. I tried to move—to throw myself forward, to crawl—but the bastard standing on my wrist didn’t budge. His full weight pressed down like stone, and I screamed from the pain, the bones beneath his boot screaming louder. I clawed at his leg, tried to shove him off, but he didn’t flinch. He was a statue, carved from rot and malice. I sobbed, broken, helpless. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill. But all I could do was watch.
And when I thought they had her—when one of them lined himself up between her thighs, fingers shoving the fabric of her panties aside like it was nothing—
A thunderous crash.
The door flew open, hard enough to rattle the walls.
8
Keep Your Mouth Shut, Malaya
—Kira—
The door didn’t open—it exploded. The hinges buckled as it slammed back, slamming into the wall like the warning shot of a war.
Maksym stood in the doorway.
He didn’t shout. Didn’t hesitate. He raised his gun and fired. One clean shot—center of the forehead. The man closest to Valeria collapsed like a rag doll. Another step inside. Another shot. Blood splattered across the snooker table.
Someone lunged at him. Maksym’s boot met the man’s knee with a sickening snap. He dropped. Screamed. Maksym didn’t stop. He moved like a machine—calm, lethal. One by one, bodiesfell around him. The man who had his dick out stumbled back, slipping in panic, and cracked his head against the edge of the table before crashing to the floor, twitching.
