Page 23 of Savage Truce

It feels as if the air is sucked out of the room and tension coils every muscle in my body as I continue to work while staying fully on guard.

Like a bunch of vultures, they swoop down on the table, making the food disappear faster than I can prepare it, and by the time there’s nothing else to cook, a stack of dirty plates and cutlery forms a tower on the table.

Finding some soap, I limp between the sink and the table as I wash everything. A mixture of sweat and dishwater dampens my blouse and strands of hair stick to my neck, but I keep working.

Once the last plate is packed away, I dare to take a few sips of water straight from the faucet before hauling the bags of clothes onto the table.

God, I’m exhausted.

The soldier smirks, then says, “You work good for big woman.” He drags a finger along the front of his neck. “Or die if don’t.”

“I’ll work,” I mutter.

Inspecting the clothes, I make two piles. Quick fixes and items that will need more work. Pulling the tin closer, I open it and stare at the needles and brown thread.

Crap. Do I take a chance and stitch myself up or ask permission?

My eyes lift to the soldier who’s picking food out of his teeth with a long pinky nail.

Gross.

Deciding to take a chance, I find a bowl and pour warm water into it. I shoot the soldier another glance, but he’s staring out the door.

Untying the strings, I carefully peel the apron away from my calf.

Thank God, the bleeding has stopped.

Using my fingers, I wash the wound as best I can before patting it dry with the cleanest part of the apron.

Picking out the sharpest needle from the tin, I walk to the stove and hold it in a flame to sterilize it before switching off the burner. After getting some thread, I sit down on the floor and steel myself for the pain. Biting down on my bottom lip, I push the needle through my skin.

Bloody hell!

A cold sweat breaks out over my entire body, and I suppress a whimper. I struggle with trembling fingers and burning eyes to push through and stitch up the wound.

Seven stitches later, my breaths are harsh, and feeling lightheaded, I lean back against a cabinet, taking a moment to catch my bearings.

How the hell am I going to survive this place?

As I lift my eyes, they lock on the soldier’s face where he’s watching me with a weird expression. I get the feeling it gives him great pleasure seeing me struggle, and it sends an icy chill down my spine.

The men here are sadists. They’re going to get their pound of flesh from the women before killing us all.

It’s going to take a miracle for me to escape, and I stopped believing in those five years ago.

CHAPTER 7

Rodian

The past week and a half has been the busiest of my entire fucking life.

With my family tucked away safely on Mauritius, an island off the coast of Africa, I’ve worked around the clock to establish some sense of order among the men.

Where most have fallen in line, there are a couple of factions that refuse to accept me as pakhan, believing Yegor will return and retake the throne. Little do they know I handed him over to the Cosa Nostra after we tore apart the operation he had set up at an abandoned prison. The Cosa Nostra promised to send proof of his death once they’ve finished getting their revenge.

Last I heard from Enzo, the underboss of the Capo dei Capi, they were having fun torturing Yegor.

Rosie, the capo who was held captive at the prison, is recovering, and Tim, the seventeen-year-old hacker who was imprisoned alongside her, is safely back home in Germany. I gave him enough money to change his life forever, but the kid refuses to take the time to deal with the hell he went through. Instead, he has decided he’s my personal hacker.