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“You can’t afford me,” I spout.
Fat, stubby fingers wind around my arm in a bruising grip. I struggle, fight him off but he only tightens his hold.
I’m hauled over a shoulder and he carries me into the cellar. I kick and scream the whole time he moves us through one hall, up a flight of stairs, and then another.
Lovely hardwood does a bang-up job of cushioning my fall when I’m tossed off like a sack of meat. I tumble sideways, my hands out to brace for impact, but it doesn’t help the pain pulsing out from my ribs on contact.
“Fucker,” I grunt and take a size fourteen shit kicker to the other side of my ribs. Stars burst behind my eyelids. I wheeze. Fuck, that hurt like hell. I wrap my arms around my center and curl into a trembling ball.
Slowly I push to my knees and just sit there trying to put some air into my starving lungs. Shuffling of feet over the smooth flooring is the only precursor I get to the shock of pain I feel against my jaw. I go flying and skid over the polished flooring. The hard legs of a coffee table stop my progression across the room with a thud. This time it’s my spine.
I stop breathing. I know I should be pulling in air but I can’t draw breath through the soul-crushing agony eating my insides.
Fingers stab my hair and an unforgiving grip yanks me back to a kneeling position.
“I knew you would look pretty on your knees.” Beast One’s breath is putrid just like his cologne. He clumsily grabs for his zipper and I prepare for the fight of my life.
“Later, Volk.”
Through narrow slits I spy a familiar set of black eyes watching from the opposite side of the room to match the familiar voice. “The Volkovs will want to speak with her.”
Dragon has his arms crossed. Watching from the doorway. As in not lifting a finger to stop this asshole from using me as a punching bag. He looks completely relaxed leaning up against the frame like he does this sort of thing every day.
And he’s right, I realize. Dragon can’t forfeit his cover.
An ugly face fills my vision. “I remember you.”
Another blow to the face and this time the sofa to the side of me cushions my fall. In my tumble, the phone in my back pocket falls. I scoot over it in an attempt to hide it.
I take the hit to the face like a warrior fucking bitch. I spit blood on the tips of Beast One’s scuffed boots. His shit-eating grin makes me nauseous but I bury that under the false sense of bravado keeping me stable on my knees.
“Nice to see you remember me. I’ll be the one to drive a knife through your heart. Rememberthat, asshole.” My mouth is back to running and I spit another mouthful of blood out.
I hear multiple sets of feet pounding wood and Dragon moves aside as two men in suits that match the opulence of the place walk in. But no amount of money in the world would fix the scars scaling their necks and half their faces.
“Enough, Volk. Stop beating our guest.”
One wears his hair down in an appearance to hide burn marks splashed up the side of his neck and jawline.
The other tries for a beard to hide the nasty-looking puckers but there are patches missing where the scars cover the side of his face.
Neither succeeded.
They cross the study and the one with the clean-shaven jaw kneels in front of me while his look brother hangs back, his head hunched over his phone screen.
There’s a spill of Russian coming from his mouth and his expression screams panic.
Something tells me they’ve just discovered my early morning handy work.
The one hovering over me turns and answers and his brother’s thumbs are flying over the small device.
A finger lifts my chin. Hair falls around me. I’m breathing heavily but push through the blinding dots threatening to crush me under a wave of panic. Early afternoon positions the sun just right to send shafts of light to pierce my eyes. I take that pain and focus on it instead.
I remain unblinking.
“Does your master know you’re missing?”
For once I keep my mouth sealed shut.
