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“Why?” I tilted my head, staring right into the swollen eyes that were leaking blood from the cuts around them and tears. He wasn’t even fighting back anymore. “We have eleven of them alive, one more won’t be missed.”
He sighed. “We have nine alive, you killed the two by the door.”
“Fine. I will allow this one live, but only if he can prove himself useful. How about it?” I smiled at the max choking in my grip. “Tell me where my wife is.”
An hour later, Dom was out, happier than I’d seen him in a while, to gather more men. We’d gotten Maxim’s location and I was going to get Katya back.
My hands were dirty from torturing, and I wiped violently with a handkerchief that would never be white again.
“Aren’t you glad I interfered before you killed him?”
I finished cleaning my hand and trashed the handkerchief. “Relieved more like, but still, thank you.”
Frankie smiled. “Revenge at last?”
I smiled too. My brothers knew me so well.
Chapter 28 - Katya
I was on my guard when I heard the stomping. Angry, fast footsteps marching towards my goddamn cell.
Standing so quickly left me a bit lightheaded, but I was ready for whatever crap Maxim intended to throw at me.
That miserable old woman had said a lot of things maybe in a bid to make me afraid and submissive like an obedient little tramp, but that was not me.
I did not submit to those that were inferior to me. I'd rather die fighting.
Three of them came. One aimed a gun at me, so I slowly raised both my hands in the air while another opened the cell for them to enter.
“Nice to see the Petrenko princess living in shit like a fucking pig,” the one with the gun said in Russian and spat at my feet while his comrades loosened the chain from the bolt on the wall and shoved me forward to get moving.
“Shove a dick down your throat.” I sneered back.
They shoved me to a different room in what I assumed was the underground floor of Maxim's estate because I hadn't passed even one window.
When they shut the door, the one with the gun gestured to me. “Strip, princess. Let's see your royal tits.”
The other two guys stood back, laughing lecherously.
“You must be joking.”
He gave me a daring look and smirked. “Then you should start laughing.”
Around the time I became friends with Paulina in high school, I was a fighter.
If somebody so much as said something that pissed me off, I'd be on them with my fists. The constant fighting was how I had gotten better at it.
You only had to throw one bad punch to learn the right way to do it.
With my father, I got into trouble for fighting just once. Around the first time I got into a serious fight during a school vacation.
He'd chewed me out in Russian, not only for starting the fight, but also for not finishing it. For breaking my fingers and needing to get treated at the hospital because of it.
That was when he'd shown me how to throw a proper punch.
One that could dislodge a jaw without making me break my fingers.
I threw punches like a madman, kicking and scratching because they were trying to strip me. Two of the men attacked me, while the third tried to reel me in by the chain leash I was attached to.
