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A strong force yanks me backward by the hair, pulling me away from the people I love most in the world. I yelp from the shock of pain. “Where is my father?”
“He’s watching,” my assailant hisses against my ear. “But this is the best part. I’m going to take you out the front door, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.”
I whirl around, glaring at the intruder. “I want to see him.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands, Natasha.”
“Fuck you. I said I want to see him.”
The guy nods to his gaggle of goons, and they clear a path toward my father’s office. The heavy oak door hangs sideways, ripped from its hinges by brute force. My father hunches over in his chair, a bloody gag hanging around his neck.
I step inside, a chill slithering down my spine when the light hits his face. His pressed Oxford shirt hangs off his torso, torn and tattered, and a trickle of blood oozes down his bruised jaw. The lashes of one eye flutter weakly, while congealed blood settles in the creases of the other, so swollen he's hardly recognizable.
I whirl around and shove the intruder, but he barely moves. “You motherfucker. Look what you did to him.”
His eyes narrow. “He deserved a lot more than that. You can thank me now for showing him some mercy.” He nods at my father. “You fucked us, Ivan. Hard. And now we’re gonna fuck…you.”
“I am so sorry, malyshka,” Dad says, his voice thick. “I should have been more careful. I should have taken better care of you and your sisters. I made mistakes, such big mistakes. I regret every last one.”
“Tell her who I am,” the man growls. “Tell her why she’s leaving with me.”
Dad glares at the man through his one good eye. “Dima Malikov. You think this is over, but it’s not. You won’t ever win.”
His words shudder through me because they are the least-convincing words I’ve ever heard from his mouth.
The man’s—Dima’s—lips curl into a demonic smirk that, despite the torture and torment he’s caused, still manages to flood my body with pent-up lust. “I already have.”
He grabs my arm and yanks me away from my father.
“Dad!” I grip the wooden doorway and hang on for dear life. “Don’t let them take me. Please save me.”
Dima leans close, peeling my hands off of the wood. “You can cry all you want, but he’s not gonna do a damn thing. Look close, sweetheart. He ain’t even tied up. But he’s smart enough to know he already lost, no matter what he says.”
“No,” I weep as he carries me away from my father. “Please, Dad. You can’t let them take me!”
But my father just watches as I’m dragged, kicking and screaming, from the office, a vacant look in his one open eye.
He never makes a move to stop the men who popped our perfect bubble of a life. He never tells me what he did to make these men so irate. He just stares.
Powerless. Helpless. And completely defeated.
My chest heaves as the gravity of my new reality clutches me by the throat.
I claw and scratch every available inch of Dima’s uncovered flesh when he hoists me over his shoulder and carries me out the front door.
I suddenly hate our little slice of seclusion here on the shore. I’d always loved being tucked away from the city, living in our exclusive and private compound. Now I desperately yearn to be part of civilization where we might have actually had a chance at surviving this attack.
My feet hit the ground, and Dima presses me against the side of a massive black truck while pulling open the back door. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a shadow creeping toward us.
Dima suddenly turns, his gun pointed at Vigo, one of my father’s security guards.
The only one, it appears, who didn’t get shot dead during the invasion, although he was definitely beaten down as evidenced by his battered face and body. He moves closer, grimacing when he sees that he doesn’t have a clear shot at Dima.
Because if he takes it, there’s a good chance it’ll hit me.
And if he doesn’t—
I choke on a gasp. “Vigo.”
