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“No permanent damage. Don’t fuck up her face.” Andrei sneers down at me, and I almost wish my vision wasn’t clearing because nothing about him is anything I want to see. I can feel some of the sensation returning to my limbs, my muscles twitching as my body comes back to life, and I don’t know how I feel about that, either.
On the one hand, if I can’t move, I can’t fight. On the other, whatever they plan to do to me next, I’m going to feel it.
His hand tightens on my shoulder, and I can’t help but try to flinch away. Andrei laughs, a wet drop of spit landing on my face as he does so.
“Ooh, this littlekoshkahas claws,” he says with a grin, and his hand squeezes, clenching my shoulder so tightly that I cry out in pain.
It burns away what was left of the drugs, though, bringing me fully and abruptly back to my senses. I buck under his hand, twisting and wrenching my hands in the cuffs despite myself, and I hear him growl above me.
“Stepan, get the bitch to be still.”
I let out a yelp despite myself as two hands latch onto my ankles, yanking me down the mattress so that I’m flat on my back. There’s no way for me to grab on to anything or stop it, not with my hands bound behind my back still and gone numb from how tight the plastic cuffs are. But I refuse to go down without a fight.
Andrei’s other hand finds my breast, squeezing through the satin of my half-destroyed evening gown, and I jerk like a fish, kicking at Stepan’s grip. As far as I can tell, there are only the two of them, for now, but I know that might not last forever. There might be more outside or on the way, and neither of these two is the cold man who slid the needle into my neck before kidnapping me.
“Christ, she squirms like a worm on a hook,” Stepan growls, his fingers digging into my ankles until I yelp with pain again. He jerks my legs apart, leering up the remains of my skirt, and as I get a good look at what remains of my dress, I feel a twist in my stomach.
It’s half ripped, torn off, or cut off at my knees, probably because they got tired of wrestling with all of the fabric while they transported me. The bodice is still mostly in place, thank god, but all of the material is filthy. I can feel how tangled my hair is, and I wonder how much time has passed since I was taken out of the apartment. A day? Two? More than that?
“They didn’t say we couldn’t fuck her,” Andrei says, his accent thickening even more. “She’s no virgin. No one can tell the fucking difference if we get our dicks wet anyway.”
“We weren’t told we could, either—” Stepan sounds hesitant. It’s very strange to feel a moment’s gratitude towards him for something so absolutely ridiculous as a hesitance to actually violate me, but here we are.
“Look at her.” Andrei’s hand slides down my rib cage, and I feel my muscles tense, my skin shuddering away from his touch. “You want to ask permission or forgiveness? How often do we get a piece like this that isn’t off-limits entirely?”
Stepan’s gaze slides up my legs again, and I can see him considering it. He lingers on my inner thighs, and his grip on my ankles slackens just a little, enough to let me wrench one foot out of his grasp.
I know it’s stupid. I know it’s useless. My hands are bound, and I’m still weak from the drugs; there’s no way I’m going to overpower them. But I can’t just lay here and let them do this.
The moment my foot is free, I twist, kicking as hard as I can and aiming for the side of Stepan’s head. He’s so busy ogling me that he doesn’t see the kick coming. Andrei doesn’t either because he’s focused on running his hands over my breasts and stomach, chuckling with every twitch of my body as it automatically tries to escape his touch.
The kick isn’t hard enough to knock Stepan out or do any real damage, but itfeelsgood. I have one single moment of feeling absolute satisfaction at the shocked look on his face before he lurches back towards me with a furious expression.
He comes halfway across the bed in an instant, Andrei jumping out of his way as Stepan’s hand fists in the front of my dress, the delicate satin ripping in his rough grip. He yanks me forward, his right hand connecting across my cheek in a slap that makes my ear start ringing and my head go sideways so hard that I can feel a muscle in my neck strain too far.
“Fucking littlebitch,” Stepan snarls, his hand grabbing my jaw in a vice grip as he shoves his thumb between my lips. “Suck on this while I get you something better to suck on, you little mafia whore.”
Oh, fuck this.
I know whatever I do, they’re going to give it back so much worse, but I can’t help it. At that moment, I know I’d rather die than let them use me however they wanted. Maybe they’ll do it anyway, but I’m damn sure going to make it hard for them.
I bite down on Stepan’s thumb hard, my teeth sinking into the flesh as I taste blood. His sudden screech of pain is even more satisfying than the kick to the side of the head, and I dig my teeth in, wanting to hurt him as much as possible before he retaliates.
The punch comes without warning, a fist in my side that takes the breath right out of me and leaves me gasping, my jaw dropping open and letting Stepan extricate his ragged thumb.
“Hold her,” Stepan snarls, his face an evil mask of rage, and I feel my stomach twist with bitter fear. Whatever’s coming next, I know it won’t be good.
Andrei’s thick hand wraps in my hair, pulling my head backward as Stepan hits me again, hard enough that I feel my lip split, starting to swell almost immediately. The blows come fast and furious then, Andrei’s grip tightening until it feels as if he might rip my hair from my skull. I can feel myself starting to go limp, the pain blooming through my body like a fresh bruise.
And then I feel Stepan’s hand around my throat, squeezing as he looks down at me with a vicious light in his eyes that terrifies me more than anything I’ve ever experienced.
As my vision goes dark again, all I can think is that I’d give anything for that to not be the last thing I see.
VIKTOR
It’s been three days since Caterina went missing.
I came back to the apartment to find her gone, and at first, I’d thought that she might have taken the opportunity to escape me. But the knocked-over side table and broken vase by the door, with one of her high heels lying in the midst of the shattered glass, was enough to suggest that she hadn’t left of her own volition.
