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“I told you to stop calling me that—” She tries to kick me but ends up grinding her hips against mine instead. The heat of her thighs is driving me crazy. What I wouldn’t give to sink my teeth into the crook of her neck—
I get up rapidly and throw Sandra over my shoulder, carrying her back to where she started. She kicks and she screams and she beats my back with her fists—to no avail.
Chapter 5
Sandra
“Come on, Ms. Antonova,” the guy says as he holds the spoon up to my lips. “You have to eat something. Do you really want to starve to death?”
I turn my face away with a huff. It’s been three days since I started my hunger strike. I trust these assholes as far as I can throw them. I know I’m a high-value hostage, so the chances that they’ve poisoned my food and water are slim, but I’d rather not take any risks. For all I know, they could have mixed everything up with a powerful sedative to keep me compliant.
Like fucking hell.
I glare at the man feeding me. There’s something strange about him. I’ve been observing them all very carefully the past few days, and I’ve noticed the other men don’t treat him with the same level of respect. They never include him in group huddles, never bother talking to him unless he speaks first. He’s an outcast, shunned for reasons I don’t yet know.
But I’m going to find out.
“What’s your name?” I ask hoarsely. The back of my throat is terribly dry. I haven’t had a sip of water in almost twenty-four hours, and I’m really starting to feel it. My skull throbs and my joints ache, and pressure is building behind my eyes.
He casts a nervous glance over his shoulder toward the door, like he’s worried someone might be listening. “They call me the Bastard.”
My nose curls. “That’sthe codename they gave you?”
“It’s not a codename,” he grumbles sheepishly. “That’s what I am.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve already said too much.”
“Just tell me your name. I can’t very well call out for the Bastard every time I need something. That’s just plain rude.”
The man regards me carefully. He doesn’t have the same ferocity as the rest of them. He isn’t as abrasive as the Boss, as cold as One-Eye, as hot-headed as Fists, or as sly as the Closer. The best chance I have of surviving this situation is building a rapport with one of my captors, and I’m pretty sure the Bastard is my best bet.
“Damien,” he answers finally. “My name is Damien.”
I nod, out of both understanding and respect. “I’m Sandra.”
“I know, Ms. Antonova.”
“How long have you worked for the Boss, Damien?”
He sighs, lowering the spoon. “I don’t workformy brother, I workwithhim.”
My eyes widen slightly at the revelation. “I knew you guys were brothers!”
Damien takes a step back, setting aside the food he’d prepared for me. There’s a shifty quality to him, like he’s always on his toes, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The only question is what’s he so afraid of?
“Will you tell me their names?” I ask gently, sweetly. I think what this guy needs is an ounce of kindness. After being blatantly and consistently ignored by the others, a smile and easy tone have the potential to work wonders for me.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite land.
“I’m not going to tell you anything else,” he says sternly. “I’ve already broken a hundred different rules by giving you mine.”
“Alright, fine,” I reply, easing off. “I get it. You don’t want to get too close to the hostage.”
“Will you please eat now? The Boss isn’t happy that you’ve been refusing meals.”
“Tell him if he wants me to eat, he can feed me his own damn self.”
