The car doors slam, and I push to sit up on the seat. My focus is still blurry when I blink, trying to clear it to take in the driver. I don’t know why, but if I can perhaps get him to look at me, maybe I can plead with him to help me. To save me.
But when I do settle back, my head spins as I take in my predicament. Volkov settles in beside me before I have time to even take note of the driver. The fragrance of my captor’s cologne is cloying as it sinks into my senses, overwhelming me. It’s a sickly sweet scent which doesn’t seem to fit with the man in question. He strikes me as someone who would want to exude power, because it’s what he’s used to, but the floral notes are all I smell.
He doesn’t touch me again, so when I finally glance to my side, I realize he’s not even looking at me. I’m nothing more than a possession. Crow warned me these men don’t have relationships, the auctions they attend offer them slaves who will obey without debate because they know if they were to answer back, they’d end up with blood and bruises.
As the car pulls away, I want nothing more than to fight, but my trembling hands won’t do much damage to the man beside me. With a hold of the material of my tights, I attempt to calm my trembling fingers, but it’s no use. I’m far too fucking scared to do anything. I can’t sit around and wait for The Fallen to save me, but I don’t know if I have the strength, or the energy to fight Volkov off myself.
I should have taken the blade Crow offered me, but I believed they would save me. There has to be a way to get free because I cannot go with this man. Being owned by a monster will be the end of me.
It’s almost comical to think there are three men out there who I considered monsters, and now all I want to do is run back to them. They gave me something nobody else ever has, they showed me who I truly am. I will get free. I have to see them again. One way or another, I will save myself.
As the car weaves through the dark streets, I try to see out the window if there are any lights following behind, but it’s blackness which greets me.
“Where are we going?” I chance a question, awaiting the attack once more, but none comes. Volkov glances at me, his eyes dance with darkness. Violence is the only thing this man knows, it’s clear. He’s not afraid to bestow it on anyone who comes close to him—man or woman, he will make me bleed. I have a feeling he’ll enjoy it even more because I am a woman.
“You’re mine now,” he tells me earnestly. The confidence in his tone tells me he always gets what he wants. But it would be understandable because I doubt anyone would want to mess with the Pakhan.
“I’m sure there are many others who would go with you willingly,” I tell him, hoping he’ll see reason. But I doubt it. A man like him doesn’t need to listen to anyone below him, because he believes being the ruler, what he does is right. Even when it’s wrong.
“Let me make something clear,” he tells me. The car takes a left, and suddenly, there are blinding lights speeding toward us. Within seconds, we’re rolling over, and over, again. Pain shoots through every inch of me as the crashing of glass deafens me as it echoes through the small space as metal is crushed and bent.
Blood and gas are the only scents infiltrating my senses. It’s so strong, my stomach lurches when I try to breathe. Darkness flickers in my vision, but the heat of flames licks close to me. Movement at my side catches my attention, but I can’t move. I’m wedged between metal, which holds me down and though I can’t feel Volkov beside me anymore, I know he’s close. He has to be.
I’m not sure what’s going on, but as my vision blurs, panic sets in and my pulse spikes. My lungs struggle to pull in much needed air, and each time I manage a small inhale, everything hurts. I must have a broken rib, or something because it’s far too painful to be a fracture.
But I don’t know much about broken bones. I’ve never been injured like this. Suddenly, there are hands on me, grabbing at me, and when they pull, I cry out as agony shoots through my leg, the warmth of fluid coating my skin tells me something has cut into me. Whether it’s metal, or glass, it’s sliced me open.