Brutal Boss (Bratva Brothers 1)

“Excuse me? You don’t give orders,” Carlos says. He steps closer, his breath hitting me in the face.

“If you want your friend to get medical treatment, then at least take him somewhere that I can find the necessary ingredients to make a poultice. I need a clean compress, herbs, Epsom salt, and a variety of other ingredients that I’m not going to find in the kitchen downstairs.”

His jaw snaps shut, and he grinds his teeth. “Fine.” He grabs my arm and drags me back down the stairs.

I hide the evidence of pain, swallowing back the discomfort from his tight grasp as his fingers dig into my arm.

He drags me down the stairs to the main level. His men glance up as we hurry through the kitchen. Neither seems particularly busy. One man has a knife in his hand, and he’s peeling an apple. The other is playing on his cell phone. From the looks of it, he’s scrolling through one of those social media sites.

“Get him downstairs, pronto!” Carlos shouts at his men as he whisks me into the grimy living area.

He opens the front door and drags me outside.

My feet crunch over the cold, snowy ground. The bottoms of my feet ache from the ice as I take each step toward the awaiting vehicle.

I shiver. My clothes aren’t warm enough for the weather, and I’m without a coat, shoes, or even a winter hat.

The black SUV is parked out front along with a two-door sedan. I get a better look at our surroundings. We’re in the middle of nowhere, with trees surrounding us at every angle.

There are no other buildings or people nearby. They took me to a remote location. If they wanted me dead, they’d have killed me already.

He opens the back door of the vehicle. “Get in!”

While I don’t want to do as he commands, my feet burn from the cold, and I oblige, climbing into the back seat.

Carlos slams the door behind me.

His men follow out the front door, with Reece grimacing in pain. Reece has one arm slung over each of the men as they drag him outside.

Briefly, they exchange words in Spanish, their voices low, making it difficult to hear the conversation from inside the SUV.

Carlos opens the back door, and they toss Reece in beside me.

“Keep him alive,” Carlos says. He slams the back door, locking me in with the injured man.

Sweat glistens on Reece’s forehead. His breathing is shallow and ragged. He shivers, and I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the fever racing through him.