The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

I'm a sick bastard for enjoying the way her beautiful, luscious body feels pressed up to mine. Guilt plagues me. My Taya's body lies cold in a grave not two months old, and I'm already allowing myself to be attracted to my innocent captive.

Innocent. She's innocent.

But when I think about the man who orchestrated my woman's death, I no longer see the woman I hold as a bystander, but a victim, a casualty of war.

My grip tightens on the woman I hold. If she were conscious, she'd whimper in protest, but instead, I mark her with my tightened hold.

Taya was innocent, too, and she died a violent death. I've watched my brothers fall, Dimitri by his own hand, young Anatoly shot dead, and so many others fallen victim to the violent ways of the Bratva. This is the life we choose. These are the consequences of battle. We're no different than the soldiers who bear arms in battle, ready to lay down our lives for the good of the brotherhood.

We pull up to the compound. It's near midnight, but I know that my brothers wait for me. They got rid of the bodies of Olena's guards and disposed of the car. Demyan sanctioned what I planned, and the others would support my decision.

It will not take long for Yuri to suspect someone has taken his daughter, but I want him to sweat it out. I want him tormented with the thought of what her captors will do with her. I want his dreams plagued with visions of her rape and destruction.

How did The Thieves know who my Taya was? We keep such a close lockdown on our family details. Demyan knew about Taya, and several of my brothers as well, but I trust them with my life. How would The Thieves obtain such information? I wasn't followed. But somehow, they knew that she was mine.

I open the door of our car, and step out into the cool night air, still holding her body against mine. Such a pretty, fetching little thing she is. Thankfully, she looks nothing like her father with his vapid, watery eyes, crooked nose, and thin, colorless lips. She must have inherited her looks from her mother.

Long, thick, auburn hair frames her oval-shaped face, in ringlets of tight curls. Her bright hazel-colored eyes are tinged with green, so trusting and innocent. Though she's taller than most girls her age, she's still a good deal shorter than I am. Her clothes are simple and unobtrusive, far more fitting for an American college student than a Russian.

Our women take pride in their appearance, their trim figures, copious, bold makeup, and stylish clothing. This girl, however, wears faded jeans and a plain white t-shirt, no makeup on her pale face dotted with freckles.

It doesn't matter, though. She will lose those clothes soon.

I wonder how innocent she really is. How sheltered.

Does she know the touch of a man? Is her body still tight with a virgin's secret?

Possession tightens my chest as I stalk to the compound with grim determination.

I will find all this out and more.

It used to anger me when our revenge involved any type of violence inflicted on women. I felt we should have standards. That there were lines we should not cross, and I let my thoughts be known to my brothers. I hated Kazimir for abducting Sadie, and it wasn't until he repented for his actions that I forgave him. But that seems so long ago now.

That was before my Taya was murdered.

Before I held her limp and mutilated body in my arms.

Before I witnessed her casket lowered into the ground.

Before I promised I would soak the earth with the blood of the people responsible for her death.

My priorities are different now. There are no lines I will not cross.

The door to the compound opens, and Demyan stands in a pool of yellow light. His blond hair looks like a halo in the darkness, but I know better. Demyan wears no halo.

"You found her," he states.

"Obviously."

"Sedated her?"

"You get a college education for that, Dem?"

The first part of our plan has gone off without a hitch, and I'm feeling almost cheerful.

"Fuck you," he says good-naturedly, his lips quirking at the corners despite our dismal purpose here tonight. "I've prepared the guest room in the basement by the library," he says. "The set-up will be perfect for any videography you may need."

But I know he has a further purpose. The basement is a full floor away from his own suite on the first floor, and he knows his Larissa will not be thrilled about Olena's capture and imprisonment. It's the first time since Larissa joined our ranks that we've taken another woman captive.

Larissa will have to be watched. I don't trust her.

I thank him with a nod and head inside, taking the small flight of stairs that leads to the basement. When we reach the room he has prepared for me, I observe the surroundings where I'll be holding Olena for however long it takes me to avenge Taya's death. The guest room has one large king-sized bed, flanked on either side by bedside tables, already made up with a thick navy comforter and matching pillows. It's naturally dark in here, but overhead recessed lighting brightens the room. There's a chair and little table against one wall, and to the right, a small bathroom. The cement floor is bare.