The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

It's better than some places I've spent the night before. It'll do. I lay my head down and close my eyes, then take out a monitor Demyan gave me so I can hear and see what she does. When I turn it on, I see her lying quietly in bed, but I can hear the soft, unmistakable sound of weeping.

She's trying to keep herself quiet. She's trying to hide the fact that she's crying.

I feel my body turn to stone while I close myself off to sympathy, but if there’s any weapon a woman wields that’s my kryptonite, it's tears.

Fuck.

Her father killed the woman I loved; I remind myself.

And he will pay.* * *"His arm."

One of Yuri's hulking men snap a folding chair and dusts it off before Yuri sits beside me.

I've given them nothing. Not a single word has passed my lips, and he's growing tired of the slow, horrific torture. He's ordered my arm broken.

Four strong men hold me down while Yuri lights a cigar and crosses one ankle over his knee.

I writhe in their grip, trying to get away, but the restraints and his men hold fast.

"Nothing at all to give us?" he taunts. "Federov trained you well it seems. Does Federov train your woman as well as his own?"

I ignore him. I won't let him know I have a woman at all, and I won't let his childish malice affect me.

They hold me in their grasp like executioners, stoic and immovable.

I hear the audible snap of my bone before I feel the searing, blinding pain. I howl in agony, reaching for the place of detachment I've taught myself to seek, but it doesn't come, the pain so intense I'm drowning in it.

They leave me there on the cold floor, delirious from dehydration and pain, my broken arm at an odd angle. I close my eyes and mentally try to imagine I'm somewhere else. Anywhere but here. When the door opens and footsteps approach, I flinch, unprepared for more pain and torture.

"Don't be afraid," a soft voice says in a whisper.

It's the voice of an angel, come to minister to me in my distress. But even in my delirium, I know that men like me, men who've done the wicked deeds I have, don't deserve the presence of an angel. It's only my imagination. I've conjured up a savior in the midst of my torment, my mental state muddled and desperate.

"Mne tak zhal," the angel says.

Why does the angel apologize? She isn't the one who beat me.

A gentle hand lifts my head. The faintest scent of roses with the gentle touch. Cool water presses to my lips. I sip it eagerly, my parched lips aching from dryness. It tastes divine and satisfying, heaven-sent, like manna in the desert, and I groan out loud.

"Tishina," she whispers, both a warning and a plea. Hush.

There are no more words, only a gentle touch to my brow. It's pitch black in here so I can't see the angel who comes to me. I fade into sleep before she leaves. When I wake, all that's left of me is aching pain, no traces of my visitor.When I wake, the sun has barely risen, golden fingertips of light filtering in. My dream fades as quickly as morning fog, and by the time I'm sitting up, I remember none of it.

There's a crick in my neck and my body aches from the poor night's sleep.

The door to the library opens, and Larissa walks in, scowling at me.

"Larissa, go upstairs," I order, rubbing my hand across my face to get rid of the slumber. Inwardly, I groan. She shouldn't be here, and she knows it. Demyan would lose his mind if he knew she was down here.

Not surprisingly, she doesn't listen, but crosses her arms across her chest and glares at me.

"Where is she?"

"Larissa," I warn, taking out my phone. She might work on our team with us, but she's Demyan's woman, and he won't put up with her interfering.

"You can't do this," she says, pleading now instead of angry. She walks to me and sits beside me. "I know what happened to Taya was terrible, Maksym, I know it. But hurting an innocent woman? That's not who you are. It isn't. I know it!"

I dial Demyan. I want to drag her out of here, but if I touch her, he might kill me.

"You're tattling on me like a big brother? God!" But she's already on her feet and trotting to the door. She knows Demyan will punish her for interfering or even worse, disallow her to work with us. She'd rather be punished.

Demyan answers the phone just as she vanishes.

"Maksym? Is this about Larissa?"

"You know it."

"She came down, didn't she?" His voice is tight but controlled, and a little weary. He expected this.

"She did. If she gets involved in this, it could ruin everything, Dem."