The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

My size makes it difficult for me to move swiftly. I run at him, but he's faster, and even the adrenaline coursing through my veins makes it difficult to match his speed. I watch him escape through the bathroom window, hoist himself out, and flee.

"Fuck!" I roar, swinging my fists at the empty air in helpless rage, before I turn to Olena. She's writhing on the floor, desperately trying to remove the rope from her neck.

I'm on my knees in front of her, tugging at the rope, but he's tied it so fast it's difficult. She isn't completely unable to breathe, but the limited oxygen will only last so long.

I remember the knife I hold in the drawer beside the bed, lie her back on the floor, and leap to my feet to get the blade. I take it out of the drawer, rush back to her, and carefully slide the blade between her delicate skin and the rope, my hands shaking because every second counts. With a quick, sawing motion, the rope comes apart. She gasps for breath, inhaling huge gulps of air, and her tears begin to flow as her hands fly to her neck.

To the angry red marks that mar her perfect skin.

I will find who did this and make them rue the day they were born. I'll tear them apart with my bare hands and revel in their pain. I'll fucking make them pay for this.

But first, I have to help her. I need to see that she's okay. I lift her in my arms, her frail body trembling with fear.

"Shhh," I tell her. "You're okay. Focus on breathing." Kneeling on the floor, I hold her on my lap, cradled in the crook of my elbow as I inspect the damage. She'll bruise from the rope, but she seems otherwise unharmed. I have questions for her but those will have to wait until I know she's okay.

I hold her steadily, inhaling with her. "Breathe in," I instruct, taking deep lungfuls of air myself as a demonstration. "Nice, big breaths, Olena. You're okay now. You're safe."

But she isn't. She fucking isn't, and both of us know this is a lie.

With her eyes closed, she breathes in, again and again, while tears fall down her cheeks. I swipe them away with the pad of my thumb, hushing her as if she's woken from a bad dream. I rock her against my chest, easing her to calmness.

I can't do this. I can't be her comforter. I can't fucking do this.

But I can't help myself. I shake with impotent rage. I need to do something to stop the furious pounding of adrenaline in my veins and soothing her somehow calms me.

"There," I whisper in her ear. "Shh. You're okay now."

When she's finally breathing steadily on her own, I hold her to me, and I take my phone from my pocket.

"Maksym?" Demyan says in a sleepy growl.

"Someone got in here. Someone came for her." I'm so angry my voice shakes with rage. I want to break something, to pulverize things with my fists until the raging fury within me abates. "They were strangling her by the time I broke the door down. Fucking rope around her neck."

"Jesus," he mutters. "Where are you?"

"In the room still," I tell him.

"You need Rothsky?"

I look down at Olena. Her reddened skin has returned to normal. Thankfully, the choking incident was so brief she seems unharmed. Still, she trembles uncontrollably in my arms.

"Not tonight," I tell him. "I need to keep her safe." I know the irony of my statement strikes both of us, because Demyan says nothing for a moment.

"Can she breathe freely?"

"She can. There doesn't appear to be any further injuries."

"Have you thought about taking her home?"

I have. But I hate the thought of taking her to my cabin in Istra. The very home I made with Taya. I fucking hate the idea of it. Someone fucking came here right under my nose.

But still... Maybe it'll be safer there.

I shake my head. I can't bring her there.

No. She'll sleep in my bed. By my side. If they come back, they'll have to get through me to get to her.

And I'll kill them before it comes to that.

"I don't know yet. Sweep the footage," I tell Demyan. "Have Larissa or Filip look through every bit of security we have. This had to have been one of Yuri's men."

I'll double the security we have. I'll do whatever I need to.

But if it was one of The Thieves, why would they try to kill her? It makes no sense to me. Yuri would want her rescued, not murdered.

It's then that I realize she's weeping freely in my arms, likely crashing after the surge of adrenaline and fear.

"I will speak to you in the morning," I tell Demyan, before I disconnect the call.