The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

Demyan curses under his breath when Olena speaks up from the back. "I saw him with my own eyes," she says fiercely. "I saw him. The tattoo of your Bratva. It was one of the men at the meeting on the day I arrived."

Demyan scowls so fiercely at her I want to deck him. How dare he look at her like that?

"Why should I believe you?" he asks.

Her eyes narrow to slits and her jaw clenches. It's a reasonable question.

"Fine," she retorts. "Don't. Carry on as if you don't have a traitor in your midst. That will end well."

Demyan glares at me as if asking why I allow her to speak so freely, but I believe her to be telling the truth.

"One thing at a time," I tell him. "How could anyone have possibly known where I was?"

We all sit in silence for a few moments. Finally, Olena speaks up. "Did you have location on, on your phone?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No."

"A tracker on the car?"

Demyan shakes his head. "No."

Finally, Olena speaks up in a little voice. "The night they tried to strangle me," she says. "Could they have placed a tracker on me?"

Demyan looks at me and I look back at him and shrug. It's entirely possible. Hell, a lot is possible right about now.

"So they know exactly where I am," she says. "Whoever it is that wants to kill me."

I can't even hear her say it out loud. Fury rages in my veins with such intensity I can't think straight.

"So someone... whether it's one of our own, one of Yuri's, or someone else altogether... tracked you to the cabin and tried to burn it to the ground,” Demyan says.

"Yes," I say between gritted teeth. My patience is waning. My throat burns and my eyes blur with angry, impotent rage. They destroyed the home I shared with Taya. They will pay for this. For all they've done.

"And the video we took of Olena, that's gone missing," I remind him. "The one Filip took? How do you explain that? If Vladak had access to that, he could've destroyed that as well."

Demyan doesn't respond.

"Where was he last night?" I persist. "Does he have an alibi? Perhaps we should start there."

"He was with me. This is why what you say doesn't hold weight. I'm his alibi. For Christ's sake, Maksym, listen to yourself. You're making no sense."

A beat passes before I speak again. I sure as hell am making sense, he just doesn't want to hear it.

"I will not run, Dem," I tell him. "I will not hide. We're going back to my room at the compound. Olena will not leave my side. We will find who's in pursuit of us, and we will deal accordingly."

Demyan clenches his jaw but nods. "Of course."

"Have you taken care of Larissa, or will she pose a threat?"

"She will not pose a threat," Demyan says. "But keep Olena away from her."

We arrive at the compound, and I'm angrier than before he picked me up. I yank open the back door and tug the girl out. "Come with me," I order, pulling her with me so quickly she has to practically jog to keep up with me.

"Hey!" she protests. "Need I remind you I'm not the enemy here?"

I spin her out in front of me and crack my hand against her ass.

"Behave yourself," I admonish sternly.

I've let her soften me. No more. No more will I allow anyone to dissuade me from my ultimate purpose. I ignore the look of betrayal in her eyes, brimming with unshed tears as she clenches her jaw, drops her head, and walks meekly by my side. My conscience plagues me. We shared something special the night before, and now I have humiliated her. But I push my guilt away. Our lives are on the line, and I'm not going to let her fuck things up by disobeying me.

And I know that eyes are on us... my men, The Thieves. Someone. Someone is watching us, and they need to know she doesn't lead me around by the dick. They need to know she's still my captive.

I walk boldly through the door, gripping her arm and dragging her with me. I feel everyone's eyes on me as if we're under a spotlight.

I fled. I'm back. And whoever is after me will come.

I'll use her as bait to draw them out of hiding and meet them head on. Whoever it is.

Larissa is in the dining room eating when we arrive, and she freezes, a spoon suspended in mid-air. Her eyes go from me to Olena and back again, and she pauses for only a brief moment before she resumes eating. She's likely noting our sooty clothing and ragged appearances. We look like refugees from a disaster. Hell, we are.

With every step I take, my anger burns hotter, until I notice Olena wince.