The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

I look my father in the eye. I gather saliva in my mouth, and with a furious glare, spit on the floor in front of him. "Never," I tell him. "Do with me what you will. You're a fucking monster and I disown you. And I don't care what you do to me."

It's so dark in here, I can hardly see his eyes, but his body tenses.

"Take your turns, boys," he says.

Jesus God. He's telling them to rape me. He's the fucking devil incarnate. Worse than I ever imagined.

The bald man, the one I know, laughs raucously and pushes his way forward as my father goes to the exit.

"Get me when she's broken," my father says over his shoulder. "And I'll take it from there."

I can't help the way fear assaults me. And to think, I was afraid of Maksym.

"Ty pervyy, Rodney brat, " the man with the shaved head says.

"You first, brother."

I shrink against the wall, unable to move. Unable to defend myself when the biggest man in their group approaches me.

I freeze. I blink in surprise.

My father's men never call each other brother.

Out of the darkness, the large man approaches me. Not meeting my eyes. I blink when he draws nearer, and I spy fresh blood on his neck.

It can't be. There's no way. How could he—

But then he's on me, pushing me against the wall, his hands on my wrists, his mouth at my ear. I'm frozen in place when Maksym's scent envelopes me. My knees weaken, my pulse quickens.

"Pretend to fight me," he grates in my ear. "I will not hurt you, angel."

"Leave me alone!" I shout, though my protest sounds weak even to my own ears. I try to kick at him, but he quickly deflects my leg and holds me down.

"Fight me," he grates in my ear. "Do it."

He leans down to kiss me, and I kick at him, following his instructions to fight him off. I'm not sure what he's up to or what he's planning, but I trust him. He somehow made his way here, and something tells me he's not alone. Something tells me he has a plan.

His mouth meets mine, so fierce and hard I gasp, even as tears spring to my eyes.

It's him.

Somehow, against all odds, he's infiltrated the ranks of the Thieves. Him and the man with the shaved head. Maybe more.

The men jeer as he grasps my breast, but I realize he's trying to cover me under the pretense of taking advantage of me. He bites my lip and sweeps my mouth with his tongue. Even here, even now, with an audience of enemies in front of us, his possessive grip makes my heart sing and my body tremble.

I reacted too quickly. Maksym came for me. Together, we will find a way out of here.

I ignore the audience we have, these men who are getting off on thinking Maksym is one of theirs, about to rape me. His mouth comes to my ear in a whisper so soft I barely hear him. "Do exactly as I say."

He palms my breast and thrusts his hips against me. "Give me the keys," he grates out in Russian over his shoulder. "I want to pin her wrists with my hands while I fuck her."

The man with the shaved head stalks out behind us, jeering in rough, coarse Russian, as he grabs the keys. The others follow suit, caught up in the lewd jeering, but I have eyes for no one but Maksym. He takes the keys, his back to the men behind us, his eyes on me. I swallow hard, a lump rising in my throat at the sight of those chocolate brown, beautiful eyes of his meeting mine with promise and conviction.

We will escape. But we aren't out of danger yet.

My hands swing free and he quickly pins them, groaning out loud, likely to distract the others. I ignore the dirty comments the others make. He holds my wrists under pretense. When he lets them go free, I'll have to make my move.

My pulse spikes when he reaches for his belt and removes a blade, gently grazing the tip along my collarbone.

I whimper for dramatic effect, and the other men laugh out loud.

"Make her bleed," someone taunts, while another lets out a catcall.

"Fuck her already," another says.

Maksym's mouth comes to my ear once more. "We're going to ambush them, and I'll hand you the blade. Use it wisely. Go for the belly, neck, eyes."

I nod, a barely perceptible move of my head.

He turns from me, his body taut, and shouts, "Move!"

The knife's in my hand and Maksym pulls a gun, as several of the guards spring into action. The man with the shaved head swings a thick knife out, slashes the neck of a man in front of him, then kicks him to the floor. It takes a second for my father's men to realize what's happening, but that's all the time I need. With a savage shriek, I aim at the first man who heads my way, jabbing him in the stomach, Nausea rolls in my belly when hot, thick red blood coats my fingers.