Chapter 2
2
LUCY
S pit and sweat coat my face as the chains hanging from the ceiling pulleys rattle with the breeze from my torturer’s movements. Flicking the damp rag across my cheek with zinging whip, he pulls his saliva to the front of his mouth and spits it in my face again before covering it with the cloth.
“Suka!” Bitch!
The yelled curse is partially muted in my ringing ears as he douses me in stagnant water. It’s difficult to stop myself from swallowing it down as it gurgles in the back of my throat and nose, until there’s too much and I choke.
The rag covering my face makes it impossible for me to sputter the stale liquid from my lungs. Everything burns as my wrists and ankles pull and tug against my restraints. The more I tug at the rope around my wrists, the more the loop connected to it closes around my neck.
My natural fight-or-flight instinct is in overdrive, threatening to strangle me at the same time as the gush of water tries to drown me.
Stay still , I snap at myself.
Russian curses and insults echo around me while I attempt to relax my body enough that I can gain some control over the situation. It’s what they trained me for the last seven months—to withstand every scenario I might find myself in. Waterboarding was the worst. It’s also what they’ve repeatedly done to me from the moment I woke up in this dark room. As though they know this was my one weakness.
It’s impossible. No one knows apart from the man that trained me and his superiors that sent me into that club. Time is a blur since then.
Holding my breath, I count the seconds until the water stops before I use my pent-up breath to evacuate the old water from my lungs and nose. It doesn’t matter how forceful the air in my lungs is, it’s not enough to clear my airway so I can suck in a breath before they pour another deluge over me.
“Drown, bitch,” the man grunts in his rough mother tongue.
A different man to the last time. The urge to scream my rage builds stronger and stronger, louder and louder. It pumps harder and faster through my veins until they feel like lava tracks searing through every cell of my body. My thoughts tornado while I recall all the things I’ve been taught.
Focus on the rhythm of your heartbeat.
Easier said than done. Yet, I block out the jeering and the erratic thumping of my heart, willing it to slow as I purse my lips and touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I press it tight as my teeth clench and my airway at the back of my nose closes with the force.
I keep waiting for fear to kick in, for something other than this anger to take over, but it doesn’t. Every ounce of my being is desperate to break free and kill.
There’s a bloodthirst inside me that is roaring, louder than ever. It’s why they chose me, because I’m my mother’s daughter and I will do whatever it takes to get what I want. She’s the real reason my father is the prime minister. The devious woman behind the great, benevolent man.
“Boleye,” the bastard growls loudly, the torrent of water heavying at his command.
I’m going to kill every one of these fuckers. One by one, even if it’s the last thing I do.
The water stops again abruptly. There’s silence as I remain still, teeth clenched as I focus on relaxing every other visible part of my body. I release my breath slowly on a silent hiss before I pull in a damp one.
The silence stretches with nothing but the drip of my hair and all the gospels that I was taught day in and day out. The rules they taught me to live by in my secret life.
Drip, drip, drip…
Bide your time.
Drip, drip, drip…
You either have a chance worth waiting for, or you’re dead, anyway. Don’t waste that chance.
Drip…drip…drip…
“I told you to keep her alive.” Heavy footsteps clunk towards me.
He’s here.
Tomasz Vassily, the heir to the most powerful Bratva family in Russia. Possibly the most significant criminal family in the world right now. The man I was specifically trained to kill.
Holding my breath, I listen to his footfalls.
Clunk, clunk, clunk.
The man has the walk of a frontline soldier. Strong and purposeful but lacking stealth. The walk may be that of a brute soldier, but everything else about him has the arrogance of a cruel prince. A king in the making. And my only job in this life is to destroy him and his family’s legacy with him.
“Tkan’,” he orders his man to remove the cloth from my face as hard-soled footsteps come to a stop in front of me.
My lungs vibrate, each bronchiole aching with the need for air while the quiet brims with rage. Mine. His. I can sense his disappointment as he lets out a long breath. The sharp and lingering smell of tobacco takes me back to all the nights I spent in my father’s study being briefed with fact after fact, primed for this one mission.
Bide your time.
“Take. The fucking. Cloth.” The words are delivered with the precision of a bullet that might just kill my torturer.
His master is seemingly pissed that he didn’t get his chance at me. I have no intention of giving it to him easily.
Master. That’s what you call me.
His words from the club echo in my thoughts as the bucket of water they were using falls to the ground, and a hand lifts the cloth off my face. And this is my time. Before he can pull his hand back, I bite down on his fingertips, allowing his drawing motion to pull me forward and launch me at his boss.
The momentum yanks the fingers from my mouth, and as I smack into Tomasz’s chest, I bite again, ripping the expensive cotton of his shirt as the weight of the chair pulls me back to the ground and I land in a tied heap.
“Save your fight, Red.” The gruff edge of his voice is as savage as I recall it from the club. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but it’s got to be days. Every time I flit in and out of consciousness, it’s him I hear. You want to get fucked.
He doesn’t know the meaning of fucked yet. I’m going to ruin him beyond any nightmare he’s ever had.
Crouching in front of me, he inspects me from my face down to my torn dress that’s barely covering my breasts. Taking another long puff of his cigar, he uses it to burn through the rope around my neck, well aware that I’m not stupid enough to move while the hot tip hovers over my jugular.
My already pounding heart thunders louder as the heat emanating from the thick smoke stokes my already scorching blood. Blue eyes continue perusing down my body to where the slit of my dress has split all the way to my waist.
“I told you not to touch her,” he remarks in Russian at the man clutching his hand to his chest. The monotone inference in his voice throws me.
“You said to get her ready for you.”
While Tomasz explains exactly what he meant to the man, I work my hands free of the loosened rope that was worked through my wrists and around my neck. This sudden glimpse of freedom fills my entire being with adrenaline unlike I’ve ever felt. Maybe it’s being this close to him or having the scent of his expensive cologne seep through me. Or perhaps it’s the knowledge that he wants to play with me. He’s going to give me the chance to finish what I started.
Rolling the cigar between his thumb and finger, Tomasz traces the side of his pinkie finger down my leg until he reaches my ankle and burns the rope binding me to the chair, just as he did to the one around my neck.
“If you can’t control a weak woman, what good are you to me?” he asks his man, glancing up at him.
It’s all I need to launch myself at him. Without a second thought, I knock him off-balance. The cigar falls between us, tumbling between our chests. The burn barely registers while I use my forearms to block his attempt at grabbing hold of me. My blood is whooshing through me relentlessly as we tussle on the floor.
Our heaving breaths fill the air, making our fight sound as lewd as it is heated with his grunts and my groans. As I let him grasp one of my arms above my head, my hand finds the gun at his side, and as I’m about to pull it free, I notice another of his men running into the room, trying to find a clean shot at me. Before he can, I yank Tomasz’s gun free. Using the side of his body to steady my arm, I pull the trigger once, narrowly missing the man trying to get to me first. I wrap my legs around Tomasz’s waist, making it impossible for him to disarm me before I empty the magazine with three more shots, the last one right through the bastard’s throat.
Got you.
Grasping the gun, I use it to inflict as much damage as I can on the man holding me hostage, slamming it into his ribs until he drops on top of me. His full body weight collapses on my protesting body. My energy is depleted even as the adrenaline keeps me going.
A hand wraps around my hair, and Tomasz rolls to the side and gets to his feet, even though he is winded from my hits. They’re not enough to stand him down though. And his rage is blazing so hot that I feel it vibrate from him to me as he twists my hair tighter around his fist and drags me to where the other man is offering him his own gun.
“Clean this up,” Tomasz bites at him, slapping his weapon to the ground. Disgust curls his lips and spits from his mouth as he continues. “Or I’ll cut the rest of your fingers off.”
Without another word, he makes towards the doorway, dragging me behind him on the rough concrete floor. The silk of my dress does nothing to shield my skin as it scrapes and grazes. When we get to a set of steps, he tugs me up to my knees and hoists me up his body, throwing me over his shoulder as he tells me with a drawn chuckle, “We’re going to see if your bark is as good as your bite when you beg me to kill you.”
“Not if I kill you first,” I bluster back with guttural grit, as though my words are the poison that will do it for me.
The laugh that follows my remark turns into a sneer while his hands squeeze around my thighs, fingertips digging into my flesh with the bruising grip spearing through me. The pain burning through me is a welcome distraction from my whirlwind of thoughts. As we reach the top of the steps, the men standing around pause.
Their fear at his obvious anger and irritation is palpable in the air. I steal glances at them. Their heads are bowed, eyes cast down to the ground. Like a Mexican wave of stares, they shoot directly to me with every step Tomasz takes away from them. I memorise every face, cursing them and vowing their death before my time is up.
They look at me like a weak woman, but it’ll be my sword they fall on. In the end, I’ll stand over their dead bodies while the vultures feast on their rotting flesh.