Chapter 6
Georgi
Well, shit, this is not how I saw my night going.
Glancing down at the stitches, my thigh on fucking fire, I let out a slow breath.
By now, Santino must be aware that I’m missing, and when I don’t answer my phone, he’ll contact Rosie to track me.
My eyes flick to the table where the broken pieces of my watch and phone are lying.
Rosie will be able to get the last cell tower my phone’s signal pinged off. At least they’ll know I’m in trouble because I would never leave without telling Santino where I’m going.
I hope Rosie finds CCTV footage of Boris and his men ambushing me outside the hotel.
I fired a shot. It should’ve drawn attention.
My family will find me.
My thoughts keep mulling over the shitty situation my dick got me into, and even though I’m tired and in pain, I know sleep isn’t going to come easily.
I hear someone snoring right outside the room, but the next moment, a woman’s blood-curdling scream rips through the air. It sounds really fucking close, and I wonder if more prisoners are being held here.
Another scream echoes into the room, then the snoring stops, and a few seconds later, a door bangs open. I hear the guard who shot me shout in Bulgarian, “Wake the fuck up. You’re making a noise.”
Weird.
Footsteps sound up out in the hallway, and the fucker glances into my room before he disappears again. It sounds like he’s making himself comfortable, and soon his snoring picks up once more.
A door creaks open, drawing my attention, and my eyes lock on the part of the hallway I can see from where I’m standing.
When Nina tiptoes into the room, a frown forms on my forehead.
She’s still wearing the jeans, T-shirt, and jacket from earlier. I notice the red marks on her cheek and around her neck again.
She’s the enemy, and I shouldn’t give a flying fuck about her, seeing as she’s the reason I’m shackled in Boris’ basement.
But…I hate that someone hurt her.
I watch as she comes toward me and remain silent while she checks my thigh. She moves quietly, getting the bucket, then uses it to stand on so she can inspect the wound on my head.
Nina seems satisfied that I’m not bleeding to death and quietly returns the bucket to beneath the table.
I watch as she tiptoes to the doorway and glances out into the hallway before walking to a big metal sink across from the cabinet where the medical supplies are kept.
She grabs a jug and slowly fills it with water before hurrying back to me.
Interesting. Very fucking interesting.
Standing on the tips of her toes, she places her hand on the side of my neck and holds the jug to my mouth. I drink all the water, knowing I won’t get anything for a long while.
Her eyes touch on mine, but before I can give her a questioning look, she turns around and places the jug back by the sink before sneaking out of the room.
Nina said Boris is her father, and she helped him to ambush me, but she just went against the other asshole’s order and gave me water.
Hmm…I think it’s safe to assume things aren’t good between father and daughter. Maybe I can get Nina to free me.
My eyebrow lifts, but the sting reminds me of the cut, and I relax my features.
Just then, I hear a door shut and movement on the other side of the wall. There’s a soft cough, and turning my head, I look at the gray concrete as I realize the sound came from Nina.
Was she the one who screamed like that?
Why?
Question after question pops into my mind, but I find no answers as the muscles in my shoulders and back start to take heavy strain from the uncomfortable position.
Eventually, my thoughts turn to Raya and the rest of the family. Nothing better happen to my sister while I’m stuck here.
Fuck.
She will probably reach out to Petkov.
A disgruntled expression settles on my face when I think of the head of the Bulgarian mafia getting his hands on my sister.
I look up at the shackles again and twist my hands, trying to pull free from the steel, but it’s no use and only chafes my skin raw.
Letting out a sigh, I glance around the floor, looking for a weapon I can use, but everything is out of my reach.
Well, Georgi, I think it’s safe to say you’re fucked.
After a very uncomfortable night and a fucking long day, my muscles ache and the wounds throb.
Other than listening to the guards' conversations, which I don’t understand, and hearing some movement in the room beside mine, things have been quiet.
I think I’ve been missing close to twenty-four hours, so there’s a good chance the other capos and Dad are in Bulgaria already.
The thought brings me some peace, knowing Raya won’t be alone for very long.
After we were adopted, it took a year before I allowed my sister to sleep in her own bedroom. Until my late teens, Dad was the only man I trusted alone with her.
When asked why I’m so overprotective of her, I don’t have an answer. It’s just always been that way.
Maybe it’s because I carried her out of the burning building where we lost our parents, and it mentally fucked with me, thinking that if I let go of her, she’d die as well.
Who knows.
Footsteps sound up, drawing me out of my thoughts. Lifting my head, I look at the doorway.
When Boris comes in with a bunch of guards. He looks pissed off, and it makes me grin at him. “Aww…did I kill one of your favorites?”
He shoots me a dark glare and comes to stand in front of me. “Tell me about the meeting. I want to know everything you and Petkov talked about.”
I lock eyes with the bastard right before I take advantage of the few inches I’m able to move, head-butting him.
Boris staggers backward, his hand flying up to his face. Because he’s much shorter, I didn’t hit his nose, but at least I managed to daze him.
Something slams hard into the back of my knees, and my legs give way, my body weight putting sudden strain on my arms and wrists.
There’s another brutal blow to my lower back, and this time I can’t suppress the grunt.
Boris recovers, and coming at me, he slams his fist into my jaw.
The beating lasts for painful minutes, and by the time Boris holds up his hand for the men to stop, I can’t get my feet beneath me and hang by the chains.
A slurred chuckle escapes me as my vision blurs, and I manage to say, “I’m not telling you shit.”
I’m surprised when Boris and the men leave, but not even seconds later, I hear a door slamming open, then he snaps, “Fix up the fucker.”
I struggle to lift my head and lean it against my bicep, my eyes on the doorway.
The moment Nina rushes in, seeing her does something weird to me. Strength surges back into my body, and as concern flashes over her beautiful face, I manage to find my footing.
She grabs the bucket and hauls it closer before going to the cabinet to get whatever she needs, tucking a couple of things into her jacket’s pockets.
She’s still wearing the same clothes as last night.
Coming back to me, she climbs on the bucket and tilts her head back.
Even standing on the bucket, she has to stretch, which brings her close enough for me to catch the faint scent of soap still clinging to her. No perfume.
My shoulders burn from all the strain they’re taking, and my back aches something fierce, but the moment her fingers touch my cheek to clean away blood, the pain recedes to a dull pulse.
“Hold still,” she whispers, bringing a needle closer to my busted cheek.
The corners of my mouth tip up. “Careful with the needle, Nina. I’d hate to think the butcher’s daughter is getting ideas.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and I don’t miss the fear trembling in them. She pinches the cut together. “Hold still, or I’ll stitch your skin crooked.”
I grin, my gaze locked on her strikingly beautiful face so close to mine. “So you care what I’ll look like once you’re done patching me up?”
“Not in the least. I’m just here to keep you alive.” Her voice is stronger, but there’s no bite.
“Right.” I glance up and down Nina’s body and once again realize she’s not even half my size. “Your father tortures me, and you make sure I don’t die from it.”
She pushes the needle through my skin, and I ignore the sting.
“It’s my duty,” she replies.
After taking a deep breath, I almost chuckle. “Duty. Is that what you call helping him slice and dice me?”
“Careful, Georgi,” she mutters as she continues to stitch me up. “I’m the one who decides how much blood you’re losing tonight.”
My gaze lowers to her neck, and I notice how her pulse is fluttering in her throat.
She’s fucking nervous.
I keep quiet while she finishes the stitches, trying to figure out this enigma of a woman.
She’s Boris’ daughter, but they leave her alone with me.
I glance over her petite frame again.
There’s no way she’ll ever be able to hold her own against me in a fight. Even restrained, I could easily kill her right now.
I’ve heard how the guards and Boris speak to her, and it’s clear they don't give a flying fuck about her safety.
When she steps down from the bucket, she pulls a tin from her pocket, and as she removes the lid, she walks around me. Her fingers touch the bruised skin on my lower back, her touch gentle, and soon cool relief spreads over my aching muscles.
She works carefully and lingers on the spots where the pain is at its worst.
It feels so good, my eyes drift shut, and I rest the side of my head against my bicep again.
Nina’s hands move up to my shoulders, and I can’t hold back the groan when she massages the tense muscles.
She pauses for a couple of seconds, and when she continues, I feel the slight tremble in her hands.
After a while, when she’s done all she can to relieve my pain, I ask, “You massage people often?”
Staying behind me, she replies softly, “No.” Darting toward the cabinet, her words are laced with nervous tension. “You needed it.”
Done putting the tin away and pulling out a fresh cloth, she glances at me as she walks to the sink to wet it.
Returning to me, Nina climbs onto the bucket again, and when our eyes finally lock, something shifts between us.
We stare for a long moment until my gaze drifts to her mouth before lifting again. I’m surprised when a flush forms on her cheeks.
The attraction I felt last night returns, and I see it reflected on her face.
Breaking the stare, she begins to clean the rest of the blood from my face and neck. Eventually, she steps off the bucket, and after rinsing the cloth, she comes back and continues to wipe my chest clean.
Wanting to see how she’ll react, I keep my voice low and intimate. “Nina.”
She goes still.
The silence that follows feels weighted by all the things neither of us should be feeling because it’s pretty clear to me that she’s also attracted to me.
When she finally risks another glance, I don’t hide what I’m feeling. With hooded eyes, I keep looking at her, hoping that if I can make her attraction toward me grow into something more solid she might set me free.
Her breathing speeds up a little, but then she tosses the bloody rag into the sink and rushes toward the door.
When she suddenly stops, my eyes are glued to her.
“Don’t tear the stitches.” It almost sounds like she cares.
Letting out a chuckle, I shake my head and mutter, “Yes, doctor.”
She keeps still for a beat longer before slipping out the door.