Chapter 4 - Angelika
Tears roll silently down my face, and my legs feel too weak to hold me up. My whole body is shaking, and my own mind is screaming at me, shouting, yelling, angry, and full of regret.
I was so, so, so stupid. Reckless, selfish, and stupid. And look where it got me.
The ropes around my wrists are horrible, itchy, and rough. They’re cutting into my skin, which is already bruised because I’ve been relentlessly struggling against the restraints.
They only took the binding off my ankles to walk me onto the stage. Like pirates making me walk the plank to my death.
I can’t believe this is happening.
Staring across the sea of faces around me, I see a room full of men watching me as though I were a piece of meat. I can see it in their expressions. Deep down in my heart, I know that I will never see my family again.
One of them is going to purchase me. Abuse me. Do disgusting things to me—and then in the end, just make me disappear.
Or not. Maybe they’ll keep me for years and torture me.
My heart drops.
Either way. Absolutely nothing good is going to happen to me and my life, the good parts of it. The person I once was—it’s over. It’s gone.
How could I be so stupid?
Fresh tears flood my cheeks as someone shouts, “Eight million.”
That’s what I am to these people… Literally just flesh to be used in whatever way they choose.
My heart begins to beat faster as a panic attack creeps closer.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to be tortured or used.
I want to go home to my family.
They’ll never even know what happened to me, and it will hurt them so badly. I can’t believe I’m such an asshole. The idea of their pain, what they will suffer, seems worse than what I’ll go through, and the guilt almost makes me collapse.
They love me. They love me so much it will be grief so deep—grief that I am responsible for because I was too reckless to just listen to my brother’s warnings.
A sob slips from my lips, and one of the men in the front near the stage grins at me. His eyes shine with malice as he takes pleasure in my fear and pain.
Searching the room, I look for some way to escape. Even if it means killing myself. Desperation grows as the auction continues.
“Eleven million,” a fat, red-faced guy with greasy hair slurs as he lifts his hand in the air. There are thick gold rings around his fingers, so tight they look like they’re cutting off blood flow.
The auctioneer is about to comment, but from behind me, the explosive sound of automatic gunfire shatters the focused undertones of the auction. Chaos erupts. Men scream. Blood spews from chests as they clutch their hearts, collapsing backward.
People are running in every direction, unable to see where the bullets are raining from.
I don’t know whether to run, stay, or duck.
But before I can make any choices, hands grab my wrists, tugging at the ropes to cut them free.
“Angel, stay close. Keep up,” he growls, his voice familiar. My eyes go wide when I see his face. My tall, dark, gorgeous stranger.
He shoves me behind his solid, massive body and fires into the crowd again.
“Behind the stage. There’s a door. Go. Now!” he shouts. “I’m right behind you. Don’t look back.”
I don’t have time to question what the hell he’s doing here, but it looks like he’s rescuing me.
I can’t believe it. Did he see me getting kidnapped when I left the hotel? Did he follow them and come to save me?
That’s so fucking romantic, I want to cry!
Relief, confusion, happiness…it all swarms me, but I’m still very much in danger.
My sexy knight in dark armor overtakes me, pulling me against his side as he skillfully takes out three guards without a second of hesitation.
“Left,” he shouts, pushing me.
He takes out another man, this time with a knife instead of his gun.
The level of danger this man exudes over the others is a little terrifying. Even by Bratva standards, he’s the most efficient, effective killer I’ve ever seen, and these people don’t seem to stand a chance against him. And he seems to know it too.
At least his confidence is matched with his skill, and it hardly takes him five minutes to get us out of the building and running toward his car.
My bare feet are in agony as we streak across the gravel. I don’t care.
I’m getting away from this. I’m escaping certain death.
I can’t believe this is happening.
I can’t believe I was this lucky.
He shoves me into the passenger seat, then bolts around the car, leaping in and starting the engine. His tires scream when he accelerates away, and suddenly his name pops back into my head. Diomid.
I giggle, thinking I must be in shock if I find that funny. But I’m so relieved I don’t have to ask him his name before I thank him for saving my life. That would have been way too embarrassing.
Diomid throws me a sideways glance, and I feel the manic glaze of my eyes. Yes. I’m in shock.
He reaches out and touches my leg.
“It’s ok, I’ve got you, we’re going somewhere safe.”
His hand resting on my thigh soaks heat into my skin and eases away more of the panic that has been building since they threw me into that SUV this morning.
I’m ok.
I’m ok.
I’m ok.
I close my eyes and keep repeating this until my breathing evens out.
Diomid is still driving like a madman. His eyes dart to the rearview mirror, watching for anyone following us, but I’m convinced he took them by surprise and left the place in such disarray that they didn’t even have a chance to realize I was being saved before I was already gone.
Only once we’re out of unknown territory and close to the city again does he slow down.
My eyes trace over his profile. Wow. He’s gorgeous.
And he came to save me. What does that mean?
I mean, seriously, a guy isn’t going to risk his life to save someone if he doesn’t like her.
Does this mean he likes me? Was this some romantic, grand gesture?
Diomid pulls into an underground garage and shuts off the engine.
“Come on, let’s get inside,” he says, still looking tense. “We can put the safe house into lockdown.”
He pulls my door open and grabs my arm, dragging me from the car a little roughly. I explain away the pushy attitude by accepting that his adrenaline must be through the roof, and he won’t be able to calm down until we’re inside.
He pushes me into the hideout, and while he’s locking up and checking the rooms, I take a look around.
It’s modern, small, and neat. Even though it’s a hideout, they clearly haven’t spared any expense on the décor, as everything is of high luxury.
While I’m waiting for him, I try to sort out my thoughts.
But I’m a bit numb and overwhelmed, still shocked about how quickly everything happened.
When Diomid walks into the room, I run toward him and throw my arms around his neck.
“Thank you so much for coming to save me. I don’t even know what to say. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you!” I blurt out, smiling and with tears stinging my eyes because my emotions are running wild. This beautiful man saved me.
Diomid wraps his long fingers around my shoulders and coldly tugs me off him. He pushes me away and scowls at me, his brows knotted in disapproval.
The expression takes me by surprise. This isn’t the gorgeous man I met in the bar last night. This isn’t even the gorgeous man I woke up next to this morning.
This guy looks furious with me.
I take an extra step away from him, creating more distance, biting nervously at my lip.
He snarls, shaking his head. “How stupidly reckless are you? What gives you the right to run around town like that, with intense disregard for your own safety, when you’re a fucking Shevchenko?” he says my name as though he was spitting it from his mouth. Like it tasted bitter.
“You know who I am?” I stammer in confusion.
“Yes, I do, and I know you should have had security guards around you at that club,” he snaps.
How does he know who I am? I thought I was being so careful.
Maybe he found out during the rescue. Those guys who took me must have done so because of who I am? Surely?
“I didn’t make those guys kidnap me, you know. I didn’t choose to be taken,” I huff, disappointed in the way he’s treating me.
“You may as well have,” he snarls.
Does he really think this was all my fault? Why is he being so nasty?
I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him. Anger begins to bubble inside me. Anger at the people who took me. Anger because I hate admitting that my brothers were right. But mostly, anger at this guy, who I thought saved me because he cared.
“I have not had the best day. I’m still wearing the same damn dress I went out dancing in last night.
I need a shower. I need something to eat.
I need a freaking cup of tea or something.
But most of all. I actually just need a hug.
Not like I want that from you, though, but the least you could do is not treat me like I’m the criminal! ”
His eyes grow colder as he watches me. “Do you know who I am?” he asks, as though the answer is a weapon of some kind.
“No,” I mutter, still angry. “Are you going to tell me, or is it some big secret? Don’t worry, I won’t stalk you on social media or anything,” I snap sarcastically.
“My name is Diomid Abashin.”
Oh.
It wasn’t until very recently that the Abashins went from being enemies to very tentative allies of my family.
In the past, they have caused us a lot of trouble.
So, all this time, I was actually hanging out with an Abashin.
I thought he was just some random stranger in a bar.
Yes, most probably tied to the Bratva—but not an Abashin.
My eyes trace up and down his muscular shape. I hate the fact that I still find him so attractive when I’m so angry with him.
“Did you know who I was when we met at the bar?” I snap.
“Don’t be fucking stupid, Angelika. If I knew who you were at the bar, I would have turned around and walked the other way,” he hisses.
“Oh, because what? Shevchenkos aren’t your allies? We’re beneath you? Get off your high horse, Diomid!”
Diomid takes two steps toward me, and I squeal in fright and hurriedly step back, raising my hands to protect myself.
His face changes, a flash of confusion, then guilt, then anger again.
“I’m not going to hurt you, girl,” he says, defensively.
I sigh and hang my head. I’m utterly exhausted. Rubbing my hands over my face, tears of frustration spring to my eyes, and I beg myself not to cry. I plead and beg for the tears to stay where they are. And they do, but when I look up at him, my eyes are red and glittering.
“I’m.. Um… I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he mutters again.
“I’ve had a horrible day. And you’re being a total asshole right now. I get it, you don’t like us Shevchenkos, but you don’t have to treat me like scum. And you don’t have to blame me for what happened at the bar. I didn’t know who you were either.”
Pulling myself together, the threat of tears is replaced by my frustration, my annoyance toward Diomid for his coldness after everything I’ve been through. I can’t believe I actually thought he was rescuing me because he liked me.