5. Mackenzie
Chapter 5
Mackenzie
Standing at the locked door, daylight and freedom tantalizingly on the other side, I struggle to compute what I'm seeing. This can't be right. Deep down, I had assumed Paxton had taken me, or had paid some men to do his dirty work for him. At the very back of my mind, there was the fear that perhaps this was unrelated to anything, and I had been unlucky enough to have been grabbed by strangers intent on finding a girl. Any girl. Maybe I'd even considered the possibility of this being related to my father.
Never once had the man in front of me crossed my mind.
Six and a half feet of pure muscle stares me down. This man has a classically handsome face, but it's hard and savage. All the boyish charm his son still manages to retain has been battered out of this man and erased from his features. Short ash hair, olive skin, and striking blue eyes. He's the sort of man any woman over the age of thirty would fall on her knees for if he turned up to a blind date.
Unfortunately for me, this is no date. Even more unfortunately for me, below his handsome exterior beats the heart of a truly evil man. I know this because I saw what he did to his son.
What he did to Kirill.
“We meet again,” Grigoriy Stepanov says. “You look even more beautiful now than you did the first time I saw you.”
“Screw you.” I sniff. “Kirill is never going to want anything to do with you ever again when he finds out what you’ve done.”
I angrily brush the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me scared and upset.
He chuckles. “Oh, he’ll find out. Don’t you worry.”
What does he mean by that? My heart lurches in fear for one of the men I love. Kirill’s father might be the one responsible for taking me, but I still don’t want Kirill involved. I want him to stay as far away from here as possible. Kirill’s weakness is his father.
“Now, you seem to have escaped your cage, little kitten,” he says. “How about we get you settled back in?”
Fear kicks in and overrides any sense of self-preservation. As he grabs me by the ring in the collar around my throat, his finger hooking into it, I whirl around and punch blindly in his direction. I can't face the cage again. It’s too terrifying.
Small.
Cold.
Alone.
“No,” I shout. “I won't go back there.”
“Oh, but Kitten, it's your new home.” Using the collar, he shakes me like a rag doll, and my teeth clatter together. “Stop struggling. I really wouldn't want to hurt you, now, would I? After all, this face is so pretty. So perfect. You will make such a good Russian wife.”
“I'm not going to marry your son just because you say so,” I spit back. “And if you think this is the way to make me do it, then you are even more insane than Kirill claims.”
He laughs, and it's as cold and hard as the metal floor of the cage. “How sweet of you. And how naive. You think I bring you all the way here just to make you marry my son? You have made it clear he is not good enough for you. I think you would like the real man, no?”
Oh, my God, he is literally a sociopath.
“You think I'm going to marry you ?” I can't help the crazed laugh that escapes my lips. “Do you always use a cage as your favorite proposal tool?”
“No, Kitten, the cage is not for the proposal. The cage is for the breeding.”
His words fill me with a cold, slithering sense of dread. It writhes inside me like a hundred snakes, and I struggle to breathe. It's like I'm choking on filthy mud, but the mud is his words and intentions.
“You will have a choice, of course.” He shrugs casually. “I am a gentleman like this. You can either take me or my son.”
“Your son isn't here,” I point out.
“Not yet, he isn't. We will rectify that mistake.”
What does he mean by that? Is Kirill coming here? A terrible thought occurs to me; what if Kirill knows about this? What if he’s in on this plan? He’d said he wanted to marry me, hadn’t he? Could he be working with his father to get what he wants?
No, I’m sure he wouldn’t do this to me. Kirill has had some crazy moments, but deep down I believe he cares about me. He knows about my epilepsy and how dangerous it is for me to be without my meds. He wouldn’t risk my health like this.
Grigoriy reaches out and catches me by the upper arm. “Come on, Kitten. Back to your cage.”
Then he pauses, and his thumb rubs the inside of my arm. His eyes narrow, his lips thinning with displeasure. For a moment, I’ve got no idea what’s going on, but then he yanks me closer.
“What is this?”
His thumb presses painfully into the spot on the inside of my arm, and it dawns on me that he’s found my contraceptive implant.
“Wh-what?”
“This in your arm. This is an implant, no? To stop you having babies.”
It’s not as though I can deny it. “I’m too young to have children.”
“That is bullshit. You are plenty old enough. You are a grown woman. Now I must deal with this.”
A fresh shot of fear goes through me. What the hell does he mean by ‘deal with this’?
“Come with me.”
He keeps his hand clamped around my arm and drags me toward the stairs that run above the door for the basement. I try to pull back on him, but it’s impossible. His strength is terrifying. It’s as though a giant has hold of me.
I trip and stumble as he pulls me to the second floor, bashing my shins. Tears fill my eyes.
He pulls me into a bathroom and slams the door shut before locking it from the outside.
“Just making sure you don’t try to run again,” he says.
The bathroom is small, and his huge body blocks the way. There’s no way I can get past him. He lets go of my arm and reaches one meaty fist to the mirrored medicine cabinet above the white porcelain sink. He swings the door open, and I catch my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles are beneath my eyes, and my skin is pale. I look like a petrified ghost version of myself.
“Aah, got it,” he says and shuts the cabinet door again.
Pinched between his thumb and forefinger is the sliver of a single-edged razor blade.
He’s going to cut the implant out of my arm.
I widen my eyes and shake my head. “No, please.”
“This is going to happen, and if you fight and struggle, you’ll only make things worse for yourself. I’d hate to nick an artery by accident.”
I freeze, the image of me bleeding out on this bathroom floor filling my head. I don’t want to die. I’ve fought for so long; I refuse to give up now. Unless someone has dealt with a chronic illness for most of their lives, they’ve got no idea how difficult it’s been just to keep going some days. After my diagnosis, it had been so hard waking up in the mornings, knowing this was my life now. I’d grieved for the carefree girl I used to be before I had to constantly think about medications, and nutrition, and my stress levels, and grieved for the future I’d believed had been over.
I won’t win against this man, not on a physical level.
Holding out my arm, I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face away. “Just be quick.”
I hear his smile in his tone. “Good girl.”
The cold, sharp blade presses against my flesh, right at the base of the matchstick sized implant beneath my skin.
“Keep still,” he tells me.
I can’t help that I’m shaking. I swallow hard, and tears trickle down my cheeks. I brace myself for the pain.
When it comes, it’s like fire or ice burning up my skin. I can’t help it, I automatically try to pull away, but he clamps my arm tight. Hot blood flows down the inside of my bicep, pooling in the crook of my elbow. He produces a pair of tweezers, and I scream as he uses them to dig into my flesh, trying to get purchase on the tiny implant. He finally manages it and pulls, but there is resistance. A rush of heat floods over me, and I’m not sure if I’m going to be sick or pass out, or maybe both. The room spins around me. Fuck no, I can’t have a seizure now. I just can’t.
I remember my yoga breathing, and the sense of the room spinning fades.
“Got it,” Grigoriy says, holding the implant up between the twin points of the tweezers like he’s caught some rare insect.
He tosses both items into the sink and then regards the blood running down my arm. “Better get you cleaned up.”
I hold my arm out mutely as he finds wipes and a bandage. The way he patches me up is almost with tenderness and compassion, which goes completely against the way he’s treated me so far. When he’s done, he steps back to admire his handiwork.
“There. You are better.”
I just nod, the pressure of the bandage and pain in my arm a constant reminder of how fucking insane this man is.
I’m also worried about what the change in hormones is going to do to my body. There might be a chance it’ll bring on more seizures, especially as I don’t have my meds. But a change in hormones will be the least of my worries if this man gets what he wants.
I know from warnings from my doctor that removal of the implant means I can get pregnant pretty much right away. Pregnancy isn’t something I can take lightly, especially as my seizures aren’t currently under control. The medications I take means a baby has a higher chance of having birth defects, and while some women might choose to stop taking them, if they haven’t had a seizure for a year or two, I’m not in that position.
It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him the truth, but what will he do if he knows I’ll not be the perfect Bratva wife and mother he wants for his son? He’ll have no use for me then, and I highly doubt he’ll just let me go. He’ll probably decide to let his men have their fun with me—to use me and abuse me—and then one of them will kill me.
I can’t let him know the truth.
“Now, let’s get you back to your cage,” he says.
My bladder aches. “Can I use the toilet first?”
He twists his lips, and for a moment, I think he’s going to refuse me, but then he nods. “Very well.”
He turns his back on me, and I realize he’s not going to leave. I’m too desperate to complain, and I pull my sweatpants and panties down, folding over on myself to try to hide my body from him, and relieve myself in a hot gush of urine.
He keeps his back to me, and I wipe, and flush, and rearrange my clothing as I stand. At the sound of the flush, he turns to face me.
“Done?” he asks.
“I’m just washing my hands,” I mutter, keeping my head down.
They’re sticky with blood, and do need washing, but mostly I’m thinking about that razor blade. He’s just left it on the side of the sink, the sharp edge dark with my blood. It’s not much of a weapon, but it’s something. If I could just get my hands on it, I could use it to slash his goddamned throat.
I turn on the faucet and run my hands beneath the warm water. Diluted blood swirls against the white porcelain, and I angle my body to block his view.
Carefully, trying not to make any jerky movements that will alert him to my actions, I reach out to the blade, my fingertips touching the cool metal.
Grigoriy’s hand slams down on top of mine, a fresh wave of pain hitting me.
“Do not get any stupid ideas, Kitten.”
I let out a sob. That was my one chance, and it’s gone.
He turns off the faucet for me then takes hold of the ring in the collar.
“Come.”
He pulls me from the bathroom and back down the stairs to the first floor. He drags me so harshly that I trip and stumble. He doesn't try to hold me upright, but instead lets go so I fall hard on my knees. He kicks me, his shoe connecting with my ass, laughing as he does.
“That's it, little Kitten, crawl to the stairs. Make your way back to your cage.”
A murderous rage fills me. I welcome it because it's so much better than the fear. If it's the last thing I do, I will get my revenge on this man. He doesn't know who I really am. Look what I did to the professor. He might be a terrifyingly huge Bratva leader, but he's still flesh and blood. And that means he can bleed.
I reach the stairs leading down to the basement, and he pulls me up by my hair, making me yelp. A second man appears in the doorway, a vicious-looking gun glinting in his hand. It’s not the one who came down to collar and feed me in the cage. How many men are here?
“Do you need me, boss?” he asks.
“No, I think we can manage,” Grigoriy says. “Can’t we, little Kitten?”
“Get the fuck off me,” I grit out.
He laughs. “Come on, my sweet pussy, let’s go play. Maybe we can call Kirill and let him listen in.”
I struggle, but it’s no use. He pushes me down the stairs, and it takes all my focus not to fall and tumble down them. I’d probably break my head open if I did, so I try not to trip as he manhandles me roughly down to the bottom of the steps.
Instead of the collar this time, he takes hold of my wrist.
Grigoriy marches in front of me and pulls me behind him to the cage. He opens the door and throws me in, then slams it shut. I should step away, out of reach, but I don’t. He reaches through the bars and grabs me at the last moment, one big, meaty hand wrapped around my neck.
With his other hand, he produces a large padlock from his pocket and yanks me close, so my face is pressed against the bars.
I realize what he’s about to do, and terror shoots through me.
“No, no, stop!”
He loops the hook of the padlock through the ring on the collar and quickly fastens it to the cage. The bars run vertically, but there are also three horizontal bars at equal spacing to strengthen them. He fastens me to a section in the middle, so I can neither slide the lock to the top or the bottom, preventing me from either lying down or standing straight.
Grigoriy stands back and admires his work. “That’s better. No running now.”
I let out a sob and claw at the collar and the lock. Already, the muscles of my lower back burn from the awkward position I’m in, and I sink to my knees to relieve the pressure. I look up at Grigoriy with intense hatred.
“Put your arms behind your back,” he commands. “Let me see you push that chest out for me.”
I ignore him, so he grabs my tank top and pulls me toward him, twisting the material in his fist.
“Fine,” he snarls. “I'll just rip it down the front and free these nice tits.”
And he does. He tears my top as easily as if it's made from tissue. He rips right down the middle until it floats around my sides in tatters, and then he pulls the remains from my body and tosses it away. It reveals my bra and the waistband of my sweatpants.
I try to cover myself with my hands, but he reaches between the bars and pushes them away.
“You’ve got the best tits I’ve seen in a long time. How about I take a closer look? After all, you’re going to be feeding my heirs. Best make sure I think they’re good enough.”
He roughly pulls my bra down, and I cry out in dismay. I try to gather it against me, but he yanks it hard enough that the metal hooks at the back give, and he drags the straps down my arms, the material grazing my skin. His calloused hands grab my breasts, plumping them together and squeezing them upward for his perusal.
I hate the feel of his hands on me. I’m sick to my stomach and terrified, but I’m also utterly helpless, and that is the worst.
“Lovely,” he breathes. “Fucking perfect tits. What a delicious little find you are. My son did well, but he failed to land the catch, as the Americans say.”
I can’t speak because I’m too terrified and traumatized. My words have dried up in my throat, and even my tears have run dry. I’m frozen. Held captive by fear.
He brushes his thumbs over my nipples, and I shudder in disgust. “Ah, you don’t like that, Kitten? Wish it was my son?”
He drops to his knees, astonishingly graceful for a man so big. He licks his lips and pulls me right up against the cage until two metal bars frame one of my naked breasts. Then he ducks his head and sucks my nipple into his mouth.
My stupor breaks, and I reach through the bars to pound on his head and shoulders, trying to get his disgusting mouth off me, but it’s like hitting rock. He suddenly sinks his teeth into the skin around the areola, and I scream in pain. I’m sure he’ll have left teeth marks.
Satisfied, he releases me.
“Feisty,” he observes. “This is good. We want fight in our women. The Bratva don’t want meek and mild little mouses.”
His English is wrong, but I don’t correct him because we’re too busy staring at one another. He with an odd mix of seething loathing and desire, and me with rage and terror.
“You have made me hard now,” he says.
He cups his crotch, and I can’t help but look at the powerful bulge there. Jesus, how big is he?
I think I’m going to find out because he unzips his pants and slowly reaches inside.
I’m frozen and horrified but unable to look away as he pulls his cock out and drops it in front of my face. He’s only half hard, and he’s hung like a fucking horse. Fear courses through me. If he uses that thing on me, he’ll tear me apart. He’s as thick as a beer can, and long, too.
“You like what you see, Kitten?” He smirks. “It is very big, the many women I’ve fucked tell me.”
He’s not wrong, but it’s not big in a good way. It’s freakishly big. No woman is going to look at it and think anything but ouch . I wonder how many of those women he claims to have fucked have spread their legs willingly.
“You’re going to have to loosen your jaw, Kitten. You look tense, and if I shove my fat cock in your mouth right now, your jaw will break.”
Do I beg? I doubt it will work. Cry? Plead? Bargain?
How do I get out of this?
Then a calmness washes over me. I can bite it off. I can bite the fucker so hard, he’ll never procreate again. But if I do, he’ll kill me. I need to understand that choosing that course of action is a death sentence. This is not a well-adjusted man.
He watches me, smirking, arrogant, and I hate him so fucking much. I won’t let him rape me. I’ll die stopping him. This man of all men doesn’t get to have me that way, I loathe him far too much.
“Or we can call my son? What do you think to that?”
I shake my head. “No, leave him out of this.”
Throwing Kirill into the mix will likely get him killed.
Grigoriy growls suddenly, all the vicious playfulness gone as he loses his temper spectacularly. I don’t know what set him off, but he picks up a chair and smashes it on the floor with a bellow of rage. He looks almost comical, with his massive dick swinging about as he breaks the chair. Almost, but he’s far too unhinged and terrifying for me to laugh.
He turns back to me and grabs my nape through the cage. I scrabble at his forearm, using my nails, but it’s useless.
I realize he’s using his other hand to dial someone on his phone, and, after a moment, I hear Kirill’s familiar voice greeting his father. Grigoriy has put him on speaker.
It’s so comforting and intimate to hear him that I can’t stop the desperate sob that escapes me.
Kirill recognizes me instantly.
“Mackenzie?” Kirill’s voice is shocked. “Father? What the fuck have you done?”
“Son.”
“What the fuck is going on?”
“I have your unwilling bride here. You seemed reluctant to marry her, too, so I thought I’d take matters into my own hands. I’d like another heir. I thought you and she could carry on our line, but I’m more than happy to breed her myself. I have the perfect cage for her here.”
“Cage? What the fuck?” Kirill sounds dazed. As if he’s just woken from a deep sleep.
“Yes. It’s perfect for the little kitten. I’m going to fuck her, son, and I’ll destroy her tight little pussy. I’ll split her in two. Then I’ll fill her with my cum and get her pregnant.”
Kirill roars in anger, his voice echoing around the bare room. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
His father laughs. “Of course, you will. You’d have to come here first, though.”
“Don’t do it, Kirill,” I shout. “Don’t give him what he wants.”
Grigoriy glances at me. “Come here, Kitten.” He grabs my hair through the bars and tugs so hard I scream in agony.
“What are you doing to her?” Kirill demands over the phone.
“Nothing much,” Grigoriy laughs, “just a little fun. Now, are you coming for her? Or do I need to shove my cock in her?”
“I swear to God –”
“Son, shut the fuck up and get here. Take down the coordinates of the cabin.”
Grigoriy lists off a reel of numbers that mean nothing to me.
“Did you get that?” he checks.
“I wrote it down,” Kirill bites back.
“Get your ass here, alone. If you bring anyone else, I’ll gut her, and you’ll find nothing but her entrails. I fucking mean it. I have cameras and drones, so don’t think you can outsmart me.”
Kirill makes a broken noise, a half sob, half growl of rage. “Hold on, Mack. I’m coming.”
“Ah, how touching,” his father laughs. “I told you that you two crazy kids were meant for one another. You’ll thank me for this, son. One day.”
“You touch her, and I swear to God…” Kirill threatens.
“Let Kirill know how excited you are to see him,” Grigoriy orders. His massive hand grabs my breast again, and he squeezes so hard, I see stars.
I cry out, and Kirill roars again.
“I’m coming. Leave her alone. If you touch one hair on her head, I’ll kill her myself, and then you.”
He will kill me? Kirill will kill me? My head spins, and I fall backward, but the lock attached to the bars snags against the horizontal bar as I slide to the floor. The collar tightens around my throat, choking me, and I force my shaking legs to push back up into a kneeling position.
“You’ll kill her?” Grigoriy sounds vaguely intrigued. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you ruin things, and I’d rather she was dead than having to live with the poison you put inside people. Keep your fucking hands off her until I get there.”
His father laughs. “Son, sometimes you make me proud. But don’t go thinking you can sneak a gun in here. If you kill her, you’ll have to use your bare hands. You bring a gun, and I’ll shoot her in the head before you can get to where I am keeping her. No weapons. Don’t fuck with me. If you do, I’ll tie you up in the dark with her dead body and leave you for weeks. Until you fade away, too.”
There’s a choked sound of utter rage. “Don’t fucking touch her. I’ll be there, and I won’t bring a gun.”
Kirill hangs up, and I lean my head against the bars as I start to cry.
Hearing him talk about killing me has broken something inside me. Why do I keep convincing myself that the Devils are anything more than the depraved men I first came to know? If Grigoriy rapes me, will Kirill see me as damaged? Will he shoot me rather than have to look at me, knowing his father has been inside me?
He’s clearly as deranged as his father, and not the man I thought he was at all.
Grigoriy puts his disgusting cock away and walks to a chair in the corner of the room. He sits back, his legs spread wide, and takes out a large knife from a sheath around his ankle. He proceeds to throw it up in the air, always catching it by the handle, not the blade.
“Now, little Kitten, we wait.”