Chapter 4 - Ruslana
Groaning loudly, I roll over against the soft pillow and reach my hand up to my head. I have a massive headache and I can’t remember why. Did I go clubbing? I feel like I’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge.
Slowly, I sit up and blink myself awake, groaning again. The room is really dark, but even though I can’t see everything, I have a sudden urgent sense of panic. This is not my room. This is not anywhere that I recognize at all.
Everything that happened rushes at me all at once and I remember the chase and the man who took me. His penetrating stare and that dark smile on his face before he grabbed me.
Someone has kidnapped me. I’m being held prisoner.
How long was I unconscious? How long have I been missing? Where are my brothers?
I can’t believe this happened.
I was so careful.
I was so stupid.
My brothers are going to be furious and it’s all my fault. I always mess everything up because I refuse to do what I’m told. This isn’t the first time I’ve landed myself in a lot of trouble because I get up to mischief.
They were right all along, and I didn’t listen. Why do I always have to be so fucking stubborn? I hate to admit it—and I would never admit it to his face—but Rodion was right. I needed the guards. I was stupid to escape them and put myself in danger like that.
Stop.
Stop panicking. Stop being so hard on yourself.
You are a survivor.
It’s going to be ok.
I’m still me. I’m still smart enough to find a way out of here.
Climbing off the bed, I start to look around the room, examining everything—looking for any way to get out. The windows are barricaded with extra bars—thick rods that have been cemented into the walls. They have put a lot of effort into making sure I’m not going to get out that way. They either do this often, kidnapping people—or they have carefully prepared this room just for me. I don’t know which idea is worse.
Who has me? Why? What do they want with me?
I push the thoughts aside before they start to cause panic.
The windows aren’t the way out—but there has to be something. They aren’t perfect. No one’s perfect. They would have slipped up somewhere and I will use it to my advantage. I will get out of here.
I’m certainly not going to make this easy for whoever took me.
Reaching into my hair, I pull out a hairpin, a thin, long silver pin, neat, strong and sharp.
I have no idea how to pick a lock, but I’ve watched enough movies to at least give it a try. How hard can it be?
Besides, trying that is better than just sitting here and waiting for them to come back.
I want to get back to my family. I’ll put up with the seven hundred security guards and be perfectly happy about it. I won’t complain even once. In fact—I’ll say thank you and be grateful.
I just want to get home. That’s all that matters now.
I hurry towards the door, twirling the hairpin in my fingertips.
Crouching in front of the door, I peer into the lock. I can’t see anything. It’s too dark. But that’s ok. From what I understand, this is mostly based off feel and not sight. I have to trust my instincts on this one.
Taking a deep breath, I steady my shaking hands and slip the pin into the lock. It slides in easily.
I keep moving it—gently—slowly. Rolling it around, spinning it and twirling it—I keep hearing little clicks and feeling the internal mechanism moving around inside the door. I have no idea if it’s working.
It’s taking forever and part of my brain is screaming that it’s useless and the other part is screaming that I don’t dare give up—there is no other way out of here—
And then it happens.
The lock clicks loudly, and I know it’s worked.
The door is open.
But did anyone hear that?
Is someone standing just outside the door waiting for me?
Will they be angry that I tried to escape?
I stand up slowly, trying to be ready for anything, but nothing happens.
After I’m sure there is no shuffling or sounds coming from the other side of the door, I push it open and peer out of the bedroom up and down the long passageway on either side of the door.
It’s dark and quiet. The dim lighting feels soothing, even though there is absolutely nothing soothing about being kidnapped.
I can hear voices, but they seem to be coming from much further way. Nothing to worry about if I can avoid them.
I move in the opposite direction towards a large staircase.
Being as quiet as I can, I creep down it, into a big open space. This isn’t the way out. I spin in a circle, looking for something to lead me outside. Moving through the mansion, I start to panic. It’s a miracle I haven’t been seen yet.
This place is too big. What is going on?
I run quietly down another passage and into another open area. A dining room.
“Fuck,” I whisper. This place is massive. It’s so big, I’m lost.
But what scares me the most is that the size of this mansion is a reflection of the man who took me. He must be very powerful.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell myself. “Just find a way out.”
I take a deep breath and keep moving. I can’t stop now. I have to stay focused.
My heart is filled with relief when I find a kitchen—and a back door leading out into a garden. It’s obviously used mostly by the housekeepers. There is an area for hanging laundry and an outside scullery.
There is an entirely separate building just behind the house. I make my way around it and into the open garden area.
As soon as I’m in the open, I run.
If this place is anything like my brother's, then all the security will be out here, and I am going to have to run like hell if I have any chance of escaping them. It’s no longer about stealth. Now, it’s down to luck and speed.
An alarm sounds and my heart constricts. They know I’ve escaped.
I hear men shouting and all the lights come on around the property.
I scream when someone grabs me, pushing me to the ground. I roll onto my back and kick upwards, hitting the man in the stomach with a powerful kick. A huff of air is pushed from his lungs and his angry face glares down at me.
That’s when the fear really kicks in.
When I see his face.
A face I can never forget.
He is the man who drugged me at the club and tried to take me home with him. It was the other guy who lifted me onto his shoulder and tried to carry me out, but this man was right there. A memory flashes through my mind. Declan Volkov has me slung over his shoulder, but this man—whoever he is—is shouting commands. “Get her to the car.” He snaps.
I push the memory aside, terrified it will paralyze me. After the club it was this man who stalked me for months. I thought he worked for Declan. But clearly not.
He is the man who tried to kidnap me in the shopping mall a few months ago. I thought he was dead. I thought he had died with the other men that day. Everything becomes clear as my mind pieces bits of the puzzle together.
Another memory flashes before me, staggering me for a moment. Blood everywhere. The white tile floor of the shopping mall—flooded with bodies.
Intense fear grips at my heart and salty tears start to roll from the corner of my eyes. It’s him. The nightmares that haunted me night after night—his face— it’s him. He finally got me.
The absolute terror that pulses through me is magnified and I fight harder than ever. My adrenalin is going wild.
The man grabs me around the throat and slams his body over mine, pinning me to the ground and pushing my body into the dirt roughly.
He moves my legs apart with his hips and I try to lock my thighs around his waist to get any kind of grip on him so that I can fight back—but the smile on his face makes me even more terrified. He is enjoying this.
His hand locks around my throat and he pushes his groin against me.
Is this really happening? It can’t be happening.
He grabs my breast and squeezes hard.
“Did you miss me, sweetheart?” he growls against my ear.
I can feel his cock pressing against me and my head is spinning.
I’m clawing and scratching but it’s only making him more aggressive—and lighting his eyes with more excitement.
His touch makes me nauseous. I start rocking my body wildly, trying to throw him off me.
He slaps me across the face. “Stop that,” he snarls.
“There they are,” I hear shouts from somewhere in the garden.
“Royce has her pinned down.”
Royce .
“What the fuck is he doing?”
“She’s fighting hard.”
“Restrain her.”
There are several men standing around now, shining bright torches into my face. Royce eases off me a little, looking angry and disappointed.
He has not released my throat, though, and the world is starting to spin.
“Get off her,” another man demands and everyone jumps back, including Royce who quickly lets go of my throat.
I sit up, the sudden freedom giving me a surge of hope.
Pushing myself to my feet, I glance around me, like a trapped animal. But I won’t give up—I move to run again, but someone grabs me around my waist.
No. Not him. Not Royce. I never want to be alone with him. I saw his eyes. I saw exactly what he wanted.
“Stop,” a man growls. It’s not Royce.
I spin and stare into his eyes, ready to face him down.
It’s the man from the shopping district. The one who caught me.
I start clawing and screaming and scratching and kicking as wildly as I can.
I expect him to slap me or hit me—just like Royce would.
But he doesn’t. He dodges every attempt I make to lash out at him, and at the same time, he doesn’t hurt me at all. He has a tight grip on my wrists, and his arm is locked around my waist, lifting me off the ground. He is so much stronger than Royce and is handling me with efficient ease. His strength terrifies me. He makes me feel like I’m completely useless, unable to make even the slightest impact on him.
I can’t get away—but also—he hasn’t inflicted an ounce of pain on me. How is he able to restrain me so effectively without hurting me?
It doesn’t mean he won’t, though.
It doesn’t mean he isn’t exactly like Royce.
He might just want to get me inside and then take me however he wants me—in the privacy of the bedroom.
Royce’s dark eyes flash in my memory and I start screaming and crying. I don’t want that to happen to me.
I’ve never been with a man and I don’t want this to be how I lose my virginity. Please, oh please, let this not be happening.
I cry hard, begging and pleading and kicking until the man carries me into the bedroom I escaped from and drops me onto the bed.
He stands next to it, looking down at me as I scamper away from him until my back is pressed against the headboard and I have nowhere else to go. I pull my knees to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible. Invisible. Inconsequential. His eyes continue to bore into me.
He won’t look away. I can see the darkness in him, but it’s different to Royce.
Who is this man? What does he want from me?
My heart is running full speed and I can’t breathe properly.
My entire body is shaking with fear.
I press my lips together, trying to decide how to handle this. Maybe I can talk my way out. Maybe I can reason with him.
I know I can’t fight him. There is no chance.
But he is a man and men want one thing.
What if I pretend? What if I distract him?
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stop crying and forcing my body to relax. Letting fear control me is not the answer.
I’m stronger than that.
I can do this.