Chapter 24 - Ruslana
“Hello, sweetheart.”
The darkness swirls and swooshes around me. I hear him, but I don’t.
“Come on, it’s time to wake up.” Someone slaps my face. The sting of it echoing in my dream. I know that voice. I know but I can’t remember.
His voice tugs at me. A warning. A panic that surges through me. Wake up, Ruslana. It’s not safe here.
Royce laughs and the cruel sound pulls me all the way out of the unconscious state I was drifting in.
I try to lift my hand towards my face, wanting to touch my fingers against my temple because I can feel the headache pulsing there.
But my hands don’t move. They are tied behind my back and I am sitting in a chair in the middle of some kind of underground room.
I wiggle my wrists, trying to test the bonds and rope bites into my skin.
Royce is standing nearby, but I can’t focus on anything properly yet.
Blinking my eyes shut tightly, I take a deep breath. “Where am I?” I mutter, my throat dry and hurting. “How long have I been here?”
“Oh, sweet little thing, you don’t get to ask any questions,” he snarls, stepping closer. My vision clearing as I look up at him, I see that familiar look in his eyes. The hunger. The hatred. The lingering stare that churns my stomach and sets fear alight inside me like a raging wildfire.
I grip my panic tightly, not letting it overrun my thoughts.
“Where is everyone else?” I ask another question, trying to buy time until I can figure out what is going on.
Royce huffs, “Who the fuck cares? It’s just you—and me—and I have been waiting for this exact moment since the first time I set my eyes on you, sweetheart.”
I shake my head, pushing the fear down again. “Why? What is going on, Royce—what—what did you do to Dex?” I ask, suddenly fully panicked as I remember Dex lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. He has a family. A wife and two beautiful children and I made him take me out. I convinced him to leave the safety of the mansion. He got hurt, he might even be dead—it’s entirely my fault. My heart beats loudly, ringing in my ears and I fight my overwhelming emotions.
“Are you crying?” Royce asks, taking another step towards me, his legs on either side of mine as he stands over the chair I’m sitting in.
His waist is right by my face. I look upwards, into his eyes. Trying to send him to hell with just a look.
“Where is Dex?” I ask again.
“Where is Dex? Where is Dex?” he mimics me, whining and speaking in a different voice like a child. “Stop worrying about Dex—he’s probably dead, but don’t worry, soon you will be too—and then you can say hi to him again.”
“Dead?” I stammer.
He runs his fingers over my throat, wrapping his hand around my jaw, he grips my face tightly. Pulling my face upwards he leans down, and his lips are inches from mine.
I feel the heat of his breath when he speaks.
“We are going to have so much fun though—before you die—maybe I’ll carry on having fun after you die too,” he laughs loudly, a manic, twisted sound that echoes in the space we’re in. “I’ve been thinking about all the things I want to do to you, my beautiful, little angel. Oh—the things I want to do to you.” He brushes his thumb over my lips, and I fight disgust.
Then he leans even closer and kisses me.
My heart stumbles in my chest.
His tongue slips into my mouth and I want to bite him, but I’m in no position to be making him angry. I need to figure out another way to escape. Royce is the type of man who would be easily aggravated—and I get the feeling that when that happens he loses control. I do not want to see him losing control.
Royce stands up straight again, my face still gripped in his hand.
My eyes unfortunately catching sight of the massive bulge in his pants.
He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself.
“This is going to be so much fun,” he growls.
He walks away from me, towards a metal table nearby, then grabs the edge of it and drags it closer.
A bright light burns just above me, aggravating my eyes. I blink away the agitation, trying to see what is on the table.
Nausea leaps up into my throat and I gag.
The metal table is filled with very sharp objects, pliers, knives, scalpels, blades of varying sizes, needles and bright, unknown chemicals in little glass jars.
He pulls the table right up close to me, pausing to watch my expression.
I want, so badly, to hide my fear—but it’s growing by the second.
Royce is completely psychotic. He’s a psychopath and he has me alone somewhere underground and I’m sure he’s thought this through.
“I’ll scream,” I warn him when he picks up a pair of brightly polished silver scissors.
“Go for it. I’d love to hear you scream.”
He scrapes the blade across my cheek, grinning broadly.
Then he dips the open scissors into the front of my t-shirt and slowly starts snipping downward. I wince every time the scissors snap closed, hearing the clink and waiting for it to cut my flesh.
My t-shirt falls open and he starts cutting at the sleeves, savoring the process, taking his time.
Scraps of fabric fall onto the floor at my feet. My heart beats so loudly it’s deafening.
“Fuck, that’s beautiful,” he mutters to himself, standing back and looking at me.
For the first time ever, I am wishing I was one of those girls who liked the comfy, cotton bras instead of this beautiful, transparent lace.
I don’t want his eyes on me.
I don’t want to tempt him in any way.
“Royce, we can talk—“
“Hah,” he laughs. “Go ahead, talk. I’m listening.”
He crouches in front of me and starts cutting from the bottom of my jeans, around the ankle. He cuts upwards, all the way along my leg, right up to my hip. Then he does the other side.
I’m so scared I can’t even think of anything to say to distract him.
He pulls my jeans away and now I am in nothing by my underwear.
He sets the scissors down and grabs me thighs, pulling them apart.
I cry out.
He grins, running his hands up my leg.
He wants to take his time. I’ve noticed that. He isn’t in a rush to get this over with. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. Maybe I can—fuck. I don’t know what to do . Think, Ruslana. Think.
I keep catching sight of his cock, pressing against his pants.
This is sexual for him, but also—a need to be in control. He wants to use me for his own pleasure. Ok—so how can I use him back.
“When I first saw you at the club—,“ I start talking, not even sure where this is going to lead me.
He pauses, tilting his head towards me, a scalpel in his hand. The blade catches the light and I take a sharp breath. Speak. Say something.
“When I first saw you I thought immediately that you were the type of man I would be with. That’s why I ended up dancing with you.”
His eyes are on me and for the moment he isn’t hurting me.
“Carry on,” he says, curiosity in his eyes.
“Then, when you were following me around—I knew you were there. I loved it. I loved the feeling of having someone watching me.”
All I know right now is that I’d rather suffer his sexual advances than having him slicing my veins open with that scalpel. I don’t want to die.
Swallowing away the tight lump of fear in my throat, I shift my body, arching my back slightly, letting my legs drift open again—not wide—just enough to tease his mind.
A low growl rumbles through his chest and he lifts the scalpel, holding it against my inner thigh. “Are you toying with me, girl?”
“I’ve always wanted a man who knows what he wants. Someone willing to take control. It turns me on,” I whisper, doing my best to sound seductive and not terrified.
He lets the blade press harder against my skin and a very thin trickle of warm blood drips down my thigh.
He rubs his other hand over his cock. His eyes are so dark they could be black. Like midnight and nightmares.
All the while—I tell him how incredible I think he is—and how he’s the kind of man I’ve been waiting for—I am wiggling my wrists, bit by bit to loosen the ropes. It’s not easy, but if I don’t get this loose, I will die here. I will die painfully and horrifically—and it won’t be quick.
“You know, little angel, I think you see me for who I really am. And you might be the first person who has ever done that. Most people look past me and underestimate me.”
Yes, fuck. Yes—this is working.
“I saw you from the beginning. You are smarter than everyone else. You’ve been in control since the beginning and no one else even realizes.” I say, hoping that whatever I’m saying makes sense.
“How did you know?” he asks, sounding impressed.
“It was obvious,” I shrug, wiggling my wrists.
“I am the one who planned those attacks. I killed Avraam’s men and he was chasing after your brothers like a fucking fool. And then I orchestrated the attack on your brothers' warehouse and made it look like it was Avraam,” he laughs triumphantly.
“It’s brilliant, you were playing both of them—but why—that’s what I can’t work out. Was it all just for fun?” I can’t believe it was him all along.
“Are you serious? You really don’t know?” He seems annoyed now. Shit. I’ve said something wrong.
He moves right up against me, his hand around my throat again and he lifts me out of the chair, my feet dangling helplessly in the air.
“It was all for you. I want you. Avraam took you and he kept you from me. He fucking took what wasn’t his to take. I had to create this chaos, I had to design an intricate plan to get them to focus on each other until finally—I could get you back where you belong—with me.”
He drops me and I land hard back down on the chair. My back hitting the backrest and pain shooting through me.
I bite back my cry of pain.
“And your plan worked,” I say ignoring the agony in my body. Ignoring the blood oozing from the cut in my thigh that seems to be a lot deeper than I thought.
“You women are all the same though,” he sighs, turning his back to me and browsing the torture table. He selects something. “You make men weak. Look at what you did to Avraam. Do you think I haven’t noticed the change in him since he started spending time with you? He’s become weak. Because women are a sickness. A virus. And men need to take back control over them.”
He turns to face me again with a long knife in his hand. The blade is so sharp I think it would drift through paper.
I can’t breathe for a second.
“I fucking hate women,” he snarls at me, his face turning red.
Royce starts pulling at his belt buckle and I fight the urge to vomit.
I need a little more time. My hands are almost free. Then at least I have a chance.
I force myself to play the role again. I let my legs drift further apart and grin a mischievous smile. “You can do whatever you want to me. I want to feel everything. I want to feel you. Your rage. I want to see your art,” I whisper seductively.
His eyes go wide, surprised, delighted—distracted. He puts the knife down and uses both hands to slide his belt out of the loops, tossing it the floor. He steps close to me, pulling me to my feet and holding me against him, pushing his cock against me.
“You might be the most perfect woman I have ever met,” he whispers against my ear, licking his tongue across my cheek.
It sends a shiver of disgust through my body.
The rope slips off my hands and falls to the floor behind me. Just for a second—he is confused.
I lift my knee as hard and fast as I can and slam it into his balls.
The sound he makes is so satisfying as he doubles over forward, clutching his groin in agony.
And I bolt.
I run as though my life depends on getting away because I am fully convinced that it does.
I run towards a flight of stairs, tripping, falling hard on my knees—I am back on my feet and running again.
But strong hands grab me from behind. I scream so loud I think I could shatter glass—he drags me along the floor, furious about what I’ve done.
That was my only chance.
That was all I had.
Tears flood my cheeks as he shakes me and screams into my face.
“You are all the fucking same.”
The door at the top of the stairs bursts open and Royce jumps with fright, spinning towards it and pulling me in front of him—using my body as a shield against the stream of men that pour down the stairs—heavily armed.
“Let her go, Royce,” Rodion says, his eyes locked onto the psychopath.
I press my lips together. I’m too scared to utter a word as Royce holds the massive knife against my throat. He will kill me just for the fun of it. Even if he knows he is going to die straight after. I think he lost his mind long ago and this is all just a game to him.
My body starts to shake while my brothers and Avraam try to talk him into letting me go.
I stare at Avraam, through the tears, my heart aches for him.
I wish I could have told him how I really feel about him.
I wish I had the chance to be with him.
I don’t want to die.