CHAPTER 11 #2
When we finally pull up, the condo appears at the edge of a quiet, tree-lined street—too quiet. Too perfect. Too clean. Like someone scrubbed the scene before we got here.
The moment I lay eyes on it, I draw my gun. Logan slips out his blades in silent, fluid motion and Kai’s already formed his hands into fists.
The place looks undisturbed at first glance, just another boxy brick unit with spotless windows and a trimmed hedge. But then we see it—the front door hanging awkwardly on its frame, the wood splintered and cracked near the lock.
Whoever came through didn’t bother with waiting for it to open. This sets my every nerve on edge. My grip tightens on the gun. Whatever this is—we’re already too late for part of it.
Someone left in a hurry or didn’t plan to stay long.
Kai’s ahead of me, sweeping left. Logan goes right. My breath stays shallow, my steps silent.
Inside, I can almost smell the soft scent Maisy always wears. She was definitely here. There is no sign of a fight. No blood. No shattered glass.
Logan steps into the living room and stops. “Orion.”
I cross over.
It’s there on the armrest of the couch. Her cap. The one she wore at the airport.
Black, curved brim, folded slightly on the edge. I remember her tucking her curls into it on the CCTV footage.
We all know what that means. Someone was here after her.
Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. But the open door tells me one thing with certainty.
We’re not the first to find this place.
We leave the house angry, thinking of the worst.
Every step back to the car feels heavier than the last.My thoughts spiral, if they touched her—if they did anything to her— I will rip this city apart, brick by brick, until I find them.
One thing that keeps me from losing it completely is that my children are safe. That’s the only thing I hold onto right now.
As for Maisy, we’ll figure it out.The condo had cameras. Exterior, possibly street-facing. Maybe even hallway feeds we can tap through the building’s system.
There’s no clean exit from this. We’ll find out who it was. Although deep down, we already know.
MAISY
Cold. That’s the first sensation that pierces through the fog in my mind. That and the smell.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but I sense my arms stretched above my head, and my wrists bound to what feels like a metal bedframe.
Similar restraints bite into my ankles. I open my eyes, squinting into the shadows.
Thin strips of light filter through the edges of a door, barely illuminating the room.
The smell hits me hard—damp, rotten, and sour.
It turns my stomach and makes my head spin.
And just like that, the memories come rushing back.
I feel Logan’s torture all over again—the pain, the fear, every second burned into my mind like it happened yesterday.
And then there’s Marina. Her death left me with a huge scar.
I don’t think I ever really got over any of it.
A shiver runs through me, and in that moment, it hits me—I can never escape my past. No matter what happens, it’s always there, waiting in the dark, ready to pull me back in. And just like that, the adrenaline surges like a warning I can’t ignore.
Breathe, Maisy. Think. You’ve been in this situation before. Helpless. You’ve turned worse situations around. You can do it again—stay calm, find a way, and survive.
“Hey!” I scream, my voice bouncing off the walls. “Let me out of here!”
The sound of multiple footsteps approaches. Keys jangle, the lock turns, and the fluorescent lights flicker to life. Viktor Mrozovski fills the doorframe, and the other three men I met cluster behind him: fair, tall, and broad.
Their eyes roam all over my body, and that’s when I become aware of the fact that with my legs spread open where my feet are bound, my dress has ridden up to my hips, fully exposing my panties.
“Well, well… Sleeping Beauty finally wakes!” The guy with the thick arms lets out a mocking laugh.
“You had us worried, Maisy.” Viktor’s eyes are cold, almost unhuman. “For a moment, we thought you might sleep through the fun.”
“How long have I been in here?” I demand.
Viktor steps closer, a smirk ghosting his face.
“Why? Planning to be somewhere else?”
The way they’re all leering at my body makes my skin crawl. They’re talking to me but their eyes never leave my body.
I force my voice steady. “Look,” I say, willing them to meet my eyes. “We can work something out. I can get you a line to the mafia heads. There’s no need for this.”
He leans down and his breath, laced with the sharp bite of cigarettes, ghosts across my face. The other men snicker behind him. I pull against my restraints, the metal biting into my flesh.
“The great Maisy Slavinovich. The genius. The survivor.” His fingers slide along my thigh, creeping toward the edge of my panties. I jerk my leg, trying to shake him off, but he doesn’t stop. “Not so brilliant now, are you?” he sneers.
Horror courses through me as more tall, broad men file into the room, all clearly from his part of the world. Their eyes crawl over my restrained body like insects, hungry and predatory. One of them turns to Viktor.
“Can we have a go at her?”
My stomach lurches as everyone looks at Viktor, waiting for permission like well-trained dogs.
“Sure, cop a feel, let’s see how she’ll take it,” Viktor sniggers as he pulls out his cell and dials a number, stepping back.
At least ten of them storm the room, which is now crowded, with Viktor’s men up front, and they start groping me.
Screaming would be pointless—no one would hear me, and even if they did, no one would come.
My heart pounds so fast it feels like it might tear through my chest. I can’t breathe.
I can’t think. My eyes fill with tears, blurring everything, but I don’t dare blink.
I’m frozen, trapped in my own body, and my fear is so thick it’s choking me.
Tears spill from the corners of my eyes, hot and silent, sliding down my cheeks as I finally slam my lids shut.
If I can’t see it, maybe I can pretend I’m somewhere else.
Maybe, just for a second, I can forget where I am…
and what’s happening to me. But I know it’s hopeless—I sense their rough hands pulling my dress above my chest, and different mouths lowering to my breasts, sucking my nipples, licking, biting, pulling with their teeth.
My knees are spread open as far as they’ll go, my panties pulled aside, and there are fingers exploring my cunt.
I feel hands stroking my legs, my inner thighs, my butt cheeks, fingers exploring my asshole, and much too much skin-to-skin sensation, priming me for something vile.
“Yeah, oh fuck, she’s wet!” someone exclaims.
“Viktor, look! Her cunt’s crying for us!” They laugh, insert more fingers inside me, and rub my clit. They want me to get aroused. My nub is already swollen, I can feel it.
“Stop it! You sick bastards—you’re gonna fucking regret ever touching me! I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself!” I yell, hoping to get Viktor’s attention. He looks right at me, still on his call, that vile smile curling his lips as he speaks into the cell.
There’s nothing I can do—nothing but sit with the weight of my own mistake, feeling so, so stupid because I put myself here.
With my eyes closed, there’s only one thing I can control: my mind.
And I cling to it desperately. I build walls, imagine my escape—but my body is betraying me.
It trembles, it aches as I try to swallow the rising panic, because showing fear is the only thing worse than feeling it.
But even in my head, I can’t fully get away.
“Fucking cunt, she’s good for one thing only!”
I half-open my eyes and see the goatee guy unbuckling, his cock jutting out of his pants, and three, four more men doing the same. Viktor’s still on the phone, looking uninterested, while I have around eight men ready to fuck me, their knees on the bed already.
Just as I think my world is collapsing on top of me, I hear Viktor’s voice, almost like a lifeline in the chaos. “No one touches her!” he growls as he places his cell in his pocket. “If anyone’s fucking her, it’s gonna be me. Before I end her.”
“Fuck you, Vik!” the goatee complains as he rubs his cock on my inner thigh. “Let me have a go just this one time, brother!”
Brother?
Viktor just throws him a glance, and the goatee backs off. Thank God!
With everyone grumbling and griping over their unfulfilled wishes, some of them still with their hands on my body, I force myself to make use of this moment of reprieve.
“Why New York?” The words tumble out. I’m desperate, grasping for anything. “Who told you it was up for grabs?”
Viktor’s pale eyes fix on mine. He’s amused. “You know you cannot buy yourself any more time than you already have.”
“Twenty-five percent of New York is mine.” I try to jerk away from the touch of a few hands that are still groping me. Fortunately, they back off.
“I know that very well.” His voice drips with smug satisfaction. “And with you dead, I’ll rebuild the Slav family from the ashes.”
“I’m your fastest way to the top. I know the names, the deals, the secrets. Use me, and you’ll win. Kill me, and you’ll never get New York.”
“You think you have anything left to bargain with?” he laughs, shaking his head like I’m nothing more than a bad joke.
“Someone’s feeding you bad information, Viktor.” My voice steadies as I find my rhythm. I called him by his name. Our brains are wired to respond to our names; it creates a subtle bond and we are more likely to listen, and to agree.
Viktor studies me for a long moment, then barks out more laughter that echoes off the walls. “You really think you’ll get away with it, don’t you?” He leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “That brilliant mind of yours won’t help you this time! This time, Maisy-Moo, there’s no escape.”