6. Emma
EMMA
The door opens without warning. All three men enter, and I know immediately that something has changed. The way they look at me is different now. Sharper. More dangerous.
Rurik closes the door behind them with a quiet click that sounds too final. He looks too much like a model to be Bratva. Blond, pale blue eyes, a deep voice and miles of corded muscle to remind me how dangerous he is.
Eduard leans against the wall near the window, his gray eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
It’s too easy to imaging running my fingers through his light brown hair, just a little longer on top than at the sides as his broad shoulders surround me.
I rip my gaze from him and bury my blush.
Artur stands closest, his usual grin replaced by something harder. His hair is longer, thick and black that frames his face, and his crooked nose and ink up his neck and is a testament of battles won.
“We know who you are,” Rurik says without preamble.
My stomach drops, but I keep my expression neutral. “I already told you my name.”
“Special Agent Emma Moore.” Eduard’s voice is calm, almost gentle, which somehow makes it worse. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. Organized Crime Division.”
The words hang in the air between us. For a moment, I consider denying it. Playing dumb. Pretending they’re mistaken. But the look in their eyes tells me they have proof. Probably my entire file by now.
So I lift my chin and meet Rurik’s pale blue gaze without flinching. “And?”
Artur laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “And? That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?” I cross my arms. “That I’m sorry? That I made a mistake? I’m not, and I didn’t.”
“You infiltrated a criminal auction,” Rurik says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You put yourself in a position where you could have been killed or worse. For what? A case?”
“For justice.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “For the women who disappear into your world and never come out.”
Eduard shifts his weight, his expression thoughtful. “Our world?”
“The Bratva.” I look at each of them in turn. “You’re all pakhans, aren’t you? Leaders of your families. Which means you profit from the same networks that run these auctions.”
“We don’t run the auctions,” Artur says, his dark eyes flashing with anger.
“No?” I take a step forward, my fear buried beneath a surge of righteous fury. “Then what exactly do you do? You control territories, don’t you? Run protection rackets? Smuggling operations? How many of those shipments contain women being trafficked across borders?”
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Artur growls, moving toward me.
Rurik holds up a hand, stopping him. “Our operations are legitimate businesses.”
“Legitimate.” I laugh bitterly. “Is that what you tell yourselves? That the blood money you launder through nightclubs and construction companies is somehow clean because you don’t personally chain women to beds?”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Artur snaps.
“Don’t I?” My heart pounds, but I can’t stop now. “Tell me, how many of your associates deal in human trafficking? How many times have you looked the other way when shipments came through your ports? When girls disappeared from your clubs?”
Eduard’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak.
“We have rules,” Rurik says coldly. “Lines we don’t cross.”
“Rules.” The word tastes like ash. “You have rules while women are sold like cattle. How noble.”
“You have no idea what we’ve done to stop,” Eduard starts, but I cut him off.
“I don’t care what you think you’ve done.
You’re still part of the machine. You still profit from the suffering.
” I look at each of them, letting them see the determination in my eyes.
“And I’m going to escape. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow.
But I will get out of here, and when I do, I’m bringing every federal agent I can find back with me.
I’m going to dismantle everything you’ve built.
Every business, every operation, every connection.
I’m going to burn your entire world to the ground. ”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then Artur moves, closing the distance between us in two strides.
His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding me in place as he leans down until we’re eye to eye.
“You think you’re the first person to threaten us, little fed?
You think we got where we are by letting people destroy what’s ours? ”
I should be terrified. I can feel the barely leashed violence in him, the way his fingers twitch against my skin. But I refuse to look away. “Do it. Kill me. It’ll only prove my point.”
“Artur.” Eduard’s voice cuts through the tension. “Let her go.”
For a long moment, Artur doesn’t move. Then he releases me with a sound of disgust and steps back. He storms out, slamming the door behind him. Rurik watches me for another moment, his expression unreadable, then follows without a word.
Eduard remains, studying me with those intense dark eyes. The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything unsaid.
Finally, he speaks. “You should rest.”
Then he’s gone too, and I’m alone with my racing heart and the certainty that I’ve just made everything infinitely more complicated.
Hours pass. The light outside the window fades to darkness. I sit on the bed, my mind spinning through scenarios, escape routes, ways to get a message out. Every plan falls apart before it fully forms.
The lock clicks.
I tense, expecting Artur’s anger or Rurik’s cold fury. Instead, Eduard steps inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He’s changed clothes, wearing dark jeans and a fitted black shirt that emphasizes his broad shoulders. His hair is slightly damp, like he’s recently showered.
“I thought you might be hungry.” He sets a tray on the dresser. The smell of food makes my stomach clench with sudden hunger, but I don’t move.
He pulls the chair away from the desk and sits, his posture relaxed but alert. “I’m not here to fight with you, Emma.”
The sound of my name in his deep voice does something to my pulse that I refuse to acknowledge.
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I want to understand.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “How does an FBI agent end up on an auction block? That wasn’t part of any official operation, was it?”
I consider lying, but what’s the point? “No.”
“So you went rogue.” It’s not a question. “You put yourself in that position deliberately, knowing what could happen.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question hangs between us. I should deflect, should keep my mouth shut. But something in his eyes, in the genuine curiosity there, makes me hesitate.
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.” He holds my gaze, and I feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch. “You’re not stupid, Emma. You knew the risks. You knew what happened to women in those auctions. But you went anyway. That’s not just dedication to a case. That’s personal.”
My throat tightens. “Maybe I just hate men like you.”
“Maybe.” His lips curve slightly. “But I don’t think that’s all of it.”
The air between us feels charged, electric. I’m acutely aware of how close he is, of the way his shirt stretches across his chest. This man bought me. Owns me, according to whatever twisted logic governs his world. I should hate him.
But when he looks at me like this, like he actually sees me, something in my chest pulls tight.
“You can’t understand,” I say quietly.
“Try me.”
I stand, needing to move, to put distance between us. But the room is small. When I turn, he’s right there, rising from the chair. We’re inches apart.
“Emma.” My name again, softer this time.
I should step back. Should maintain distance. But I don’t.
His hand comes up slowly, giving me time to move away. When I don’t, his fingers brush my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, and it sends heat cascading through me.
Something flares in his eyes, dark and hungry.
Then his mouth is on mine, and I’m lost. The kiss is nothing like I expected.
It’s not rough or demanding. It’s deep and searching, like he’s trying to learn every part of me.
His hands frame my face, holding me like I’m something precious, and I melt into him.
My fingers find his shirt, fisting in the fabric as I kiss him back with all the pent-up tension and confusion and need that’s been building since I first saw him. He makes a low sound in his throat, and then his hands are in my hair, on my waist, pulling me closer.
We stumble backward until my legs hit the bed. He follows me down, his weight pressing me into the mattress. God, it feels good. Feels right in a way that makes no sense.
His mouth moves to my neck, trailing heat down to my collarbone. I arch into him, my hands sliding under his shirt to find warm skin and hard muscle. He groans against my throat, and the sound goes straight to my core.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, as his hands find the hem of my shirt. I lift my arms, letting him pull it over my head. His gaze rakes over me, and a bolt of lust skitters across my nerve endings, pooling in my lower belly.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, then his mouth is on my skin, kissing a path down my sternum.
I work at his shirt and he helps me, shrugging it off before returning his attention to me. His hands are everywhere, learning my body, and I’m drowning in sensation.
When he unhooks my bra and takes my breast in his mouth, I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair. The wet heat of his tongue on my nipple sends pleasure spiraling through me, and I press closer, wanting more.
He takes his time, lavishing attention on my breasts until I’m writhing beneath him. Then his hand slides down my stomach, popping the button of my jeans.
He slides my jeans and underwear down my legs, leaving me bare beneath him.
For a moment he just looks at me, and I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with being naked.
My legs twitch with the desire to close, to hide myself from his hungry gaze, but instead I open them wider, watching his eyes darken with lust.
“Fuck, Emma.” Then he’s kissing me again, his hand sliding between my thighs. When his fingers find how wet I am, he groans.
He strokes me slowly, driving me crazy. Everywhere he touches, my skin heats up. When he slides a finger inside me, I moan, my hips moving against his hand.
“More,” I breathe, and he adds another finger, stretching me, filling me.
The pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each stroke. But I want more than his hand. I want all of him.
I reach for his jeans, fumbling with the button. He helps me, kicking them off along with his boxers. Then he’s naked above me and the sight of him steals my breath. He’s all hard muscle and masculine beauty, his cock thick and hard against his stomach.
He settles between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Our gazes meet and he smiles. It’s not a sweet smile; it’s almost like a predator’s look when it captures its prey. But before I can react to that, he pushes inside slowly.
When he’s fully seated inside me, he pauses, letting me adjust. Then he starts to move, slow and deep, each thrust sending pleasure cascading through me.
I meet him stroke for stroke, my nails digging into his shoulders.
The rhythm builds, faster and harder, until we’re both gasping, chasing release.
His hand slides between us, finding my clit, and the added stimulation pushes me over the edge. I come with a cry, my body clenching around him. He follows moments later, his hips jerking as he finds his own release.
The reality of what we just did settles over me, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Not when I still feel the aftershocks of pleasure.
Not when my muscles feel like wet noodles, all relaxed.
This was just what I needed to ease all the tension that’s been building inside me.
Well, at least since Rurik had helped me with that issue.
Oh god. Two men! I’ve not only slept with two men, but two men who claim to own me. What the fuck is wrong with me?
His hand traces lazy patterns on my hip. “Talk to me,” he says quietly. “Tell me why you did this. Why you risked everything.”
His words bring me out of my panicked thoughts and I decide to answer him, just to escape my own mind.
“My best friend, Krystal Donnovan, disappeared a year ago, and I’m pretty sure she was sold at the bride auction.”