Ruthless Bonds (Hearts of Mayhem)

Prologue

Alora

I’d always found beauty in the darkness. There was a rawness to it, the way it stripped everything away and left only you and your demons.

Most people feared that.

Me? I’d learned to embrace it.

But as I hung from the ceiling in the pitch-black room, my boots barely scraping the concrete floor, I was having a really hard time appreciating its charms.

Beads of sweat trickled down my back as I yanked my wrists.

It was pointless.

I was trapped.

My arms screamed in protest as I twisted against the ropes. Pretty sure I was going to remove “rope play” from my fantasy list after this.

How long had I been hanging here? An hour? Two? I groaned, my limbs heavy as if they were made of lead. If I could just get loose and reach the switchblade in my boot…

The distant rumbling of the subway vibrated against the walls, red lights flashing through windows too high and small for me to escape through. July in New York was already unbearable, the air thick with humidity and desperation, but down here in this basement, it was like a sauna .

The smell of bleach mixed with the odor of what I assumed was death made my skin crawl. I was almost relieved I couldn’t see in the dark. As far as I knew, there could have been a pile of dead bodies next to me. A wave of morbid thoughts ran through my mind, making me shudder.

I had to get back to my sister.

Had she run like I had told her? My heart thumped wildly in my chest. If they caught her—hurt her—

Stop.

Get your shit together, Alora.

The door creaked open, light spilling into the room. Two shadowy figures appeared at the top of the staircase. My eyes darted around, taking in my surroundings. One door. A table with shiny silver tools—what in the Peter fucking Pan was that? A hook?

I jerked my wrists, biting the inside of my cheek to stop from screaming. I would not die here. Not when I hadn’t even lived yet. My fingers, once so swift at slipping into pockets or unclasping businessmen’s watches, now felt clumsy and useless against the bindings holding me captive.

Another light flickered on, a single lightbulb swaying in the center of the room, casting ominous shadows across the graffiti-covered walls. Two men stood, their heads low, their voices urgent as they dumped out the contents of my backpack. One wore an expensive suit, the other a police uniform. But I knew better than that. Cops didn’t ink themselves with Bratva symbols. My gaze dragged from his wolf tattoo to the dried blood on the side of his head.

That was courtesy of me and my lucky bat. But that had been the only swing I had got in before I’d been knocked to the ground. A metallic taste still lingered in my mouth from when he’d backhanded me and dragged me out of my apartment.

I hadn’t screamed; hell, I had barely put up a fight when they had blindfolded me and thrown me into the trunk. Because if my sister had heard me, she would have come back. I would not let them take her too.

I had broken my first rule—always trust the goosebumps. If I had trusted them, then I wouldn’t be hanging here like a piece of meat in some torture dungeon.

Earlier that night, when the cop had stopped me outside my apartment and demanded I go to the precinct with him, I’d known something wasn’t right. He sure as hell didn’t look like a real cop. There was no way I was going to just get in his car.

A notorious serial killer had once said his victims could have escaped his wrath if they’d just trusted their gut. “ Despite their suspicion that something was wrong, they chose to help out of fear of seeming impolite. They chose kindness over caution, willingly assisting a stranger who claimed to be locked out of his car or had lost his puppy. ”

So no, cop or not, I wasn’t getting into a stranger’s car. Then, when I’d seen his tattoo, I’d known I was in deep shit.

Bratva.

Russian mafia.

He was there because of what I had done. What I had been forced to do to save my family. And now I was going to pay the price.

I should have run that night after what had happened with Dylan. Taken Dove and gone somewhere safe…

Focus.

The man in the suit rummaged through my stuff, ripping open a plastic bag. His face twisted in disgust at the pig skins that rolled out while the cop unraveled the purple satin cloth, letting the vibrator fall to the table. I could have piped up that the pig skins were for my sister and her tattoo practice, and the toy was a gag gift for my best friend, but something told me I was better off keeping my mouth shut.

Their voices carried over the hum of an ancient radiator clanking to life. I could only make out a few words.

“Human skin… psycho… She must work for the Irish…”

I chuckled. Of course something like this would happen to me.

The cop’s head snapped in my direction, his eyes narrowing. He was gripping the toy so hard his knuckles were turning white, and I couldn’t stop the cackle that spilled out.

Maybe they would think I was some unhinged deviant and let me go free.

Wishful thinking.

The cop took a step toward me, and I raised my chin in a challenge.

“Leave her.” The man in the suit checked his phone. “The Pakhan is here. He will handle her.”

“Fuck that. She killed Ruslan.” The cop’s nostrils flared. “I’ll get her to confess.” I narrowed my eyes at him as his gaze traveled up and down my body, lingering on my breasts. “You’ll talk, won’t you, girl? ”

“I said no.” Mr. Suit straightened out the collar of his dress shirt. “I vouched for you, and you will obey, Sergei.” He pushed past him and took the stairs two at a time to the top. “I’ll be back with the Pakhan. Behave.” The door slammed behind him as Sergei leaned against the table, flipping a slim metal tool that looked like an ice pick.

He was the only thing standing between me and my freedom. If I could get my hands free and get to my knife, then I could make a run for it. But who knew what was on the other side of that door? They kept saying the word Pakhan, and even with my limited knowledge of the Russian mafia, I knew that meant boss.

Sergei turned his back to me and examined the tools on the table, which was the only chance I needed to get free. The sweat covering my body was making the ropes slippery, and my wrist started pulling free from one of the bonds. He turned around, knife in hand, and my excitement instantly died. His eyes darted up to the staircase, then back to me, a sick smile on his face as he came closer.

“Who do you work for?”

His breath reeked of cigarettes and cheap vodka. I turned my head to the side, not saying a word. Fuck this guy. I’d faced scarier men in darker alleys when I used to run with Ray and his crew.

“You will talk, or I will make you.” He gripped my chin, the grime under his nails making me want to throw up as his fingers lingered near my lips. “Maybe I’ll cut out your tongue, since you don’t want to speak, hm?” He cocked his eyebrow, his fingers digging into my flesh until my mouth fell open. “But first I’ll have some fun with this mouth. ”

“You stick your micro-dick anywhere near my mouth, and I’ll bite it off.”

His hand struck my cheek, sending my head spinning and leaving me breathless.

This guy was so dead.

I would make him regret every vile word spewing from his mouth. Rage flooded my veins as I pictured all the horrible ways I would make him pay.

He squeezed my chin tighter, forcing me to look at him. “Last chance. Who do you work for, bitch?”

“Hannibal Lecter.” I kicked out, aiming for his crotch. He jumped back as the force of my boot hit him on his side.

“Sneaky bitch.” He spit at me. “You think this is funny? You should beg me to kill you before the Pakhan gets here. You should be terrified. Nobody crosses the Zokrov Bratva.”

Oh, I was fucking terrified. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that. When I was seven, I’d told my older brother Jameson I was scared of monsters hiding in my closet. He had pulled out a pocketknife and handed it to me, forcing me to grip it in my hand. “We don’t run from monsters, Alora. We kill them. They are the ones that should fear us. Remember that.”

That was something I had lived my whole life believing. This shit world was full of monsters trying to steal your light, but I would not let them take mine. I had nothing to lose and everything to live for. I would not be a lamb that laid its neck down to be slaughtered.

Sergei trailed the knife down my neck to the top of my shirt. “Time to play.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” My nostrils flared as he laughed, ripping my top open. I thrashed around, kicking blindly and hoping I would hit him. The air in the room became stifling, unbearable as he yanked at the fabric of my shirt.

And that was when I saw him.

I’d been so consumed with fighting off Sergei I hadn’t noticed the man descending the stairs. Not just any man; he was a force of darkness. Power and danger radiated off him with every step.

My pulse quickened as I took him in. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved across the room like a predator stalking his prey. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, the room going silent with every step he took. His chiseled jawline could have cut glass, and his perfectly disheveled dark hair framed eyes so blue, they appeared almost black in the dim light.

I knew those eyes.

He grabbed something from the table, never slowing his pace until he stopped directly behind Sergei.

Sergei paled, sweat beading across his forehead as if he could feel the man’s presence behind him. There was no warning as the man raised a gleaming hook, and, in one fluid motion, sliced across Sergei’s throat. Warm blood sprayed across my arms and chest.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I tried to process the scene in front of me. The man stepped over Sergei’s lifeless body without sparing him another glance, closing the distance between us.

I should have been terrified. I should have been fighting against my bonds with desperation.

But I wasn’t.

Against all logic, a wave of relief washed over me.

“Hello, kotic ,” he murmured, his voice deep and laced with dangerous promise as it caressed my skin.

I glanced up at the ropes biting into my wrists, then back into those blue eyes I had thought about so often over the past six years. My voice was a whisper, mixed with emotions I could barely comprehend.

“K…” I held my breath as he pulled out a black handkerchief and stroked it across my cheek, wiping off Sergei’s blood. His eyes burned into mine, a darkness in them that had me shivering. “I think it’s time to call in that favor.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken promises.

I was in way more trouble than I could have ever imagined.