Chapter 27
Ekaterina
What was supposed to be the day I hoped for a new beginning quickly turns into a nightmare, one I’m starting to think may be the last day of my life.
“Russian doll, Russian whore,” he says with revulsion, moving closer to me.
His cold face, devoid of any warm emotion, matches the gray two-piece suit and white shirt he wears with arrogance.
Four other men advance behind him, all with their weapons aimed at me.
“You have no chance of running, so don’t try to resist, Katya.”
Instinctively, I take a step back.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to take my fiancee. Former fiancee, to be more precise.”
“I don’t understand. What do you still want from me? I know very well you didn’t want to marry me for romantic reasons, so don’t try to play the victim.”
“But I am a victim. Because that Russian bastard ruined my plans to expand toward Russia with his little intervention. Our wedding was an important step in a scheme put together by many people.”
He grins and emphasizes each word.
“So. Many. People. Including some from your country.”
He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, coming even closer to me. My heart pounds hard, and my entire body begins to tremble.
I can’t die now. Not like this. Not before I have the chance to confess Artem what I feel.
Please, God, don’t do this to me. Give me the chance to see him at least one more time.
“You’ve pissed off a few very important people, and now they want you out of the picture for good.”
I look around, but every attempt to escape is cut off by the guns immediately cocked in my direction.
“But don’t worry. I didn’t come here to kill you. I came to take you to your beloved Pakhan. And then I’m going to kill you. But not before showing you how he dies.”
All I remember is a rag with a sweet smell pressed to my face, one that cuts every connection I have to reality in less than a few seconds. And when I wake up, any hope that it was all just a bad dream disappears when I realize I’m in an even worse one.
When I finally manage to open my heavy eyes, I realize my hands are bound in front of me with a pair of handcuffs and that I’m in a cold room, on a mattress that smells of mold and sweat.
This improvised bed doesn’t even have a frame.
It’s just laid out on the floor, on cold stone, while I’m surrounded in this small space, no more than ten square meters, by walls of old brick.
The room has only one bulb on the ceiling, but I barely have time to come to my senses before the metal door opens.
Two men, dressed and armed like mercenaries ready for battle, appear in the doorway.
One of them, a redhead with thick, tattooed arms, comes closer, speaking to me in a calm, but firm voice. “Up. I don’t want to take you by force, so try to cooperate.”
“Wow, I can almost feel how much you care,” I mutter furious, struggling to get up from the floor.
Slightly dizzy, I’m allowed to rub my forehead and hold on to the wall until I manage to coordinate my steps, which at first are a little unsteady.
Supported by him, his grip careful on my arm so I won’t run or fall, I follow a hallway a few meters long, also made of brick. There are four doors on each side, but we stop at the last one.
The redhead’s colleague opens it and makes room for us to enter.
The first thing I notice in my confused state is that this room seems much larger and has only a row of windows high up on the wall, letting in natural light from outside. In the same second, I realize there are several men here.
Among them, at the table in the center, with his head turned toward me and his hands tied behind his back, is... Artem.
I freeze. My ugliest nightmares take shape before my eyes in this very moment.
“The Russian doll is here!” exclaims the man behind him, the one I’m beginning to hate more than anything in this world.
Oliver places his palms on the shoulders of the man now holding my gaze, while Artem’s whole body is tense.
He is still in his usual black suit, but even with his hair disheveled and his lower lip slightly swollen, with a trace of blood on it, he is still a thousand times more beautiful than the bastard touching him right now.
“Are you okay?”
Artem’s deep voice pulls me out of my paralysis, and I think it’s the first time I’ve breathed since entering this room.
Someone pushes me toward the table and guides me into the chair in front of him.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, firmer this time.
At first, I nod, then I manage to form the words. “Yes. You?”
“We didn’t gather here so you two could chat,” Oliver cuts in, visibly irritated.
“You had plenty of time for that after you ruined a perfectly beautiful wedding. Mother was terribly disappointed that she wasted her money on decorations with white orchids that weren’t even to her taste, but apparently you wanted them.”
“We didn’t gather here to listen to you talk either.” Artem’s voice is calm, still looking at me, as if he’s checking whether I’m truly alright.
He seems in control of himself, but if I’ve known Artem even a little, I know very well that beneath that impassive mask is a very dangerous monster, one now planning the end of the world.
“On the other hand, from what I’ve heard, your mommy is a fucking cunt, especially when it comes to you. And you, like a good little boy, have always tried to please her, even though it never impressed her. Your opinion didn’t really matter,
which is why you tend to talk a lot with who are forced to listen to you, isn’t it? Like now.”
Only at the end does he move his gaze to the men around us. There are four more, including the two who brought me here.
“That says a lot to the people working for you now. Or for your mommy.”
His words provoke a violent reaction from Oliver, unlike anything I’ve ever seen from him. He punches Artem in the back, then in the shoulder, and finally tries to hit him in the face too. He manages it, but my Russian dodges as much as he can, and the blow almost misses.
Even a woman hits better than he does.
That only pisses my former fiance even more, but one of the men who brought me in, the blondred-haired one with freckles on his nose and cheeks, immediately comes beside him, whispering something in his ear.
I don’t know what he says, but Oliver straightens his back and slowly nods, adjusting his jacket.
“Correct. Better,” he tells him, then turns back to us. “Anyway, there’s no point in lowering myself to your level and getting my own hands dirty. My job is to destroy you financially, and that’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll leave the violent part to the experts in that field.”
As if on cue, the door opens, and another man steps in, radiating arrogance and malice from every pore.
His black suit is stretched over a body swollen with steroids, but I would recognize that malicious grin anywhere. He is one of Artem’s men, someone I met a few times at the villa and disliked from the very first second.
My gaze flies immediately to Artem, but not even this time does a trace of surprise appear on his face.
I wish I had that superpower too, but I’m sure fear is written all over mine.
“Serioja, what a pleasant surprise,” the Pakhan says in a bored tone.
“That’s life, Pakhan,” he says proudly, shrugging with nonchalance. “There’s more money on this side, and I don’t have to deal with psychopaths like you anymore.”
“You changed sides, but you’re still a little dog. At least does your new master pat you on the head?”
“My new boss is an honorable man, one who wouldn’t throw everything away for a suka. He knows how to make money and how to make others rich too. You betrayed the family when you left Moscow, and now you’ve done it again, for her!”
I can swear he’s one step away from spitting on my face, but he keeps only that ugly grimace as he looks at me with revulsion.
“Besides,” he adds, “I have a small debt to settle with you after you refused to marry my sister three years ago.”
“As you can see, my tastes are far more refined,” the dark-haired man says, winking in my direction.
“Let’s see how much you’ll still like your whore after we’re done with her,” Oliver cuts in, and he and this Serioja start laughing.
I flinch, barely perceptibly.
Is my death really that close?
“She is a beautiful whore. I wouldn’t have minded playing with her a little before killing her.”
“You don’t have what it takes. She doesn’t even moan like one,” Oliver continues. “Good thing I had other women to satisfy me these past two years.”
My stomach tightens and nausea washes over me just remembering that this man touched me.
But Artem chuckles and looks at me with tenderness.
“That’s because you don’t know how to touch a woman like Ekaterina,” he says with a small smile on his face. “She is a goddess and a piece of trash like you should never even have been allowed to look at.”
Then he turns his gaze to Oliver and continues with serenity and calm that send cold shivers through me.
“But don’t worry. First, I’ll take out one of your eyes, but I’ll leave you the other one so you can watch while I cut pieces off you, one by one. I’ll start with the fingers that touched her.”
“That’s a lot of imagination for a man tied to a chair, one who’s about to shoot his whore in the head,” the Russian says, frustrated, then stretches a hand toward the red-haired man, who hands him a revolver.
With a smile that shows his crooked teeth, the Russian slams it onto the table between me and Artem.
My heart stops, but my husband looks as if he’s one second away from yawning with boredom.
I start to panic even more, knowing that the man I love embraces death without the slightest concern. He isn’t afraid of it.
I, however, am terrified.
“Nothing is more beautiful than Russian roulette played between two people born in Mother Russia. One single bullet, four shots each. This game is marvelous!” the Russian exclaims with petty amusement, and Oliver joins him.
I don’t even think I’m breathing anymore, my gaze fixed on the weapon that will bring our end. My blood is frozen in my veins, and tears blur my vision.