Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
The man with the Russian accent, Sokolov, turns to face me. He’s probably in his early sixties—his face is weathered, even if his hair seems to be dyed jet black. He’s not particularly tall, but he’s broad. Meaty fists clench and unclench at his sides. The juxtaposition of his oily smile is unnerving.
I can’t help cringing at the palpable malice that rolls off him.
“He’s not coming to save you,” the man taunts. “He’ll never find you. Whoever buys you might send you back to him in pieces. Or maybe if you’re lucky, they’ll keep you for their own amusement.”
My insides quake. “What are you talking about?”
“You would be wise to shut the fuck up,” he drawls. “The auction’s about to start, and I don’t want you interrupting.”
“Auction?” The single word is too high and thin.
I have an awful suspicion I know what he means.
He mentioned someone buying me.
Footsteps echo on the concrete floor. Nine men are walking into the room, all of their vengeful gazes fixed on me.
Brandon said there’s a chance his enemies are working together. He was right. They’ve gathered to bid on me.
It’s the worst torture they could devise for him.
But I’ll suffer, too.
My knees go weak, and my weight drops on my wrists. I force my legs to support me, alleviating the ache in my shoulders.
“Let me go.” I want to be fierce, but it sounds too close to a plea. “Anyone who tries to buy me will regret it.”
The Russian’s brows lift. “Are you stupid, or deaf? I already told you Ragnarök isn’t coming for you.”
“I know he’s not. I don’t want him to. I’m the one who will make you regret it.”
I’ll fight with every ounce of my strength to get free. Once they let me out of these shackles, I’ll unleash the most primal, vicious parts of myself.
He barks a laugh. “You? My men told me you tried to pull a knife on them. How did that end up going for you? They brought you to me with barely a scratch on them.”
My gaze slides to the guard flanking him. His cheek is scored red from my fingernails.
“If anyone touches me, I will make them bleed,” I vow. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
The Russian takes a step towards me, closing the distance between us. Without hesitation, he squeezes my breast hard enough to imprint a bruise. I can’t help crying out at the shock of pain and the casual violation.
“I’m touching you,” he remarks. “And you can’t do anything about it.” He digs his fingers into my tender flesh. “I’d take pleasure in breaking you myself, but I made promises. I wouldn’t have been able to capture you on my own. Everyone will get a fair chance to bid for you.”
I snap my head forward. Pain cracks through my skull when it smashes into his nose.
He reels back with a curse, clutching at his face. Blood streams between his fingers.
Dark laughter arises from the gathered men who just witnessed his humiliation.
“Fucking cunt!”
He grabs something from his belt and jams it into my side: a taser.
Electricity arcs through me. My muscles seize with a burst of agony, and my scream echoes off the high ceiling.
Then the pain is over as suddenly as it began, but I’m limp in my shackles. Tremors race through my abused body, making it impossible to find the strength to stand.
My head lolls forward. A cloth is forced between my teeth, gagging me.
“Whoever makes her pay for that gets a personal favor from me,” he says thickly. “Start bidding.”
“Five hundred thousand,” one man says.
I can’t see who’s talking, but he sounds American. All I can do is stare at my feet and shake; my body won’t cooperate with my will.
Sokolov scoffs. “I should kill you for being so cheap. Bidding starts at a million dollars. I know you’re all good for it.”
“You’re forgetting that Ragnarök ruined some of us,” another man spits in a French accent.
“That’s your problem. If you aren’t serious about your revenge, get the fuck out and let the others bid.”
“A million,” the same man seethes.
The Russian’s meaty fist tangles in my hair, wrenching my head back so they can see my face more clearly. “This is Ragnarök’s woman,” he reminds them. “The man who took your kin from you, your power. Your birthrights. Put some real money on the line.”
“How do we know he won’t find us?” The American asks. “Ivanov and Costa have gone dark. They’re probably dead already.”
My abuser sneers. “Ivanov and Costa were pawns. They were never good for the money. I used them to find Ragnarök and pull him out of hiding. He’s unrecognizable now, but he’s just as obsessed with her as he’s always been. I knew she’d lead me to him.”
My fault.
If Brandon finds me somehow and comes here, his death will be because of me.