Page 15 of Twisted Prince

I give a sharp nod, the tension easing slightly from my shoulders as I follow Pyotr from the room. My thoughts focus on Mel and the women now. I know they can’t wait much longer. I won’t sleep until I find them.

I just better not be too late this time.

6

MEL

Creepy Clint Eastwood leers at me as the girls and I are forced into a lineup across the cottage living room for an inspection. His look alone raises goosebumps on my arms, but tonight, it’s worse. Because they’ve stripped us down to our underwear, and I can feel their hungry gazes caressing every inch of my exposed flesh.

“Mm. Looking good, ladies,” he says, walking slowly before us as his men maintain their hold on the chains linking us all. “Not long now until you’ll be ready to auction off.”

It’s been days since we heard rapid-fire gunshots in the early morning hours.

And since then, nothing.

Nothing but twice-a-day visits from Mikhail’s men for bathroom breaks and meals.

For a few agonizing hours of holding my breath, I thought those gunshots might mean Gleb found us—that he was coming to save us once again. But based on what little I could gather from Mikhail’s men, Gleb, along with most of the Veles clan, are likely dead. And any survivors soon will be.

Which means I have no hope of escaping my fate this time.

The nine girls here with me and I have been chained in the bedroom all this time. Along with Tif, Annie, and me, they found Tori and Leah, the other two girls who chose to stay under Pyotr Veles’s protection and rent a house with us. Neither girl was home when we were taken. They were abducted right from under their employers’ noses, and their guards were killed just like Igor. So, they’re here with us, along with five girls I don’t recognize.

All beautiful girls—not one of us over twenty—and the youngest, just barely fifteen.

My stomach knots whenever I think about what we all have in common. We’re all virgins—or as Creepy Clint Eastwood puts it, “untouched pussy men will pay more than a pretty penny to break in.” Too bad for him, he doesn’t realize what a piece of shit my uncle is. I might still be a virgin, but the sick fuck was taking money to let men touch me in other ways long before he sold me off to the Zhivoder clan.

Mikhail’s captain—the one I refer to as Creepy Clint Eastwood but who the men refer to as Zmeya—stops in front of Tif. My stomach knots as his steely eyes narrow, his inspection growing more detailed.

“This one’s taking too long to heal,” Captain Zmeya states, gripping her chin to more thoroughly examine her cheek.

It’s turned an ugly shade of purplish black from where she was struck, and the cut looks puckered and angry. I’m nearly positive she suffered a concussion, too, though thankfully, she seems to be recovering.

“We might have to bump her auction back a few weeks,” he says, his voice harsh with impatience. “If she doesn’t end up scarring, that is.”

The man standing beside Zmeya nods, making a note on his clipboard.

“And find out who hit her so hard,” the captain states. “He needs a lesson in treating the pakhan’s property with more consideration. It costs money to keep these girls alive. It creates more risk the longer we have to keep them. And she won’t be worth anything to us if this cut becomes a permanent mark.”

“Sir,” the notetaker acknowledges, scribbling faster.

“You, on the other hand…” Creepy Clint Eastwood says softly, his eyes shifting to me. “You have such nice dark skin. I bet it takes a lot to make your bruises show, doesn’t it?” He steps close, brushing the back of his knuckles over my still-tender face, where my abductor backhanded me.

A wicked smile creeps across Zmeya’s lips when I flinch. The hair-raising feeling of spiders crawling across my flesh makes me shudder as his predatory gaze turns lewd.

“What I wouldn’t give to keep you for myself,” he purrs, his gravelly tone making him sound even sleazier. “I would love to see just how much it would take to break you. But I know Mikhail would never go for it, considering the price you’ll sell for.”

He glances toward the notetaker beside him, his countenance snapping back to practicality in an instant. “She’s ready for the auction tonight. Get her cleaned up. And put her in something… tropical.” He snorts as if something humorous just occurred to him. “See if the madam has a seashell bra or some shit. We’ll get a better price for her if we showcase her as exotic.”

I don’t know who this madam is, but I want to gouge Zmeya’s eyes out for appraising me like livestock. This is why I hate men. They only ever look at women like commodities, beasts to control, warm bodies put on this earth to satisfy their sick fantasies. They use us up until we’re empty husks. Then they just… throw us away.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, my hatred boiling over, consuming my survival instincts as I spit in his face.

I don’t care if he hurts me for it. Whatever he might do couldn’t be worse than getting sold off so some sick asshole can violate me.

“Cunt!” he snarls, wiping my spit from his eyes. His expression is livid.

Then, strong fingers wrap around my throat as he forces me to my knees. The girls whimper and scream as the chain holding us together forces Tif and the girl to my right closer. The look of fury on Zmeya’s twisted face puts my stomach in knots as my courage threatens to abandon me.

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