Page 16 of Twisted Prince

“I might not get to fuck you because it would bring down your value. But if you’re feeling brave, we can put your mouth to better use than that,” he growls.

His hand is so tight around my throat that my pulse pounds with the effort to reach my brain. Panic rises in my chest as air refuses to enter my lungs. I jerk in his grasp, struggling to break free. But with my hands behind me, I can do little to defend myself.

“That’s right, you little bitch. Open wide, and I’ll show you what happens when you disrespect me. You ever been throat fucked, you spoiled little tease?”

Profanity surges to the tip of my tongue, but I don’t want to open my mouth because I know what will happen if I do. So, instead, I choke, my throat spasming violently, and I watch with horror as he unzips his pants.

The front door of the cottage slams open, interrupting the terrifying moment. But Zmeya’s fingers don’t release me.

“What the fuck?” he demands, his temper rising as he glares at the young soldier who just entered.

“There’s been a disturbance up at the main house,” he says, his eyes flicking toward me momentarily before shifting back to Creepy Clint Eastwood.

With an aggravated sigh, Zmeya shoves me forcefully, making the girls on either side of me stumble as the chain jerks taut.

“Fuck!” he bellows, zipping his pants back up. “Chain them back up in the bedroom. We’ll finish this once I sort out what the hell is going on.”

Harsh hands wrap around my upper arms and haul me back onto my feet. Then I’m dragged toward the bedroom once more, the metal jangling and the girls tripping behind me like a macabre rendition of a chain gang.

Rather than putting us all back in our individual restraints, our captors simply sit us on the floor and slap handcuffs on the girls at either end of the line. Then the door slams shut as every Zhivoder man books it back toward the main house.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Mel?” Tif asks gruffly, her glare furious for having escalated Zmeya.

Then, far more softly, from the far end of our line, Annie whispers, “Are you okay?”

That’s when the tremors set in.

That was too close.

Me and my smart mouth. I never think through the consequences before reacting, but I can’t help myself. I refuse to be a victim. Someone who just sits by and lets bad things happen to her. I’ve spent too much of my life afraid, and I can’t just roll over and do nothing—even if that means I get hurt.

“I’m fine, Annie,” I assure her, letting my head fall back against the corner of the mattress as I lean against the foot of the grimy bed. And letting my eyelids slide closed, I try to contain the shivers that ripple through me.

The girl to my right scoots closer, pressing her arm and thigh against mine, and I can feel the goosebumps on her flesh. It’s too cold outside and not warm enough inside to be this naked. A second later, Tif does the same on my left, the girls instinctively huddling together to keep warm.

“I hate them,” Tif murmurs, resting her temple on my shoulder after several minutes of silence.

That’s as close as I’m going to get to a compliment from the caustic girl, but I know what she really means is she wishes she could spit in every single one of the bastards’ faces.

Something creaks in the main room of the cottage, and I tense, my eyes shifting to the bedroom door as my lungs freeze. They couldn’t be back already, could they?

Tif lifts her head from my shoulder, confirming she heard it too. And I glance down the line, wondering for the hundredth time if we could all somehow overwhelm our captors and break free. But that’s just a pipedream.

Bracing myself, I turn my attention back toward the door to watch and wait.

And a moment later, the knob slowly twists.

On the brink of vomiting, I try not to envision what fresh hell I’ll be sold into tonight.

I’d hoped the disturbance up at the house might buy me some more time, but I’m never that lucky. I don’t know what god I pissed off so terribly or how, but that’s the only explanation I can come up with for how cursed my life has become.

The door swings slowly open, groaning softly on its hinges, and every eye in the room turns toward it at the sound.

And my heart stops completely as a single man steps into the room.

“Gleb,” I gasp, scarcely daring to believe my eyes.

He was supposed to be dead. I’ve spent days trying not to think about all the reasons that’s left a painful knot in my throat and a hollow ache in my chest. And now he’s here, in the flesh, my knight in shining armor—dressed from head to toe in black stealth gear. I could almost cry with relief.

---