Page 56 of Marked By His Touch

“What will you do to us? To me?” I ask.

He finally glances at me, his gaze piercing, a cold steel in his eyes. "I'll teach you to behave," he says, his voice a low, chilling growl. "Not to defy me. Preferably we do this—naked."

His expression is hard, unyielding. He takes another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him like a dark halo.

We drive in a silence that is more terrifying than any shouting, any threat. I can feel the heat of his presence beside me, his anger simmering. He's going to take me away, and I'll be forced into a life of servitude, a life of submission at his side.

As the harbor lights flash into view, I swallow hard. The salty air and the scent of the ocean, a reminder of the freedom that once seemed so close, now feel like a distant dream.This is the end—the end of me.

I see the large, majestic vessel, its silhouette rising against the black sky. It's ironically called "The Black Swan." The vessel my parents fled on, a vessel carrying secrets, a vessel carrying a part of me that I never knew. He's taking me home, he says. But it's not a home I know.

I'm trying to understand. My whole life has been a lie, a carefully constructed illusion. My parents, my identity, myentire existence—I am a trophy to be claimed. And I am utterly powerless. The car pulls to a halt beside the ship. The engine sputters, then falls silent. The silence is almost deafening.

I look around, searching for Alexander, for any sign of him. But there's nothing. Only Nikolai and his cold eyes.

“On the ship, we finish what we start—" he says, running a hand over my chest. "And this time, I—have gun in your face if I need. Or gun— pressed against other parts of you.”

I automatically push myself away from him just as I see the other car pulling up alongside ours. The doors fly open, and the girls are pushed out, their bodies jostled and shoved. My heart screams as I watch them. They're ushered onto the ship at gunpoint. The harbor is dark and deserted.Of course, no one will come to help.

"Anya, go to the ship,da?" Nikolai says, as he steps out of the car, his smile a cruel mockery of love. "It—-quick trip. Just a little while—Anya Petrov. And I will give you all that you ever dreamed of." He presses his body against me and plants a soft, possessive kiss on my lips.

My body shudders. My heart sinks. I know this is not the beginning of a happy ever after.It's the end.

I glance at the ship. It is so grand, so abundant.The Black Swanis a symbol of beauty and grace, a name that is ironically belied by its true nature. It is a vessel of darkness, a vessel of sorrow, a vessel that will carry me away from everything I know and into a world that I cannot comprehend.

I am Anya Petrov. And I am going home.

The cold,damp air of the harbor bites at my skin as Nikolai leads me towards the gangplank. My feet are heavy, and each step is like a descent into a bottomless abyss.

“You’re sick, Nikolai,” I hiss, the words a rebellion against my fear. It’s a final stand against the man who claims to own me.

“If you think this is sick—you be surprised big, when we come home—” Nikolai laughs. He doesn’t even flinch at my words.

The iron railing of the gangplank feels cold under my hand.

“I’ll never—behave—never comply—” I snap.

“You be surprised how many girls say that before—” he trails off, looking at the docks. He’s checking something, but I can’t see what it is.

As I step off the gangplank onto the ship, I look up. The ship looms overhead like a monstrous shadow, a dark, silent behemoth.

I’m going to be his prisoner here.

The lights from the ship cast long, flickering shadows across the water. I glance back towards the shore, searching for anything—for a sign of hope, for a glimmer of escape. But there is nothing but the darkness, the cold, unforgiving water.

When I look again, I see something. My heart leaps into my chest. Standing by the edge of the dock is a man, his back towards me. His head is bowed, his shoulders slumped, and his posture is filled with despair. My stomach churns. My mind races, trying to grasp the scene unfolding before me. I know those broad shoulders, that lean frame.

Alexander.

He’s there, alone, and I notice two men, their silhouettes dark, standing behind him, their guns raised, pointed at his head.

My knees buckle, and I fall to the ground, my eyes fixed on the scene, a wave of terror washing over me. A silent screamtrapped behind my teeth. My body trembles, and every muscle is coiled tight.

The men point their guns at him. I can see the muscles in Alexander’s back tense, his body poised for flight.

“No!” I scream, a raw, desperate cry ripped from my throat.

But it’s too late.

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