Page 7 of Savage Bratva King

Pulse racing, and my breaths coming in shallow gasps, I go back to the bed and sit down heavily, forcing my head between my spread knees to stop myself from passing out. When the dizziness passes, I sit up straight and take stock of the situation.

I have no idea where I am or how long I was unconscious. I go to the window, draw the curtain back a little, and let out a small sob when I realize that there’s just a wall behind the dense fabric. I was right. I am underground, which means that my only escape route is up, and up is where the people who abducted me will be waiting.

I take deep breaths, in through my nose, and out through my mouth, and wait for my pulse to regulate itself.

Then I make a mental list of bullet points in my head.I’m not dead headsthe list. Sure, Andy drugged me, but he was only the go-between for whoever is holding me here, and they want me alive. I’m no use to them dead. Which means that they need something from my family. Or perhaps from Seamus.

I shake my head and try to picture my fiancé’s reaction to the news that I’ve been abducted. He’ll either be so enraged that he’ll retaliate alongside my family, or he’ll congratulate himself on catching a lucky break.

Probably the latter.

So, if this isn’t about Seamus, then these people want something from my family. Right about now is when I wish that I’d taken a bit more interest in the family business, but I do know enough to understand that this is a power struggle. They hold me until they get what they want, and if they don’t get it… Well, that won’t bode well for me, will it?

So, what do I do? I take myself out of the equation, that’s what. If they don’t have me, they have no leverage, and both sides will be forced to resolve the power struggle another way. The difficult part is going to be finding a way out without getting myself killed in the process.

I think about all the women I’ve worked with in the refuge. They all found themselves in far worse situations than this, and they all made it out the other side. Sure, they had the scars to prove it, but I’m a Sedric, and I’m no one’s pawn.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t realize anyone is coming until I hear the key turning in the lock. I stand up, staring at the door as it swings open.

A young woman is standing in the doorway, feet planted wide in Doc Marten boots, arms folded across her chest. She can’t be much older than me, but it feels like we’re worlds apart. The green-tipped spiky hair, the green flecks on her eyelids, and the black leather outfit are almost designed to make her intimidating, but it’s more than that. There’s a mark under her left eye; is it a tattoo? But there’s also something in her demeanor, in the way her chin juts forward and her top lip curls at the corner that shows that she’s a woman who is used to being in control.

“Who are you?” I face her squarely and wish that I wasn’t so hoarse.

“Your worst nightmare.”

Her smile bares her top teeth like a dog on the attack. I’m sure that’s a line from a movie, but I can’t think of which one right now. Probably one of the action movies my brother Daniel used to love when he was younger.

“Where am I?”

The smile morphs into a sneer. She would be beautiful if she wasn’t quite so aggressive. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“Why am I here?”

She steps closer. I can smell her exotic perfume and something else. Danger? “You ask a lot of questions for a little printzessa.” There’s a hint of an accent when she speaks, Eastern European maybe. Or Russian.

“Who are you working for?”

The smile is back, and I can see her pointed canine teeth. “That would be telling, and I’m in no mood for small talk.”

“Why not?” The question comes out before I can even think about it. But if I think we’re going to get acquainted and become lifelong friends, I’m mistaken.

“It’s been a long day.” She pauses, and her eyes glitter in the dimly lit room. “If you want to find out how long, just keep on talking.”

My eyes flicker to the door behind her. She left it ajar when she came in; all I have to do is get past her.

I don’t waste a beat. Head down, I lunge at her, the top of my head colliding with her diaphragm and sending her sprawling backwards. Her spine hits the door, slamming it shut, and I groan inwardly. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Like a cat, she springs to her feet, grabs my hair, and hurls me across the room.

Covering my face with my arms, I roll across the bed and crash into the wall, my shoulder taking the full force of the collision. But I’m not giving up that easily. I jump off the bed and try to dash past her to reach the door, a low animalistic howl erupting from somewhere deep inside.

Her fist connects with my jaw and blinding white pain explodes inside my head. I crumple into a heap on the floor, cradling my head in my arms. I remind myself to keep breathing, in and out, in and out, while the pain creates a Fourth of July display behind my eyelids. When I can think straight again, I move my lower jaw from side to side, and almost cry with relief when I find that nothing is broken.

“Game over. Get up.”

I open my eyes to find her Doc Martens in front of my face. Sliding my eyes sideways, I can see that the door is shut, and she is standing between me and freedom.

I drag myself onto my feet slowly, buying myself some time while trying to figure out my next move. I can see the gun tucked inside the waistband of her leather pants.Fuck!She might not shoot to kill if I try to escape, but I have no doubts that she will shoot me, and I stand a better chance of escaping without a bullet wound.

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