Page 8 of The Bratva's Captive

“No,” I argued, hitting Lenny’s arm. No one else was around this late and this far back in the alley. No one would be coming to save me. I could only count on myself. Like always.

“That blonde’s not bad,” one of the men said, spotting me in Lenny’s grip near the door.

“No.” I couldn’t stop repeating the word. None of them heeded it as a command to obey. I wasn’t in control here. I never would be. I had to force them to reconsider. “I’m… No.” Frantic to make them look away and stop considering me as the next victim they wanted to toss into the van and force to do their bidding, either as a whore or otherwise, I felt bile rising up my throat.

The mere idea of being sold off and abused…

Fuck this. This isnothappening.

I slipped my finger into my mouth, forcing myself to vomit. Another kid in the system had taught me that trick the first time a foster parent wanted to “play a game” with me. And just like then, it worked.

I puked, enduring the sting in my eyes from vomiting. As I heaved and got all of the drinks and meager food in my stomach out, I hoped that I’d aimed it on Lenny.

If his fingers releasing my wrist were any indication, I had. It worked.

“What the fuck?”

He flung my arm away, dismayed and pissed at the vomit I’d spewed on his shirt.

“Aw, fuck that. Fucking no way, Len,” one of the men near the van said. “I’m not dealing with that.”

Oh, thank God. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.I wasn’t sure any deity was even listening to me anymore, but I mentally chanted thanks to whatever and whoever might be listening. Forcing a raw swallow, I blinked past the ache in my throat and the muscle fatigue in my abs.

It worked.

They were repulsed by my throwing up, not wanting the inconvenience of dealing with a sick person. It was so simple and stupid that it never should’ve worked, but it did.

I took my break and ran. I wasn’t stupid. I wouldn’t linger. Lenny scowled at me as he tried to fling off the mess I’d made on him, but I didn’t look back once I started to take off. So panicked and alarmed by almost being taken and sold off to those men, I stumbled and lost my footing. But still, I scrambled upright on shaky legs and ran.

I sprinted.

With my heart thumping wildly high in my chest, I pumped my arms and sprinted like the devil were on my tail.

My feet ached instantly. Sharp stabs of pain pierced upward from my heels, but I didn’t slow for a second. I didn’t stop at all, running with all my might until I reached the corner behind the building and turned. Skidding and slipping, I refused to give up my momentum as I raced away to safety.

There was no safety I could rely on in this world.

Not at my workplace.

Not at my apartment, either, if I lost it because I couldn’t pony up enough for the rent increase after paying back the debt collectors that Derick made me end up paying back.

Unable to think, too riled up from fear, I hurried away and renewed my vow to stay as far away from those men, from that life, as possible.

Were they Mafia men?

Once I was near my building and chancing looks over my shoulder to check whether anyone was following me this far, that question popped into my mind.

Escaping a threat was the first step. But I had to know who the threat was to do the second step of avoiding them in the future.

I couldn’t quit my job at Stanley’s. I needed it for money. But if and when I ever saw those suited men again, I was running and hiding before they could try to take me.

There’s no way in hell I’ll let another man control me.

I opened the door to my building, giving the young, drunk teenagers loitering in the lobby a stern look.

Don’t mess with me.

They quit smiling at me and glanced away, too inexperienced to try any funny business with me.

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