Page 5 of Deception

He’s here.

Tomasz Vassily, the heir to the most powerful Bratva family in Russia. Possibly the most significant criminal family in the world right now. The man I was specifically trained to kill.

Holding my breath, I listen to his footfalls.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

The man has the walk of a frontline soldier. Strong and purposeful but lacking stealth. The walk may be that of a brute soldier, but everything else about him has the arrogance of a cruel prince. A king in the making. And my only job in this life is to destroy him and his family’s legacy with him.

“Tkan’,” he orders his man to remove the cloth from my face as hard-soled footsteps come to a stop in front of me.

My lungs vibrate, each bronchiole aching with the need for air while the quiet brims with rage. Mine. His. I can sense his disappointment as he lets out a long breath. The sharp and lingering smell of tobacco takes me back to all the nights I spent in my father’s study being briefed with fact after fact, primed for this one mission.

Bide your time.

“Take. The fucking. Cloth.” The words are delivered with the precision of a bullet that might just kill my torturer.

His master is seemingly pissed that he didn’t get his chance at me. I have no intention of giving it to him easily.

Master. That’s what you call me.

His words from the club echo in my thoughts as the bucket of water they were using falls to the ground, and a hand lifts the cloth off my face. And this is my time. Before he can pull his hand back, I bite down on his fingertips, allowing his drawing motion to pull me forward and launch me at his boss.

The momentum yanks the fingers from my mouth, and as I smack into Tomasz’s chest, I bite again, ripping the expensive cotton of his shirt as the weight of the chair pulls me back to the ground and I land in a tied heap.

“Save your fight, Red.” The gruff edge of his voice is as savage as I recall it from the club. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but it’s got to be days. Every time I flit in and out of consciousness, it’s him I hear.You want to get fucked.

He doesn’t know the meaning of fucked yet. I’m going to ruin him beyond any nightmare he’s ever had.

Crouching in front of me, he inspects me from my face down to my torn dress that’s barely covering my breasts. Taking another long puff of his cigar, he uses it to burn through the rope around my neck, well aware that I’m not stupid enough to move while the hot tip hovers over my jugular.

My already pounding heart thunders louder as the heat emanating from the thick smoke stokes my already scorching blood. Blue eyes continue perusing down my body to where the slit of my dress has split all the way to my waist.

“I told you not to touch her,” he remarks in Russian at the man clutching his hand to his chest. The monotone inference in his voice throws me.

“You said to get her ready for you.”

While Tomasz explains exactly what he meant to the man, I work my hands free of the loosened rope that was worked through my wrists and around my neck. This sudden glimpse of freedom fills my entire being with adrenaline unlike I’ve ever felt. Maybe it’s being this close to him or having the scent of his expensive cologne seep through me. Or perhaps it’s the knowledge that he wants to play with me. He’s going to give me the chance to finish what I started.

Rolling the cigar between his thumb and finger, Tomasz traces the side of his pinkie finger down my leg until he reaches my ankle and burns the rope binding me to the chair, just as he did to the one around my neck.

“If you can’t control a weak woman, what good are you to me?” he asks his man, glancing up at him.

It’s all I need to launch myself at him. Without a second thought, I knock him off-balance. The cigar falls between us, tumbling between our chests. The burn barely registers while I use my forearms to block his attempt at grabbing hold of me. My blood is whooshing through me relentlessly as we tussle on the floor.

Our heaving breaths fill the air, making our fight sound as lewd as it is heated with his grunts and my groans. As I let him grasp one of my arms above my head, my hand finds the gun at his side, and as I’m about to pull it free, I notice another of his men running into the room, trying to find a clean shot at me. Before he can, I yank Tomasz’s gun free. Using the side of his body to steady my arm, I pull the trigger once, narrowly missing the man trying to get to me first. I wrap my legs around Tomasz’s waist, making it impossible for him to disarm me before I empty the magazine with three more shots, the last one right through the bastard’s throat.

Got you.

Grasping the gun, I use it to inflict as much damage as I can on the man holding me hostage, slamming it into his ribs until he drops on top of me. His full body weight collapses on my protesting body. My energy is depleted even as the adrenaline keeps me going.

A hand wraps around my hair, and Tomasz rolls to the side and gets to his feet, even though he is winded from my hits. They’re not enough to stand him down though. And his rage is blazing so hot that I feel it vibrate from him to me as he twists my hair tighter around his fist and drags me to where the other man is offering him his own gun.

“Clean this up,” Tomasz bites at him, slapping his weapon to the ground. Disgust curls his lips and spits from his mouth as he continues. “Or I’ll cut the rest of your fingers off.”

Without another word, he makes towards the doorway, dragging me behind him on the rough concrete floor. The silk of my dress does nothing to shield my skin as it scrapes and grazes. When we get to a set of steps, he tugs me up to my knees and hoists me up his body, throwing me over his shoulder as he tells me with a drawn chuckle, “We’re going to see if your bark is as good as your bite when you beg me to kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first,” I bluster back with guttural grit, as though my words are the poison that will do it for me.

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