Page 5 of Captive Prize

“What you believe is really none of my concern.” It was taking more effort than it should to keep my tone civil. I was losing my grip on my temper.

I had no experience comforting upset women.

Relationships weren’t exactly my strong suit, especially in my line of work.

The only thing that stopped me from just leaving her here was knowing how hard Pavel would kick my ass if I did.

The helicopter had left, but that didn’t mean there weren’t moreLos Infidelesmembers in the woods. They could have used her to pressure and torment Pavel.

It was what I would’ve done. Then again, I had no soul.

Time to move this along; a hysterical pregnant woman bleeding out while holding a gun on me was not the best situation to find myself in.

Too many variables.

Too many ways this could end badly. Like with a bullet in my chest… or worse.

I couldn’t afford to be slowed down.

Pavel couldn’t afford for me to be slowed down.

I looked past her, toward the road—just long enough for her to turn her head. In one motion, I snatched the gun, ejected the mag and round, and tossed it aside.

“Now, are you going to listen? Or are you going to make this harder and keep me from getting him back?”

CHAPTER 3

ZOYA

The second I landed the helicopter, shut it down, and secured it, I stormed into the warehouse to assess the damage this ill-advised outing had caused.

Yells echoed through the space.

I knew whoever that madman we’d left behind was, he had seriously or mortally injured more than a few of my men.

He had moved like vengeance incarnate.

Precise. Merciless. Calculated.

Something had to be done about it. Someone had to pay.

Rage, adrenaline, and fear pulsed through my body, and I wanted to scream.

But I couldn’t.

As a woman, anytime I showed any reaction other than cold calculation it was viewed as a weakness.

If I was angry, shouting or screaming proved I was overly emotional and couldn’t be trusted.

If I showed concern for my men, then I was weak-willed and not suitable for this life. And if, God forbid, a single tear trailed down my face, then it was over.

It didn’t matter if it came from anger, frustration, or sadness.

A tear was a sign of weakness.

These feral animals would no longer consider me their leader—and might kill me themselves.

The protection my money provided only went so far.

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