Page 81 of Sexting the Bikers
All around us, men fan out, weapons drawn, waiting for the next order. Katya squeezes my hand, eyes darting to the stains on the floor.
I try to keep her behind me, but there’s nowhere to hide in this room built for death. I know what happens down here.
I’m forced onto my knees, wrists straining behind my back, blood roaring in my ears. My face still stings from the hit, but I keep my chin high, eyes fixed on Katya. She’s trembling, lips parted, horror in her eyes as she tries to inch closer, but a heavy hand shoves her back.
Zaika and Novikov descend the stairs together, talking low in Russian. Their steps echo against concrete, their faces cast in cold fluorescent glare. Novikov is in one of his tailored suits, hair slicked back, eyes dead as black glass. Zaika’s even more intimidating, broad shouldered and stone-faced, his smile a thin, dangerous line.
I lift my head as they enter, tasting blood on my lip and a fresh wave of dread in my gut. Zaika stops first, looking down at me like I’m something he stepped in. “I told you, next time there would be no forgiveness,” he says, voice low and casual, as if he’s discussing the weather.
Novikov glances sideways at him. “You let him go before?”
Zaika shrugs, not taking his eyes off me. “Didn’t want a mess in my hotel room.” He looks almost bored. “But looks like you’re stupider than I thought.”
Novikov steps forward, smooth as a viper. “I have an idea.” He motions to one of his men, a thick-necked brute with a mean look in his eyes. The guy cracks his knuckles, and without another word, wades in.
The first punch cracks against my jaw, rattling my teeth. The second slams into my ribs, pain blooming out in hot, wild flashes. Katya cries out, trying to get free, but Zaika holds her back with one meaty hand, never looking away from me.
I can’t help it—pain is familiar territory, almost comforting in its own twisted way. I spit blood, grin up at Novikov’s man, and laugh. “That all you got, sweetheart?” I manage, winking at him with a busted eye. “My grandma hit harder than that, and she was eighty when she died.”
Another punch, harder this time. The world spins, but I keep laughing, coughing up more blood, throwing out a fresh round of taunts—anything to keep their attention on me, anything to keep them from looking at Katya.
“That’s the trick with Russians,” I gasp, “they like a good show. You ever heard of cable TV? Might be easier on the carpets.”
The guy snarls, fists flying, and my body jerks with every blow. I can hear Katya screaming, begging them to stop, but I keep laughing.
Zaika folds his arms and watches. Novikov looks bored, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke across the room. The man’s fists keep coming. I see stars, feel bone grind against bone, but I don’t stop. Not for them, and sure as hell not for me.
Katya’s begging, her voice raw and breaking. “Please, please, stop! You’ll kill him!” But Novikov and Zaika don’t even blink. They just stand there, silent, cold, letting their men do all the dirty work.
Another fist crashes into my ribs. I cough, blood spattering the floor. I can barely see, one eye swelling shut, pain rolling through me in waves. But when the bastard hauls off for another swing, I snatch his wrist. My grip is slick with blood but I twist hard, yanking his arm back at an ugly angle. For a second, he howls, stumbling.
That’s when Novikov lunges, grabbing Katya. She cries out, kicking and struggling, but he clamps an arm around her waist and hauls her against him like she weighs nothing. I jerk forward, trying to get to her, but two more of Novikov’s thugsgrab me and drag me down, pinning me flat on the filthy, bloodstained floor.
The first guy shakes free, snarling, and launches a boot into my side. I grunt, seeing stars, but I don’t break.
The beating picks up again—knees in my back, fists to my face and ribs—every strike meant to put me down for good. I hold Katya’s gaze as long as I can, desperate to let her know I’m still here, still trying, still refusing to give in. My body is nothing but pain, but I grit my teeth and take it.
Novikov bends low over Katya, his shadow swallowing her whole. He’s close enough that I see the way her fists curl in her lap, her eyes blazing even though I know she’s terrified. He hisses something in her ear, voice cold and oily. “You can stop this,” he says, just loud enough for me to catch. “You go through with the wedding in the morning. You smile, you don’t make a peep, and your friend lives. You try to run, or cause trouble—I’ll have him beaten to death. Here. Tonight.”
She shudders, trying to jerk away, but he just grabs her chin, digging in until I see tears spring to her eyes. “You’re a monster,” she spits, her voice trembling, but the fury in it does something wild in my chest. I want to get up. I want to kill him. But there’s a boot on my neck, a fist tightening in my hair, and nothing but pain pinning me to the filthy floor.
Novikov just smirks, satisfied. “So glad you understand the nature of our relationship.” He leans in again, whispering something I can’t hear. But when he pulls back, Katya’s face has gone pale as a ghost. I can only imagine what promise or threat he just made, but I know it’s bad enough that she doesn’t fight him anymore.
He stands, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. “You will marry me, or he dies.”
The men holding me ease up just a bit, waiting for her answer. My own voice is thick with blood, but I try to speak,desperate to stop her from giving in. “Don’t do it, Katya. Don’t let him win. Not for me.” Every word hurts. My ribs are on fire. My jaw feels broken. But I need her to hear me, need her to know that I’d take a thousand more beatings to keep her free from this.
She meets my gaze, and something breaks inside me. “I’m sorry, puppy,” she whispers. There’s a storm in her eyes, all that strength and defiance, but I know what she’s about to do. She’s always been the bravest person in the room, but this—this sacrifice—is too much. It guts me.
She closes her eyes, breathes in shakily. Then her voice comes out small, trembling but clear. “I’ll marry you.”
26
KATYA
My legs barely hold me up as they drag me out of that basement, my wrists aching where the goons grip too tight, my face wet and burning from tears I can’t stop. Behind me, the heavy basement door slams shut, a final, hopeless thud that echoes down the hall. It’s over. I’m done for. Dog is locked down there, broken and alone.
I nearly lost him tonight, and for what? Tomorrow my family will come, walking straight into Novikov’s trap, and they’ll be slaughtered, just like he planned. They never stood a chance, not with Zaika watching everything, with his men crawling through every hallway.
