Page 67 of Marrying the Mobster
Viktor makes a move toward me, hand raised as if to hit me again. I watch him through the sweaty strands of hair hanging in my eyes and wait for the pain. If he’s going to kill me, I’d rather provoke him into doing it quick. Diego’s warnings about Viktor have never been far from my mind, and now I’m getting a taste of his deranged nature firsthand.
But, no, I don’t want to die—not now that I know Diego is still alive. Common sense tells me Viktor might be lying, just like he did before. There’s no proof on either front, and I can’t be sure whether my husband is alive or dead.
Viktor stops himself short, droplets of spit staining his chin from his tirade, his face a bright shade of cherry red. His eyes are wide and manic, his body quivering with the violence coiling through every muscle.
Lowering his hand, he steps back and spits at my feet. “Grebanaya suka,” he mutters, calling up the translation up from the handful of Russian words and phrases I’ve learned recently.
Fucking bitch.
I glare at his back as he stomps toward the stairs leading out of the darkness. If it’s the last thing I do, Viktor will find out just how much of a bitch I can be.
The door slams and the click of several locks follow. I’m left with only the dim bulb flickering overhead for light. The stifling humidity of the room has me feeling sticky with sweat, and the metallic taste of blood still lingers on my tongue.
Shaking my head to clear it, I look around for anything I can use to free myself. This basement is bare of anything over than a few scattered wooden chairs and a stool, plus some coils of rope hanging from the wall. My gaze falls to the remnants of Viktor’s vodka glass littering the floor near my foot. Among the tiny crystals are a few mid-sized slivers, and one huge chunk—what’s left of the bottom corner of the square glass. It’s jagged and angled perfectly for me to cut through my ropes, but only if I can manage to get it off the floor and into my hands.
I clench my teeth around a hiss of pain as I pull against my wrist bonds, extending one leg to try to reach the glass with my foot. My wrists are rubbed raw, and each movement makes them sting. My stomach muscles spasm so tight I can hardly breathe because of Viktor’s fist, and my head hurts so much I can hardly see straight. I blink and try to focus my vision, ignoring the tiny shards that embed into my calf as I try to use my first and second toes to grip the glass. It takes me several tries and earns me a series of tiny cuts in the tender skin between my toes, but I eventually grip the hunk and slide it toward me by pulling my foot in.
Once it’s resting between my legs, I take a break, panting and sweating and nearly succumbing to the need for sleep. If I close my eyes again, it’s over. I’ll probably wake up with Viktor standing over me and unknown tortures in the works. I have to get myself out of this. If Diego is alive, he’s coming; I know that without question. Even if he’s only coming to get revenge on Viktor, he wouldn’t let anything or anyone stop him. I swallow past the sensation of coming tears as I realize he probably thinks I left on my own. Maybe he even suspects me of being in league with Viktor. Our history would suggest nothing else to him. But even if he thinks I abandoned him and betrayed him, Diego will come.
But if my husband is dead, then no one is coming to get me out of this. I’m going to live out what’s rest of my life being raped and beaten to death, and those two horrors are only a whisper of what I know Viktor is capable of. I’m going to have to try to save myself and hope for the best.
Once I feel strong enough, I grip the glass with my toes again, groaning when another stinging cut sends trickles of blood down my foot. Clenching my lip between my teeth, I slowly begin lifting my leg, thanking God for the years of yoga practice that make me flexible enough to manage it. The tendons of my hips and inner thighs stretch and pull tight, twinging soreness shooting through my middle. I breathe and push through, managing to get my foot within reach of my bound hands. It’s a clumsy feat, trying to transfer the glass from foot to hand, especially when my fingers have started to go numb, but I manage it without dropping my prize.
I allow myself a few seconds of victory and a smile, before turning the glass so the blunt edge is against my palm. Then, I start sawing at the rope, holding my breath and listening for any sign that Viktor is coming back to pick up where he left off.
32
Elena
It takes Viktor hours to return, and every second feels like an eternity. My body is breaking down, my strength fading as hunger and fatigue set in, exacerbating the pain. I ended up having to use the bucket he splashed me with to pee, which only adds to the humiliation of being stripped down and tied up like an animal.
But when footsteps pound the floorboards above, I take up what’s left of the rope that bound my wrists and choose a dark corner to hide in. I pinch my lips together to quiet my harsh breaths and squeeze myself into the cramped space beneath the stairs. A beam of light breaks through the dark above me, and Viktor’s shoes click on the rough steps as he descends. I peer through the gaps and watch him walk right over me, tightening my fingers around the rope and waiting for the right time to strike.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims when he notices I’m not where he left me. He spins in a circle, searching the shadows. “Where are you,dorogoy? Don’t be stupid … there’s no way out of this. Come out like a good girl and I’ll go easy on you.”
Like hell I will. I grit my teeth and wait for him to walk farther into the basement, his back turned to me. Bare feet make my steps silent as I slink from my hiding place. My mind goes blank and fear melts away as the instinct for survival sets in. It’s him or me, and I damn sure intend to fight like hell to make sure I’m the last one standing.
“I’m not fucking around, Elena. The longer you make me wait for you, the more pissed off I’ll be when I find you.”
He crouches to examine where he left me, surrounded by bits of glass and spots of my blood … putting him in the perfect position for me to whip the rope around his throat and press a knee into his back.
Viktor’s powerful body jerks and convulses as I yank with all my might, the rope biting into his windpipe. His arms flail helplessly, and he falls onto his ass. I press my knee harder into his spine with a snarl, leaning back with all my weight to speed things along.
Rough, guttural curses spill from his lips, and his fingers claw at the rope. When that doesn’t work, he swings his arms to grab at me over his shoulders. I arch my back to stay out of reach, a primal scream emitting from me as I yank harder on the rope.
He finally goes limp, arms dropping and head slumping forward. I can’t hear the sounds of his breath anymore, so I loosen my grip, leaning in to inspect his face. He’s gone white as a sheet, broken blood vessels showing red and furious beneath his skin.
With a sigh of relief, I let the rope fall from my hands. I used the last of my strength to subdue Viktor, so I’m unprepared to defend myself when his head jerks up, and a blazing blue eye glares at me from over a beefy shoulder.
“I warned you,” he growls, his voice rough and tortured. “I fucking warned you, you stupid slut!”
I backpedal as he turns and crawls toward me, but I’m not fast enough to avoid his reaching hand. His fingers close around my ankle, and my back hits the floor, tiny slivers of glass leaving burning pinpricks along my shoulder blades. Viktor straddles me, both hands wrapping around my throat. The rope burn around his throat is nearly purple, and his breaths are labored, but he’s strong in his fury, squeezing until dark spots crowd my vision.
He seems to have forgotten his plan not to kill me. Viktor has murder in his eyes, the pupils dilating so that his irises look dead and black. I claw at his hands until I draw blood, my feet slipping over the concrete as I scramble for purchase. Managing to work my knee between his legs, I sharply thrust upward, finding his soft, vulnerable parts.
Viktor gurgles and lets out a pitiful whimper, rolling from on top of me and cradling his abused balls while gasping for air. Coughing and gagging, I get to my hands and knees, trying to gather the strength to run. The light from the top of the stairs calls to me, offering freedom. I know there are other men in this house, lying in wait. Viktor wouldn’t be stupid enough to isolate himself without protection. But I can’t give up. I can’t just lay here and let him finish me off. If I have to die, I’ll do it fighting.
I manage to crawl up the first few steps, my throat and chest burning from being strangled, but Viktor has recovered faster than me. His swift footsteps are my only warning before a tight grip seizes my hair, wrenching me to my feet. I scream at the sting in my scalp, certain I feel a few strands tear free.
