Page 68 of Marrying the Mobster
“I wanted to take my time with you,” Viktor rasps, swinging me around and shoving me into the closest wall. My bruised face slams into the brick, sending a bursts light and agony through my head. “But now I see I’m going to have to break you sooner rather than later. You need to be taught a lesson,dorogoy, and you’re going to get it right now.”
His fingers tighten on the back of my neck, pinning me in place and adding more dizzying pain to the agony pounding in my head. His body comes against my back, and the motherfucker is aroused, turned on by beating and strangling a woman half his size. Viktor pants in my ear like a beast, rubbing his erection against my ass and slipping a hand around my body to cup my breast. He squeezes until I cry out, squirming and trying to buck him off me.
“That’s it,” he says with a deranged laugh. “Fight me, Elena. I like it better when they put up a fight.”
Despite knowing my struggles only turn him on more, I can’t let go of the need to resist. I twist and try to angle my most vulnerable parts away from him, but I’m too weak, too battered and broken.
He cups between my legs, fondling and trying to press into me through my panties. Tears spring to my eyes and roll down my face, each drop hot and searing. I clench my teeth to keep the pitiful cries muffled, and push away the words to beg him to stop. If he likes it when I fight, he’ll only enjoy it more when I start to beg.
I press my forehead against the wall, defeated. There’s no more strength left within me, and Viktor will have his way. My shoulders shake with choked sobs, my body trembling so hard I can hardly stay on my feet.
My blood roars in my ears, so loud and insistent that I almost don’t hear the gunshots firing off from somewhere in the house. Viktor goes still behind me, tension coiling through his body and telling me that I’m not crazy. I heard the staccato bursts of semi-automatic weapons, and now I can hear raised voices calling out in both Spanish and Russian.
Thank God.
I suck in a deep breath and throw my head back to scream, knowing it’s impossible for me to be heard over the commotion, but too desperate to care. Diego is here, close enough to intervene. I’ve fought as long as I can, and now I need him.
“Help! Somebody help me! I’m down here, please!”
Viktor claps a hand over my mouth and jerks me away from the wall, taking me to my knees on the ground. I jerk my head back and forth, creating enough space to bite down on one of his fingers. He howls when my teeth sink in, my jaw clamping until I break skin and the taste of his blood fills my mouth. I hold on tight, refusing to release him as he tries to pull his hand away from the steel trap of my teeth. I’ll gnaw this thing down to the bone if I have to. Letting go isn’t an option. Bits of flesh tear away and Viktor’s blows across my shoulders rattle me to my core. But I snarl like an animal, feeling like one as I tear at flesh like a rabid dog. Viktor’s screams are smothered by pounding feet on the stairs, and then the oppressive weight of him falls away, leaving a piece of him clenched between my teeth.
I roll away from his body, which hit the floor beside me with a heavy ‘thunk,’ spitting the chunk of his finger out of my mouth and gagging on the taste of him.
“It’s all right, Elena. You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
The voice murmuring reassurances at me is thick with a Russian accent, sending a fresh wave of fear and adrenaline through me.
“No!” I scream, skittering away from the heavy hand that falls onto my bare shoulder. “Get away! Don’t touch me!”
I press against the wall, drawing my knees up to my chest and staring over them to find Oleg crouched in front of me. He’s holding an AK-47 in one hand, but the muzzle is lowered toward the floor and his face is a mask of horror and pity as he looks me over.
“It’s all right, little one,” he murmurs, working one arm out of his suit jacket, then switching the gun to his opposite hand to finish shedding the garment. “I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to save you. Your husband is here, finishing off the traitors who worked with my son. They didn’t just betray you and Diego,dorogoy. They betrayed me too.”
“Don’t call me that,” I whisper, my voice low and weak. My throat is on fire and I can’t even tell where the pain plaguing my body is coming from anymore. “I don’t want to hear that word ever again.”
Oleg nods in understanding, gently taking hold of my shoulder to urge me to my feet. I don’t resist when he slips his jacket over my shoulders, partially hiding my half-naked body from view.
“Diego,” I whimper, as he wraps an arm around my waist and holds me against the side of his bulky body. “I need … where …”
“Shhh,” Oleg croons, patting me like a father comforting a crying child. “He’s here, little one. He’ll take you home and everything will be all right.”
For the first time I notice that the house above us has gone silent. Clinging to Oleg, I let him help me up the stairs. It’s slow going, but we eventually step into what turns out to be a sprawling beach house in a modern design. I squeeze my eyes shut against the sting of harsh, white light, but the stench of death penetrates my senses. The scent of blood and burning smoke coats the air, and beyond my blurred vision I see mangled and broken bodies littering the floor.
Diego’s voice snatches me back from the brink of oblivion. “Where is she? Elena! Oh my God … Elena!”
I find him rushing toward me, his white T-shirt stained with blood and bits of what might be someone’s brains. His face is speckled with more droplets, and his skin has gone ashen at the sight of me, his eyes wide and wild.
“I found her in the basement with Viktor,” Oleg says, gently handing me over to my husband. “He … I’m sorry,moy drug. What I witnessed isn’t fit for conversation.”
Diego handles me with care, sweeping me off my feet. But I can feel the violence thrumming through him, hear the rage in his shaking voice.
“Where is he?”
I assume he’s referring to Viktor but can’t bring myself to care. The conversation starts to sound like it’s coming from far away as my hold on the world begins to slip. Oleg says something in response, but I understand none of it. My head falls against Diego’s chest, and I latch on to the sound of his heartbeat, fast and unsteady, but strong. I can’t even bring myself to care about the blood wetting my cheek. I take hold of his shirt, twisting it in my grip and holding on tight.
We’re moving now, Diego’s steps jolting me in his arms and sending fresh waves of pain through me. When I whimper, he tightens his hold on me and presses his lips to the top of my head.
“I’m sorry,gatita,” he says in a low, broken voice. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
