Page 65 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
Seconds later, I tackled the bastard to the ground, and the other blade fell out of his hand, clanking away. I was able to successfully land only a couple of punches into his face before he seized me by the neck and hurled me across the room.
I hit my back against a wall, my body thudding to the floor like a dry log. He rushed at me with a loud cry, his footsteps pounding. I rolled away just before his bone-crushing stomp cracked the boards where I’d lain.
I scratched a discarded knife off the floor and lunged at him.
My hand moved rapidly as I stabbed into his stomach over and over. The blade sank deeper on each strike, but he didn’t flinch. What the hell was this motherfucker made of? Stone?
He leaned down, groaning like a wounded lion, his arms wrapping around my waist. Without stressing, he whisked me into the air. Instinct took over. I locked my legs around his neck, my elbow slamming into his face—his nose, to be exact.
He groaned, stumbling backward as I struck harder and harder. Roaring, he drove me down on my back with a sickening crash. For a moment there, I thought my spine was broken. The pain jolted to my brain, forcing a strangled groan out of my lips.
Volchok mounted me, his hands crushing my throat, murder burning in his eyes. Blood spilled from his wounded stomach, but he didn’t seem to give a shit. His focus was mainly on strangling me to death.
“You fought well, Valarian Tarasov,” he growled, fingers choking me, digging deeper into my throat. “But it’s over now. No one’s ever faced me and lived. You won’t be the first.”
I felt like my eyeballs were bulging out, my hands helplessly hitting against his strong arms. I was choking, suffocating as he squeezed tighter around my neck. He watched happily as life slowly drained from me.
“After I kill you, I’ll have my way with your whore.” He let out an evil chuckle. “And then I’ll kill her too.”
The mere thought of his plan fueled my rage, and with a boost of adrenaline, my fingertips scraped the floor. I clawed inch by inch toward the discarded knife just within reach.
Now wasn’t the time to die. I must fight.
“Hey!” Wren’s voice echoed through the room, laced with fury and confidence.
Volchok’s neck snapped in her direction with a low growl.
“Fuck you,” she said.
And then…bang.
His head jerked back with a bullet hole in it, his body lingering for a moment before thudding to the floor. Lifeless.
I gasped for air as I struggled to stand, fingers rubbing my neck with a soothing gesture.
Across from me, she stood there, frozen in place, holding a pistol in her trembling hands. With heavy breaths, I walked toward her, exhausted from taking down 21 one men.
Scratch that. Twenty. The last kill was Wren’s.
Gently, I lowered her hand and took the gun from her as she sank to her knees. She was in shock—I understood. But it didn’t change the fact that she saved my life.
Wren was shaking like a leaf, her eyes fixed on the man she had just killed.
“Hey.” I crouched before her, cradling her face in my bloodied palms. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” I whispered, staring into her eyes.
“I killed him.” Her voice cracked.
“No, you saved my life,” I corrected the notion.
She paused, looking back at me, eyes wandering over my sweaty body. “I guess we’re even now.”
I did tell her last night that saving her from that snake was something she’d do for me. This only confirmed my assumption.
Volchok’s phone rang in his pocket, the noise drawing my attention. My eyes narrowed, and I rose to my feet, limping back to his dead body. After a quick search, I found the phone in his jacket and answered the call.
“Is it done?” Elder Akim asked on the other line.
“It’s done, you crazy old man.”
