Page 161 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the crisp night air…

And a hand wraps around my mouth.

My eyes fly open, but I don’t see anyone. Whoever is holding me is standing behind me. I start flailing, driving my elbows back and trying to kick at the legs behind me.

Then I hear him laugh.

“You shouldn’t be out so late,” Roger hisses in my ear. “It’s not safe for pretty women on the streets.”

It’s been hours since I saw him. Almost enough time for me to forget about him. I can’t believe he waited.

I want to argue with him. To beg. To reason. To scream bloody murder, if all else fails. But his sweaty hand is clamped down over my mouth so tightly that I can't even part my lips. My jaw aches from the force.

I flail, but Roger bands an arm around my midsection, pinning one of my arms to my side. Then he starts dragging me back into the alley.

Holy shit. This is it. I'm going to be one of those women on the news. Someone broken and left in a dark alley or tossed in a dumpster.

And Elise… what will happen to Elise?

Panic like I've never felt before courses through me. I want to fight, and I try, but God, I'm so tired. My body aches and my stomach rolls.

Even on a good day, a fight with Roger would be unbalanced. And I haven't had a good day in at least six weeks.

Roger spins me around and slams me up against the brick wall. I lash out in his direction, but he pins my wrists to the wall overhead and grinds his hips against mine. I feel his hardness and I nearly throw up in my mouth.

"You think you can embarrass me and get away with it?" he snarls as he fumbles for the waistband of my jeans. "You aren't special, Belle. You aren't as hot as you seem to think you are. And I'm gonna show you all you're good for."

Tears are freely flowing down my cheeks now. I'm sobbing too hard to be able to say anything useful.

I know it wouldn't matter anyway. Roger is beyond reasoning with.

Then, all at once, Roger drops away.

It's like a hole opens up beneath his feet and swallows him. But when I look down, he's still there, albeit crumpled into a bleeding puddle of misery.

I wipe tears out of my eyes and look up to see a new figure standing in front of me. This one tall. And broad.

And very, very familiar.

"Nikolai," I gasp, not believing my own eyes.

He's holding a brick in his right hand. He shrugs and drops it onto Roger’s gut.

"It's not a three-hole punch, but it did the trick."

Roger groans at our feet. I look at him, at Nikolai, at him, at Nikolai, then at my own shaking hands. I finally manage to rasp out, "What are you doing here?"

"Saving you. Again," he says. "It's turning out to be a full-time job."

I want to touch his face and make sure he's real, but I'm afraid what will happen if I put my fingers on him. I might not be able to purge him from my system a second time.

"But how did you—When did you—I don't understand what's going on. Why are you here?"

"Let's have this conversation somewhere else." He jerks his chin towards a black car I didn't notice earlier. He parked between the dingy street lights, lurking in a pocket of shadow. I'd expect nothing less from him.

I shake my head. Even from here, the citrusy, peppermint scent of him is overwhelming. In an enclosed car, I'm not sure I'll be able to handle it.

"No. No, let's stay here. Let's… You should go. Thanks, but I'm fine. You need to go."

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