Page 55 of Forced Bratva Wife

“Hang tight, little one. I’m coming.”

Chapter 24 - Parker

My eyes and nose burned as I came to consciousness, no doubt a side effect of the chloroform, and I felt like I might be sick from the immediate stench of stale water and sewage around me. I tried to blink through the fuzzy vision, and my memory cleared with a hard slap.

Lev!

I shot up in the chair but was stopped short by the binds on my wrists that held me down. Pain ripped through my skin like fire, and I realized that the metal chair that I sat on was digging into my ribs and hips as well.

“Fuck.”

Looking around me, being all too aware of the fact that I’d been kidnapped by some asshole out of Lev’s house of all the places, I was greeted with the dingy sights of an abandoned warehouse. I could smell water behind the stench. I had to be near the lake.

The room was dark, sporadic orange lights dimly glowing from the ceiling tens of feet above me. Everything was damp for some fucking reason, and my wrists began to ache more and more with every second. I rolled them as best I could, pinpointing that whatever held each one was thin and had some type of plastic tail that poked me in the palm.

“Zipties?”

I wasn’t sure why it mattered, but my brain focusing on what was holding me was somehow keeping me level. I wasn’t freaking out as long as I could think about the intricacies of the situation—read my surroundings for input.

So, I did.

The building's windows were coated with a thick layer of grime, making the dark corners even more foreboding. It looked like something out of a low-budget horror film. The emptiness and echoes only added to the eerie atmosphere, and I couldn't imagine what this place could have been used for before it fell into disuse and neglect. Based on its current state, it seemed like it had been abandoned for quite some time, except perhaps for its use as a holding place for hostages.

I was stranded in the middle of the room like I was stuck on some island without hope of being rescued.

Come on, don't think like that. You're gonna get out of here. Lev will come.

But that's when the nervous energy started back in again. I was left sitting on that damn metal chair, terrified that I wasn't going to see the man who had brought me into his house ever again.

And the moment that external focus died, the moment I realized I had nothing left to pick apart, the panic doubled—tripled. This had to be my father, and I knew that he had to be after Lev. Why else would he fucking do it. He didn’t give a shit about me.

“Help!”

It was dumb. Everyone knows you don’t yell for help because no one responds to that shit, but my instincts were flailing for anything to do.

“Help!”

My voice echoed for too long, and I began to worry that I was in this giant building all alone.

Out of the darkness around me stepped several intimidating men. They were no Unholy Trinity, but fear trickled down my spine regardless, and my voice died in my throat.

One of them pulled away from the pack, coming closer to me enough so that I could see the butt of a gun sticking out from his waistband. His clothes were an interesting blend between overly casual and too nice, a pair of ripped jeans paired with a button-down shirt and a tie. He had long hair tied into a ponytail at the back of his neck and it was slicked back from his forehead that showcased a widow's peak.

“Ain’t no one coming for you bitch, so knock it off.”

He had an Irish accent, and I clenched my jaw, refusing to let it tremble.

“You should be careful carrying your gun like light. I’d hate for you to blow your dick off.”

The guy was at me in a heartbeat, yanking the hair I’d pulled into a ponytail before getting kidnapped—again—and angling my face up toward him.

“Watch yer fucking mouth, bitch. I’m supposed to keep you alive, but ain’t nothing been said about yer teeth.”

I didn’t flinch as he tossed my head back down, fighting against the urge to scream, to cry, to yell. I knew none of it would serve me right now. So I did the only thing that might, I studied them. I searched for obvious signs of injuries, for limps or bad reaction time. I’d take anything that might get me out of here alive.

The guy who’d come up to me walked back, and I could tell he was favoring his right arm. Something had happened to the other. He was holding it too close to his body.

That was one.

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