Page 40 of Twisted Cage

Under me, it would be an education. Under him… I study him, his position, the wounds.

She has him at her mercy. Powerless and small. An eye for an eye.

My blood runs cold.

Desperation.

Rape.

Burning hatred slithers through my gut. The thought of anyone touching her, having her—stealing from her, sends a surge of rage coursing through me so far beyond anything I’ve indulged in during my darkest days.

I search over her with new eyes. Looking for clues to the truth of it, but she’s changed in the time she’s been gone. She stares blankly at me, with slightly hooded eyes, her bored gaze fueling my temper. She’s mastered keeping her mask firmly in place no matter what or who blindsides her.

She may have purposely tipped us off so we could find her, but we’d be stupid to let that detail trick us into thinking she is powerless.

It was a calculated decision.

God, look at her. Just when I think I’ve seen all of her, every single side, I find her like this. Coiled with deadly aggression, ready to strike.

Bathed in blood and completely unshakeable.

She is no one’s damsel in distress.

Now that I know this version of her exists, a modern-day Pandora’s box of sorts splits wide open. I’ll be helpless to stop myself from warring with her, anything to seek a taste of her wrath.

I’ll let her spill my blood just to use it to anoint her full lips.

This Nikoletta will never be reduced to dressing up in elegant gowns, her ears dripping with jewels. A pretty ornament on display in our Bratva world.

No.

She’ll demand to stand with us. And if she chooses to do it wrapped in extravagance, she’ll do so because the posh elegance makes for the perfect mask.

There’ll be no keeping my distance. Fuck loyalty. I took her virginity; I’ll take every other first too.

If she has any left.

Because what if he stole them? The precious firsts that should have been hers to give. The ones I would have made mine, until my collection is complete.

Respecting her right to exact vengeance stops me from lashing out for my own satisfaction on the heels of my worst nightmares playing out in vivid color in my head.

Her screams. Tears. Excruciating pain. An inescapable humiliation diminishing every experience in her future.

The monster lurking in me, the beast I fed every day she’s been gone, refuses to recede into the shadows even though we found her. The man she knew, stoic with honor, bound to duty, died on that altar with her virginity. I’ve morphed into something new. Darker. Grittier. With nothing to lose, I’ve become an aggressor to the core.

That sick fiend, haunted by what might have happened to her, wants to see what she does next.

I lower my gun and take a step back. “Don’t let us stop you, Pcholka. How does it end?”

I want her violence.

I crave her reckoning.

For him. For me.

Not one to give the enemy an advantage, she pierces the knife straight down between his legs. He screams, the high-pitched sound piercing our ears as the blade stabs through his cock and balls, impressively close to the holes she left the first time.

Blood pools under her enemy, but not enough to signal his impending death.

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