Page 13 of Savage Warrior

“Thanks, boss.” I study the words on the sheet. “It’s just so remote…”

“It’s just what you need. Unless you fancy joining us for the funeral tea?”

“Hell, no. Can you drop me off back at the mansion?”

At Ethan’s order, Aaron detours to the stately home just outside Glasgow where I have an apartment along with several more of our men. The estate was once the family home of the Savages, but Ethan relocated his family to his private island of Caraksay a few years ago. The old house remains in use as his headquarters on the mainland.

Glad to be escaping, I hop out on the forecourt in front of the elegant house and lean back in to speak to my boss.

“Thanks,” I begin. “I just—”

“Never mind,” he says before I can spout yet more excuses. “Just do as I say and come back sorted.”

I nod, then turn and sprint up the front steps of the mansion. I have a lot to think about.

CHAPTER 4

Arina

I’m famished. Literally faint with hunger.

I haven’t eaten for days. At least, I think it’s been days but I’ve lost track of time. I’m surviving on the scant drops of water poured down my throat occasionally, if someone remembers. I don’t know where we are, but we must surely be in Minsk by now.

The other women are still here, close by, but barely anyone speaks. I hear them breathing, sometimes a cough or a whimper. There’s someone sobbing most of the time. No footsteps, just the scraping of feet against the floor.

Are they tied up, like me? Are we all prisoners? If so, why? What’s happening to us? What’s going to happen?

I’ve been a fool, that much is certain. This is no ‘job opportunity’. No way of earning a few easy rubles.

Will I ever see Natalija and Yuryl again? How will they manage without me?

I’ve long since stopped crying. It does no good and makes it harder to breathe under this hood. My entire focus is survival. That’s my one goal.

The van is stationary and hasn’t moved for a while. Hours? Days, even? I’m dozing, my mind drifting, but I’m wakened with a start by the crash of the doors opening.

I ignore it. It’ll just be the men bringing food for the others. I huddle in a ball and wait for them to go.

But this time it isn’t food. I’m grabbed and heaved up into a sitting position, and rough hands unfasten the hood. I blink and cower from the searing light when then sacking is dragged from my head.

“She’s a fucking mess,” is the view of one of the shadowy forms confronting me.

“Still shaggable. Someone’ll buy her,” is the considered response. He nudges me with his foot. “Get up, slut.”

The words aren’t lost on me. Shaggable. Buy her. I tamp down rising panic. It’s vital that I keep my head, stay calm, wait for a chance to escape.

So, I blink and try to move, try to do as I’m told. But I’m too stiff, and my ankles are bound. My wrists, too. It’s no good. No matter how much I want to be out of this vehicle, however much they shout and swear at me, I can’t shift for myself.

One of them slices through the rope at my ankles and hauls me to my feet. I’m dimly aware of the last few women scrambling out though the rear doors, so I stumble after them, terrified of being left alone in here. I narrowly avoid crashing to my knees as I exit the van and try to manage the three steps to the ground. Staggering, I lurch drunkenly after the line of dejected women filing across an expanse of tarmac. It’s only when I’ve taken a few paces that I look up and focus my gaze on what’s in front of us.

A ship.

A battered and barely sea-worthy fishing vessel, as far as I can tell. And the other women are shuffling along a gangplank before descending through a hatch into the depths of it.

I pause in my tracks. A boat? No…

“Wait, I never agreed to—”

A fist in the middle of my back puts a stop to my protest. I drop to my knees under the force of the blow.

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