Page 5 of The Devils' Darling

We both know what he means by “hurting.” The thought of another man’s mouth on her skin, or fingers or cock pushing inside her pussy while she cries and screams, rips me to shreds. I torture myself with the idea of another man’s semen inside her, spilling down her throat or filling her womb. I feel sick at the idea.

No, it’s too much.

“I never told her I loved her,” Tino says.

I shake my head at him. “Stop it.”

He doesn’t. “None of us did. Why the fuck not? Why didn’t we tell her every waking second? Because we do, don’t we? We’re obsessed with her. We need her. We love her.”

His dark eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

I duck my head, suddenly ashamed of myself. “I don’t know,” I mutter.

But I do know. I hadn’t wanted to make myself weak because of her. I hadn’t wanted to be vulnerable. What a fucking idiot I’ve been.

“We’ll tell her,” I assure him. “The minute we get her back, we’ll tell her we love her, okay? That she’s everything to us. That we can’t function in this world without her, and we’ll give her everything she could ever dream of. That she’s ours forever.”

“We should have protected her, but we failed,” Kirill says. “We let her down.” He presses his lips into a line then scrubs his fingers across them. “She’ll hate us now. This happened under our watch. How will she ever trust us to keep her safe again? That’s what a man should do, keep his woman safe, and there’s three of us, and we couldn’t even do that. Maybe she’d have been better off with someone else.”

Silence settles around us. Will she hate us? I don’t even want to think about what kind of trauma she’ll have been through if we ever get her back. Will she blame us for it?

“We’ll make it up to her, okay?” I tell him. “We’ll treat her like a fucking princess. We’ll make her love us again, no matter what.”

“And if she tells us to leave her alone?” Kirill says.

I shake my head at that. “No. She has us. We’re hers, and she’s ours. That’s just the way it goes.”

We take what’s ours.

“We need to go and find my father.” I hold up the phone. “He needs to see this. He needs to know who we’re dealing with.”

Chapter 3

Mackenzie

They’ve locked me back in the dark.

Hours pass, and these men still have given me no clue as to why they’ve taken me. I’ve cried so much it feels like I’ve sobbed myself dry. My eyes are sore and scratching, my skin tight. I keep reminding myself I won’t just give in, and I’ll continue to fight, but I’m weary right down to my soul.

It must be nighttime now.

Exhausted, and with the adrenaline finally leaving my body, I have no other choice than to curl up and try to sleep. I pillow my head on my hands, but I have no blankets or mattress, and the chill from the metal floor continues to seep through my bones.

I don’t think I’ll sleep, but eventually I do, dozing in and out of a troubled slumber. Nightmares haunt me, but when I try to pull myself out of them, I am caught in one even worse than my imagination can come up with.

Even with the nightmares, sleep offers me a reprieve, and I clutch it with both hands. I miss the guys—and my mom, too—like a piece of my heart has been cut out. I’d give anything to have them with me, though I’d never want them to be trapped in this terrifying situation.

When I eventually wake again, I’m even more disoriented than before. Is it morning? The following day? Or is it still nighttime? If it’s the following day, it’ll be more than twelve hours since I’d been taken—perhaps even longer. Everyone will know I’m missing. It’s a small comfort knowing the guys will do whatever they can to find me, and they’ll be bound to bring my mom and Nataniele onboard as well. Despite what I might think of Nataniele, I do believe he genuinely cares about my mom, and he’ll do whatever he can to keep her happy. I just pray that includes calling in whatever favors he can to find me.

My bladder aches, but I don’t even have a bucket in here with me. I hope they’ll at least let me use the bathroom soon. I’m thirsty, too, and my throat feels like I’ve gargled with gravel.

Finally, my thirst gets the better of me, and I crawl over to the bowl containing the water. My captors probably wanted me to leave it on the floor, and lower my face to it to drink, but I won’t give them that pleasure. Instead, I pick up the bowl and tilt the cool rim to my lips. I’d spilled some of the water when I’d first been put in the cage, so only a little remains, but it’s enough to wet my lips, throat, and tongue, and for that, I’m grateful.

I’ve been left the bowl of food as well, but there’s no way I can eat. My stomach is in knots. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to eat again. Out of curiosity, I pick the bowl up and give it a sniff. It’s not cat food, thank God, but cooked hamburger meat, I think. I’ve got no intention of tasting it, and I throw the bowl to one side in disgust. How can I trust these people not to have drugged it, anyway? I don’t know who they are or what they want. Being drugged and locked in this cage would make me way too vulnerable.

Hopelessness and fear wash over me, and I try to push down the emotions.

I sit down, my back against the metal bars. I lift my hand and finger the collar around my neck.

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