Page 17 of Emerald

He crouched down in front of me, his meaty hand coming out to grip my chin. I tried to jerk away, but his fingers only tightened, digging into my skin hard enough to bruise.

"You're in my home, little princess. My playroom, to be specific." His eyes glittered with a malevolent kind of glee. "We decided, my brothers and I, that after the insult you dealt us, the way you shamed us in front of your father, well. You needed to be taught a lesson."

My heart seized in my chest, fear clawing its way up my throat. I knew what kind of "lessons" men like Mikhail liked to teach, had heard the stories of the girls who'd been unfortunate enough to catch his eye. They always ended the same way - with broken bodies and shattered minds, discarded like trash when he was done with them. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how terrified I was, how close I was to breaking down and begging for mercy. I sure as fuck will not break.

I lifted my chin as best I could in his bruising grip, my eyes spitting emerald fire as I met his gaze head-on. "Fuck you," I spat, putting every ounce of venom I could muster into the words. "Fuck you and your shriveled little dick. You think you can break me? Think again, asshole."

For a second, Mikhail just stared at me, then a bark of laughter escaped him, harsh and ugly. "Oh, devotchka. You have no idea how much I'm going to enjoy this."

He released my chin and stood, nodding to his brothers. They moved forward, identical leers on their faces as they started to unzip their pants. I felt bile rise in my throat, my stomach churning with fear and revulsion. I knew what was coming, knew the pain and degradation that awaited me.

I wouldn't let them see me cower. Even as they descended on me, even as rough hands pawed at my clothes and bruising fingers dug into my flesh, I fought. Fuck, did I fight. Kicking and thrashing and clawing like a wildcat. I sank my teeth into any skin I could reach, I raked my nails down their faces and arms and chests. I wouldn't make this easy for them, wouldn't be the broken little fuckdoll they wanted me to be.

But in the end, it didn't matter. There were three of them and one of me, and they were too strong. I felt my clothes rip, felt the cool air of the basement on my bare skin. Felt the brutal, tearing pain as they forced themselves inside me, one after another, grunting and rutting like animals.

I screamed. Screamed until my throat was raw and bloody, until I tasted copper on my tongue. But they didn't stop. Didn't even slow down, pounding into me with a savagery that made me feel like I was being split in two.

At some point, mercifully, my mind began to drift. I felt myself detach from my body, from the pain and violation being visited upon it. I floated above it all, watching with a kind of clinical detachment as they used me, broke me, shattered me into a million jagged pieces.

I thought of Finn. Of his sweet, shy smile and the gentle way he'd touched me. I thought of the love in his eyes when he'd looked at me, the way he'd made me feel cherished. Safe.

My tears tracked through the blood and filth on my face as I thought of Finn. I knew I would die here, in this dank little basement. Die as a plaything for sadists and rapists, my body broken and defiled beyond all recognition. And the worst part, the part that made me want to howl with equal parts rage and despair? My father probably wouldn't even care. Probably wouldn't shed a single tear over his ruined, disposable daughter.

He was sending a message to me. Because I had no doubt that this, all of this - my abduction, my torture, my impending death - was his doing. His way of punishing me for defying him, for daring to sully myself with another man's child. My own father did this.

Never mind that there was no child. That it had all been a desperate, poorly-thought-out game to buy myself some time. To Declan Maguire, perception was reality. And the perceived slight against his authority, his iron grip on my life, was too much for his ego to bear.

Now here I was. Chained and bleeding, my body a broken shell and my mind fracturing, waiting for death, or worse, at the hands of men who saw me as nothing more than a hole to fuck and a throat to choke. But there was still a tiny spark of life left in me. I would fight. I would cling to that spark, and if, no when, I survived this I would use it to light a fire that would burn this whole fucked-up place to ashes. There would be a reckoning. A blood-soaked, screaming reckoning that would make the devil himself shake in fear.

Chapter 13: Finn

I'd thought I was dead as I lay there in the dirt choking on my own blood. But I'd survived. My body beaten and lacerated, but I’d gone straight to Declan Maguire. I needed answers. Needed to know what the fuck had happened, and what we were going to do to get Cara back.

Declan seemed surprised to see me. As I stood there in Declan's study, my hands clenched into fists at my sides and my jaw aching from how hard I was grinding my teeth, I realized with a sinking feeling that I wasn't going to get any fucking answers at all.

"The fuck do you mean, we're not going after her?" I demanded, my voice a low, dangerous growl. "She's your fucking daughter, Declan. Your flesh and blood. How can you just leave her with those animals?"

Declan sighed, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of him. He looked tired, I noticed distantly. Tired and old and so fucking weak, nothing like the fearsome boss I'd grown up believing him to be.

"It's complicated, Finn," he said, his voice heavy with a weariness that set my teeth on edge. "The Sokolovs... they're not just some random thugs. They have power, influence. Connections that run deep in the bratva. If we go after them, if we start a war over this... it could be the end of us."

I stared at him, my brain struggling to process the absolute bullshit coming out of his mouth. "The end of us? Are you fucking kidding me? What about the end of Cara? What about what those sick fucks are doing to her right now, while we stand here with our thumbs up our asses?"

Declan's face hardened, his eyes going flat and cold. "Watch your tone, boy. You forget who you're talking to."

"No, I know exactly who I'm talking to." I stepped forward, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. "I'm talking to a coward. A pathetic, weak-willed old man who's willing to sacrifice his own daughter to save his own skin."

Declan surged to his feet, his face flushing an ugly red. "You shut your fucking mouth, Finn. You have no idea what you're talking about. No idea the sacrifices I've made, the deals I've brokered, to keep this family safe. To keep Cara safe."

"Safe?" I laughed, the sound harsh and jagged in my throat. "Is that what you call it? Handing her over to a bunch of sadistic rapists.”

Declan's nostrils flared, his fists clenching on the desk in front of him. "I did what I had to do. What was necessary, to prevent a war we couldn't win. The Sokolovs... they would have destroyed us, Finn. Wiped us off the face of the fucking earth, and Cara along with us. At least this way, she has a chance."

"A chance?" I shook my head, a bitter, incredulous smile tugging at my lips. "A chance at what, exactly? A chance to be raped and tortured over and over again until there's nothing left of her?" My voice broke on the last word, the images in my head too horrific to contemplate.

Something in me snapped. Cara, was not going to be lost to me forever, just because her own father was too much of a fucking coward to fight for her. I reached for the knife at my belt, the one Cara had given me for my birthday last year. The one she'd had engraved with the words " My shield, my strength." Declan managed to get one shout out for help, before I lunged. In one smooth motion, I drew the blade across Declan Maguire's throat.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Declan's eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open in shock as a thin red line bloomed on the pale skin of his neck. Then the blood came, a vivid crimson gush that sprayed across the desk, the walls, my face and hands.

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