Page 51 of Freeing Emily

His shoulders are so broad that there is barely any space between him and the doorframe. He towers at such a staggering height that I’m left paralyzed with fear.

“Get up,” he growls.

When I don’t make any attempt to move, he stalks toward me and grips my arm so tightly that I worry the bone will snap. He hauls me to my feet, and I whimper at the aggressive manhandling.

“I said to get the fuck up.”

He drags me behind him, and we exit the room. I squint as my eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. The silence up the steps is nearly as deafening as the cries I hear when I make it to the top.

I’m not sure where he’s taking me but the alarm bells in my head haven’t stopped ringing since he stepped into my room.

“Where are we going?” I risk asking. He mutters something in Russian under his breath but doesn’t respond to my question. His hold on my arm tightens. I can already feel the bruises taking form.

My weak legs struggle to keep pace with his long stride and when I unfortunately stumble, he whips around and grips my hair in his fist. My neck is forced to crane back to its absolute limits, and he brings his face centimeters from mine.

His dark eyes snake down my body in obvious disgust before he grunts and pulls away. He continues to drag me down the hallway with doors on either side.

I keep my eyes down to avoid looking into any of the open rooms. The torturous cries of pain and agony ring through my ears with each step we make, causing the cracks in my heart to expand. Silent tears travel down my cheeks, and I can’t control the tightness of my throat from nearly suffocating me.

We come to a stop at a wooden door on an upper level of the building. The man knocks three times and then the door is opened.

Pressing his massive hand against my back, he pushes me into the room. I try to scan my surroundings, but everything is blurred. My soul shatters at the confirmation that my time spent in the dark has deteriorated my vision.

The man pushes past me, stepping further into the room.

I track his movements with cautious eyes. My body is tense, and my heart is hammering against my chest.

He takes a seat on a large couch that is in the center of the room. He splays his arms on the back of the sofa. He slouches and opens his legs, getting comfortable.

“Come.” He commands, his voice has a thick Russian accent.

I nibble on my bottom lip, tearing skin until the tangy flavor of blood touches my tongue. Timidly, I shuffle closer to him. My trembling fingers play nervously with the frayed fabric of my dress.

Once I am standing in front of him, he reaches over and grabs onto my hips. I squeak when he pulls me to straddle him.

No. Please no. Not again.

He slides his meaty hands into my hair and grips it tightly at the root. I wince at the sharp tug as he pulls my head toward him. He traces the column of my neck with his nose and breathes in deeply.

He reeks of sweat, vodka, and blood. My stomach twists at the combination of smells. My entire body is trembling with fear.

“Fight it.”

Every muscle in my body goes ramrod straight at the sound of Liam’s voice.

A bite to my neck brings my attention back to what is happening, and I whimper at the pain. The man’s large hands move from my hair to my thigh and travel up my skin. When I try to pull away, he digs his fingers into my flesh, and I cry out.

The door opens behind me, and I peer over my shoulder to Nikolai stepping in.

He smirks and says something in Russian that I don’t understand.

My clothes are ripped off my body and I try to cover my breasts, but the guard swats my hands away before biting down on my nipple. I cry out and then whimper when he lets go.

“Fight, Féileacán.” Liam growls.

I sense Nikolai stepping behind me and the man wraps his hands around my hips to lift me enough that I am exposed to Nikolai. He hums in appreciation and then I feel the scrape of his finger at my back entrance.

“Are you ready to be fucked by both of us,kukla?”

---