Page 79 of Bratva King's Secret Twins

I mock Nana in my head, but just as the white light parts through the gray of purgatory, my eyes flutter open. So, joke’s on me—I wasn’t dead yet, and Nana still isn’t here.

The cold, damp air bites at my skin, and I slowly blink the grogginess out of my eyes. The pounding in my head only intensifies as the light seeps into my vision. It’s harsh, almost blinding, and every flicker of brightness feels like a sledgehammer to my skull.

My wrists are raw from the rope tied around them, bound tightly behind the metal chair that digs into my skin, making my whole lower body ache with a deep, dull pain. The seat is hard and unyielding, and my butt is so numb that it feels like I’m sitting on pins and needles. My mouth is parched, every breath a struggle against the dryness that scratches at mythroat, but my lips are sealed shut by duct tape, trapping my desperate gasps for air.

I blink, trying to clear my eyes, but they’re sticky with the remnants of tears that have dried into a crust, making it difficult to open them fully. It feels like I’ve been crying for hours, my vision blurred and stinging as if the tears had mixed with salt. My ankles, tied to the chair's legs, are the only part of my body spared from the harsh bite of the ropes, cushioned by the soft fabric of my sweatpants, but even that small mercy does little to ease the overwhelming discomfort.

I want to scream, to thrash against these bindings, but my body won’t cooperate, and slowly, I remember the last time I did that. The first time I woke up, I screamed for Nik and was met with a pink-haired man who quickly silenced me with a sharp jab to my arm. The cold burn of the sedative spread through my veins as I fought against it, but my vision blurred, and darkness swallowed me whole.

This time, I inhale deeply, trying to cool my nerves, but all I can smell is the metallic blood mixed with the cedar of Nikolai and it makes me want to cry. Fuck, Nikolai is probably tearing the city apart looking for me.

Somewhere in the fog of my mind, I cling to the hope that Nik will come, that he’ll find me before it’s too late. I picture him storming through the door, fury blazing in his eyes, and it gives me a flicker of strength, just enough to keep my heart from sinking completely into despair.

I force myself to take shallow breaths, in through my nose, out through the small gaps the duct tape allows. The air is stale, heavy with the scent of mold and dampness, but I need to keep breathing. I need to stay conscious. For him. For our kids.

I can feel my heart stop beating when their faces flash in my mind. Mia’s golden hair and Gio’s dark blue gaze. They are probably sitting in Taylor’s house waiting for me to come, to hold them, to tell them I love them. Panic rises in my throat. I don’t remember the last time I told them I loved them.

If I can’t stay alive for me, I damn sure will stay alive for them. I wiggle against my restraints, trying to ignore the searing pain in my wrists. My fingers scrape against the rough ropes, and I try to find any slack, any possible weakness in the knots. I twist my wrists, feeling the sting of the raw skin tearing further, but I can’t stop. There has to be a way out of this. I just need a chance, a single moment to?—

A door screeches open above me, the sound sharp and grating, forcing my body to go rigid, my pulse hammering in my ears as footsteps echo down the stairs. Each step sends a fresh wave of panic crashing over me, and I try to shrink into the chair, to make myself as small as possible.

The footsteps stop, and I hold my breath, every muscle in my body tensing in anticipation. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest.

Then a shadow falls over me, and a man steps into view. He’s tall and muscular, his presence dominating the small space. His hair is streaked with gray, a stark contrast to his dark, predatory eyes.

He tilts his head, looking at me with an unnervingly polite smile. “Ah, you’re awake,” he says, his voice smooth and cold. “Now the fun can begin.”

I flinch at his words, a fresh surge of terror flooding my veins. He takes a step closer, and I fight the urge to recoil, to scream, but my voice is trapped, strangled by fear and the tape over mymouth. All I can do is stare up at him, wide-eyed, as he leans down, his eyes gleaming with a sickening anticipation.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my face as he reaches for my lips. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

He rips the duct tape off of my mouth, and I scream.

40

GWEN

“You have terrible taste in men, Gwendolyn,” the salt-n-pepper man comments as he folds the duct tape in on itself. I swipe my tongue over the bleeding skin, my mouth filling with the copper taste.

I spit out the bloody, thick saliva on the floor, and cough out, “When a man is shit, you blame their father.”

The man laughs to himself, disappearing into a dark shadow of the basement. “And what do you say when the man is good?”

“His mother must have been a saint.”

The man’s laugh is loud, cruel and almost sinister as he returns back into the light with a closed water bottle. “Well, you can’t blame me for Nikolai. I am not his father.”

My eyes widen. Is this the man who has been sending Nik pieces of his mother? Is this the man that has Nik on high alert, barely sleeping or eating? This man who has the body of an ex-military sergeant and the aura of a serial killer?

The man unscrews the water bottle in front of me, and then places the tip to my lips. I open my mouth and greedily drink the lukewarm water as if it was the nectar of the gods. After three big chugs, he pulls the water bottle away and flashes me his cruelly piss yellow teeth. “Be nice and you get more water.”

“Before I start being nice,” I rasp out. “Are you the guy who likes to cut up pieces of his ex-wife and send them to his children?”

His smile spreads to show the sharpness of his teeth. “You can call me Boris, sweetheart.”

“Well, sweetheart.” I smile before sucking all the salvia in my mouth and launching it onto Boris’s chest. “I’m not so nice to scum.”

Boris doesn’t flinch. Instead, he chuckles, a full-fledged belly shaking laugh. His eyes flash with a dangerous glint as he leans in closer, his breath warm and fetid against my face. His grin widens, revealing a glint of cruel amusement. “I can see why Nikolai likes you.”

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