Page 18 of Bound

Akim retakes his seat behind the desk before roughly grabbing Kira’s wrist. She winces in pain as he pulls her onto his lap and flush to his sweaty gut. She fights back her disgust—but not the hatred in her eyes toward us—as his hands rub over her skin.

“We held up our end,” Liam interrupts Akim’s whispers in Kira’s ear. “Luka is dead, and you have her back. Tell us what we need to know about the Pakhan.”

Kira shivers with what I can only imagine is disgust as Akim licks up the side of her neck, and he chuckles with an evil smirk. “No, you haven’t. You seem to be forgetting about something.”

“Your small ask?” Liam questions. “What is it?”

The evil smirk on Akim’s face spreads into a devilish smile that would make the Cheshire Cat look inviting. “The girl from the bar. The pretty little redheaded one.”

My hands involuntarily ball into fists at my sides, and the heat of my boiling blood turns my face red. “That’s not a small ask,” I push out the words through my gritted teeth.

“She’s a fucking barmaid,” he grumbles.

“Why her?” I can’t stop myself from asking, even though I know the answer.

“What the fuck do you care?” he snarls. Reaching between Kira’s thighs, he rubs his palm over her pants before firmly cupping her crotch. “I’m going to tire of this tight little cunt by the time I finish fucking some sense into her. And even if I don’t, she’ll be fucking useless to me by the time she’s done being reminded that she’s my whore. My whores do as they’re told, and my men will reteach her that as they all get to take a turn.”

A single tear rolls down Kira’s cheek as she listens to Akim’s plans for her. These men—if you can even call them that—are fucking savages.

“When I don’t have my sweet little Kira to play with anymore…” Akim’s voice trails off as he wipes the tear from Kira’s cheek. “Well, I’m going to need a pretty new plaything.”

My nostrils flare, and every muscle in my body vibrates with rage. It’s as though he knows he’s baiting me. I can feel Liam and Finn’s eyes on me, willing me to contain myself.

“Besides, I have it on good authority that she’s a fantastic fuck.” Akim pauses for a moment as his evil gaze meets my heated one.“But she lives with you, so you probably know that already. Don’t you? How sweet is her tight little, red-haired cunt?”

Unable to control my anger any longer, I throw myself over his desk, taking him and Kira to the floor. She scrambles from the ground, Liam quickly swooping in to pull her to safety.

“You willneverfucking lay a hand on her.” I climb over the disgusting fucking Russian and pin him to the ground beneath me. My fists crash into his face with unrelenting fury. The barrage of hits causes his spittle and blood tospray over me. His skin splits, and the bones beneath it begin to splinter and break. He gurgles on his own blood—slowly suffocating—as my fists continue to liquefy his face.

By the time I climb from his dead body, I am covered in him. He is unrecognizable, yet he looks exactly like every other man who dared to lay a hand on Quinn.

I made a promise to her, and I will not break it again.

Pushing past Liam and Finn, I’m met with gasps and wide eyes as I walk through the coffee shop and to the SUV out front. My brothers aren’t far behind and climb into the Tahoe a few minutes after I slam my door. Neither of them says a word as we drive back to Midtown. A block from my building, I send a text to Quinn.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

QUINN

DECLAN

I’ll be home in a few minutes. Fiona can NOT see me.

She’s in her room, taking a nap.

She just went down maybe ten minutes ago.

Is everything okay?

My text goes unanswered, and knowing how bad it can get, I immediately assume the worst. Dropping my phone on the counter, I quickly head down the hall and silently pull Fiona’s bedroom door shut.

When I step back into the living room, I’m met with a sight that takes my breath away. Declan. Like I’ve seen him too many times before. Only this time, it’s different, and it chills me to the bone.

Declan stands across the room from me, covered in blood. It’s splattered across his face and has nearly saturated his shirt witha deep coating of crimson. The knuckles on both of his hands are split. The cuts have coagulated and his fingers arecrusted over with the deep reddish-brown of dried blood as he made his way home.

It isn’t the blood that scares me. I’ve seen him covered in blood and on the brink of death before. It’s the complete lack of warmth behind his eyes that has me on edge. They’re cold, completely devoid of emotion. It’s like his soul has died but his body is here.

“Jesus, Dec!” I exclaim, rushing toward him and feeling over his bloodied clothes for wounds. “Are you okay?”

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