Page 19 of Merciless Queen

We.

We.He’s spinning this like we’re a partnership. It’s ironic because it’s all I’ve ever wanted—to be treated by Papa in the same manner Uncle Ivan treats Dimitri—but notthis. This isn’t a partnership. It’s a convenience.I’ma convenience.

Blood rushes to my ears. My heartbeat feels like the organ will push out from my chest. I comprehend his words fine enough. Being a virgin is viewed as an added benefit to any marriage deal he’ll one day make, butsellingmy first time brings another profit with it.

Which means…I glance at the bed behind him.

“Papa—”

He snaps his fingers and the two soldiers behind me grasp my arms, dragging me toward the bed. My heels dig into thecarpet, doing nothing against the men’s strength as they propel me toward what’s about to become an altar for my self-worth.

“Tie her up,” he commands without looking toward me again. Papa heads for the door, and the fucking coward leaves, shutting the door behind him, locking my yells within.

My nails are buried a half-inch inside the lavender soap bar, a tingling pain running up my arm, and pulling me out of what was the beginning of the end.

Papa did a lot of shit to me prior to that but selling my virginity really showed me his true colours. I screamed a lot that night. First, I was a daughter yelling for her father to change his mind and save her. Then, a girl who got a piece of childhood stolen from her by a corrupt politician.

All from Boris Agapov, the Russian Minister of Finance. A bullshit deal involving a revolving payout from him to Papa for every year following that night and having a government insider with great influence.

I don’t recall when my nails finally unlatch from the soap bar, or when I drop it. Or when the water washes cooler over me, the memory bringing ice to my veins.

Or when the memory consumes my every thought.

The next time the door opens, a stranger strides in. A stranger in a suit, which means he’s a powerful and rich man. Then I nearly scoff at myself for managing to put that together becauseof coursehe’s powerful and rich. Those are the only kind of people Papa deals with.

“Well.” A smooth, low voice carries through the dim room and embeds into my nervous system. “Look at you, little Miss Volkov. Merry Christmas to me.”

“Please,” I beg, tipping my head to study the stranger better. The head of dark hair, the dark eyes. He’s pure evil. The devil incarnate.D'yavol.

I beg, though I’m aware it’s useless. I beg, hoping there’s a fragment of goodness within him.

“That’s very cute. I like it when they plead.”

They. A million other horrors are buried within that single word.

He bears down on me.

His hand on my thigh.

His knife slicing my clothes away.

His own clothing landing on top of mine; there’s a symbolism there I despise.

His body weight coming on top of me.

His hands spreading my thighs.

His—

I’ll kill you,I mentally vow.One day, I will pay every thrust, every touch, every hot disgusting breath back tenfold.

He hums in my ear, trying to shatter the smidge of peace my death pact has created for itself. “Mm, I’ll never forget the feel of claiming your unused cunt for myself, Miss Volkov.”

When I took over as the Bratva’s leader, I vowed my promise would come true. For fifteen-year-old me, I will hunt Boris down. He will experience the same pain I did that day, being betrayed by my father, having freedom and choice robbed from me, and being tied to the bed and forced to take him inside me.

He raped me.

For the past two years, he’s evaded me, but Earth is only so large. I’ll find him, even if it takes my entire lifetime to do so.

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