Page 42 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

“Umm, I’m sorry. Are we actually considering staging some fucking rescue for a therapist? Get a new one.” I rushed up to Abe, grabbing his collar and glaring at him. “Oh, get off, asshole. Ugh, this is twice now that we’re risking ourselves because of a chick.”

“Hey!” Adley cut in, and Abe rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me a chick, Abe. I know exactly what you use thathand lotionfor and where you keep it. I have no problem infusing some hot chili oil into the mixture.”

My brother’s face went slack as his eyes bulged, and I almost wanted to see him put up more of a fight so that I could witness the glory of a spicy handjob. But we had more important things to be concerned with.

Tossing him back, I stepped back over toward Ivan and just held his eyes. If anyone were able to read my mind, it would be him.

I need to get her back. I need to save her. Please. If something happens to her…I don’t know what I’ll do.

After a long pause, Ivan shook his head, raking a hand down over his face as he let out alongexhale.

“I’ll admit that when I set you up with her as a therapist, I didn’t expect…this.” He looked up, meeting my gaze with a knowing look. “But I get it. So, I guess we're staging our first rescue mission.”

Abe was about to interject again when Ivan shot him a glare.

“I don’t want to hear it. If you don’t feel like being helpful, you can stay back. But we’re doing this.”

Sighing, Abe rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like I’d let your asses get dead just because this is a stupid reason to go up against the Italians. I’ve always liked stupid reasons for violence anyway.”

And with that, it was settled.Next stop, warehouse. Don’t worry, Emory. I’m coming.

Chapter 17 - Emory

My head ached like someone had driven a railroad spike through my front lobe. There was a miserable burning in my eyes, and when I tried to open them, I was met with more darkness. More of my brain woke up, and I jerked as I realized that I was blindfolded and tied to a chair.

My hands, in particular, were bound behind me, with a set of ropes holding me down to the seat over my thighs and strapped over my chest. Sounds began to register, and with no other stimuli to guess where I might be, I trained my ears on the noises filtering in around me.

I could hear plinking—like water dripping onto something metal or glass. There was also a very distant sound of humming, which I guessed might be something electrical. Semis also sounded in the background, engine breaking and revving up, but it was too far away to do me much good.

Dammit, Emory. Where are you?

A deep, drawn-out horn of sorts rang out somewhat louder than the semis, leading me to believe that whatever was making the noise was closer. After a moment, I put together that it was a ship’s horn. The low bellowing sound that tankers and shipping vessels made. Was I by the docks?

That could be both a good and a bad thing. The docks meant I was still in Chicago and likely close to downtown. It also meant that I was likely either in the industrial district—filled with so many warehouses and defunct factories that I still couldn’t be sure where I was—or somewhere near Navy Pier.

That seemed particularly unlikely.

Okay, okay, okay. Industrial district. What’s there? What would I be near that could—

But my thoughts were interrupted when the blindfold shielding my eyes was torn away, and a horrible ray of white light hit my face. I reeled back, my eyes immediately watering.

“Well, morning there, sunshine.” The voice that spoke was heavily accented, and even with my limited knowledge, I could place it as Italian. “So glad that you could join the party. It should be quite fun.”

It took me several moments to blink before I could finally open my eyes and look around me. The warehouse was right out of the movies. Mattresses and old crates were lying around, the ground was filthy, cracked cement, and the massive windows that sat on either side of the building were caked in dust and grime.

“What do you want from me?”

I allowed my eyes to focus, and when they did, my stare landed on the tallish man who stood in front of me, wearing an impeccable suit, too.

“Well, unfortunately,” he walked closer, the sound of his steps clicking against the floor, “it’s not you that we actually want. You’re just a silly little mouse who’s gotten herself roped into the ugly nonsense of the Unholy Trinity.”

My stomach flip-flopped. I knew what Vlad and his brothers called themselves, and I knew that the Italians had it out for them from Vlad’s own admission. But whatexactlywere these thugs going to use me for? I had a feeling that Vlad wouldn’t want me getting hurt, sure. Still, Ivan and Abe didn’t have nearly the same reason to come after me, and doing so was a considerable risk.

“They won’t come here. I’m nothing to them. I’m just a therapist.”

The man scoffed. “Oh, well, I really would hate it if that were the case. Still, if they don’t, at least my boys here will have something to play with for a minute.”

Nausea crawled up the back of my throat, and I did everything I could to keep myself from crying. These types of men,criminals, didn’t care if I cried. Hell, if the rumors were correct, they enjoyed it.

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