Page 12 of Bratva Butcher

I said nothing.

“You heard me. I said enough. Bandage her up and make her presentable. I’ve got people coming to inspect the prisoners, and with the way she looks, no one will pay a fucking penny for her.”

With an overexaggerated huff, Samuel did as he was ordered, roughly slapping a dirty cloth around the cut he’d just inflicted and hauling me back towards my spot on the wall. I didn’t fight because I was glad to no longer be in the firing line. Granted, the solution to that problem came in the form of another equally (if not worse) problem, but still, I’d take a win where I could get one.

A grunt flew from my lips when Samuel threw me to the ground. Pain exploded in my side after he delivered a brutal kick right to my kidneys, making me groan.

Fingers gripped the base of my skull and yanked my head back roughly. “Don’t think this gets you off the hook,’ he whispered in my ear, his foul cigarette-scented breath making me want to vomit. “I’ll come back to visit you before you leave, and we’ll have ourselves a good old time. If you behave, I might even make you enjoy it, too.” His free hand came around my front and squeezed my breast.

Anger pulsed deep in my veins, and I fucking snapped. That rational side of my brain—the part that kept me from making bad decisions in the interest of self-preservation–disappeared, and The Crimson Death came out to play.

I gripped his fingers and twisted sharply, hearing a very satisfyingcrack. I swung my elbow back as he let loose a howl of pain. Anothercrackhit the air, this time from his nose.

He hadn’t yet chained me back up to the wall, so I took full advantage, grabbing the loose chain connected to the collar around my neck. Years of acrobatics training made flipping over him easy. It was all in the legs, how much power I could muster in a single jump.

As I soared over the top of him, I hooked the chain so it got caught around his throat and then pulled sharply when I landed on one knee behind him, snapping his neck in one clean move. His body slumped backwards, and I pushed him to the side before his weight could drag me down with him.

Click, click, click.

I looked up, staring down the barrel of three guns in the hands of Dominik’s men.

Slowly, carefully, I dropped the chain and raised my hands in the air. Unwanted sexual advances were one of my triggers. I’d prefer the bite of a blade than to ever experience that again.

“Say the word, Boss, and I’ll end her,” the guy on the right said, the gun in his hands surprisingly steady considering the rage rolling off him.

My gaze sliced to Dominik, who was watching me closely. Studying me. Interest sparked in his eyes. “You just got a lot more interesting, Autumn DeValos.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see Dimitri staring at me. His piercing gaze was burning a hole in the side of my face. I didn’t acknowledge it. Or him. I just continued to stare straight ahead, eating the disgusting, cold oatmeal Dominik had one of his men bring in a few hours before.

I’d expected to receive some sort of punishment for killing Samuel, but Dominik had done nothing but turn on his heels and walk away. The men at his back hadn’t been impressed by that. I couldn’t say why he’d chosen to let me go unscathed for that indiscretion. Perhaps he had something else in mind to punish me later.

Dimitri could no longer bear the silence.

“Who are you?”

The sludge that could barely be considered food slid down my throat. I tried to swallow it without gagging. As much as it made me want to vomit, I took another bite, and another, and another, ignoring his question entirely.

“Are you deaf, woman? I said, ’Who are you’?”

Again, I said nothing.

I felt a small sense of satisfaction knowing a man as high profile and well-connected as the great Dimitri Volkov had absolutely no idea who I was.

I’d spent a long time cultivating my image. Hiding my identity. Ensuring people only saw what I wanted them to see. In a profession like mine, it was vital no one knew who Itrulywas. My livelihood depended on it. Autumn DeValos wasn’t even myrealname. It was an alias I’d come up with a long time ago.

None of my previous marks—before Dominik, that was—had ever lived after being assigned to me, but they all had loved ones. People who would avenge their deaths if given the chance. All anyone knew about The Crimson Death, however, was that she had long, thick hair the colour of blood.

I’d spent a fortune to ensure that.

Chains rattled as Dimitri adjusted into a low crouch, his focus never once leaving me. “I know all the major players. The Triad. The Outfit. La Cosa Nostra. The Los Zetas. Harmine’s Cartel. Small and big time MC and Street Gangs…but you?” His head tilted to the side, eyes lit with suspicion. “You… I don’t know.”

“What makes you think I’m anyone worth knowing?”

His scoff was incredulous. “Anybody that can do that” —he pointed to Samuel’s dead body, or, more specifically, the odd angle his head was now in— “is worth knowing in my world.”

“Your world?”

“Are you really going to sit there and pretend you don’t know who I am? You didn’t so much as flinch when my brother was slicing into me, and you handled your own torture like someone who’s endured it before.”

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