Page 7 of Claimed By Shadows

“How so?”

“Sergi’s primary source of income is in the skin trade,Dorogaia,” I grit out, hating this element of my family’s business more than any other.

I’ve seen more scared and helpless women in my life than one soul should have to bear, watched them be abused and sold like chattel, all the while unable to do a single thing to help. More recently, I’ve helped them in small ways, getting them medical help and contraception so they don’t bring another generation into this horrific situation. I’m also making sure they’re well-fed and even vetting some buyers so the worst are refused entry.

It’s not enough, and I know that my soul is a blackened thing that doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as Iris, let alone holding her hand and kissing her plush lips. One day, I will haveto confess all my sins and be judged by her. She is the only authority I acknowledge and will bow down to.

“The skin trade?” she asks, her eyes narrowed as if in confusion and her head cocked to the side, and my heart sinks at having to explain this part of the world to her.

“He sells women at auction to the highest bidder,Dorogaia.”

She freezes, her mouth parting as her eyes widen until the whites show.

“W–will h–he s–sell m–me?” she stutters, barely able to get the words past her chattering teeth, and I pull her into me, wrapping her trembling body with my own as if that will stop anything terrible happening to her.

“I don’t think so,Solnishko,” I murmur against her head, rubbing my palms up and down her spine as she clings to me. “His…” I swallow. “Obsession with you will keep you from them.” It’s the only silver lining about this, about his fixation with her. He won’t sell her to a monster far worse as long as she holds his interest, but then she has to suffer his attention.

After several moments, she stops shaking, pulling back just enough to look at my face.

“So he’s taking the girls to the poker game to show off the fact that what? If people become his friends, he can gift them a human fucking woman like they’re a bottle of fucking wine?” Her cheeks flush, her lips pull back in a snarl, and she looks magnificent in her rage.

“It’s fucked, I know,Dorogaia,” I say, my jaw aching with how fucking helpless I am to right all these wrongs my father is committing. “And it’s the first thing I will abolish when I take over. I have all the names and locations of every woman ever sold and I will make it right, I swear.” I plead with my eyes for her to believe my intention. No, my promise. I will not let those women suffer a moment more than they have to, and I will atone for my father’s crimes, even if it takes my lifetime.

Her gaze softens, her hand coming up between us to stroke my cheek.

“You’re always trying to save us, Nik, those of us who haven’t been able to save ourselves. You’re a good man,” she whispers, her eyes shining with adoration that I don’t deserve.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I need to be better,” I confess quietly, all my failures weighing me down enough to drown me.

“You are enough, my love,” she whispers back, and tears sting my eyes.

“I hope so.” Taking a deep inhale, I place a light kiss on her lips, wanting to believe her words, wishing they were true with every fibre of my being.

Deep down though, I know that I’m not enough. Not enough to save her from my father and not enough to take him down so that she doesn’t have to suffer a moment more at his hands.

CHAPTER FIVE

“IRIS” BY TOMMEE PROFITT, RUELLE

ROMAN

The beat of the music flows around me, but it can’t offer its usual comfort. Not now that she’s not here with me, sharing her light, chasing away all the darkness. We’re at Depravity, and Tommee Profitt is playing a set, something that I’ve been looking forward to since fuck knows how long.

But it’s like the world turned grey, as if someone sucked out all the colour and life the moment she was taken, and when we discovered what she’s going through, what that cunt, Sergi, is doing to her…something inside me died.

I swirl my drink around in its crystal glass, the clear liquid reflecting the lights that pulse around us. The club is packed, the VIP area full, but as I look around our booth, I see Hunt and my brother both staring into their own drinks, and I know we will not be okay until she’s back with us.

The lights go dark as the opening strains of “Iris” start up, Ruelle’s haunting voice making tears prick my eyes. Fuck, ithurts so badly not having her here. Knowing that we failed to protect her is like a wound that won’t heal, that will fester and bleed out, but never give me the relief of death.

“Why so glum, boys?” A thick, Irish accent breaks into my maudlin thoughts, and I glance up to find Uncle Michael—or Fingers as he’s known by, which I’ve never questioned the reason why because he’s family and no one needs to know that shit—taking a seat across the table from us, his red hair wild and his thick, tattooed forearms bulging from his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Michael O’Sullivan is mine and Rowan’s uncle, our Ma’s brother, and when he finally found out about us after Ma passed away when we were eighteen, he contacted us. It was too late by then to take us in. We were adults and living with Hunter, fully fledged Shadowmen, but he introduced us to the family, who had made peace with our Da’s family, the O’Brians, so we got them too. Our connection to the two Irish mobster families has come in handy more than once. It was why we thought we’d be safe from Sergi. More fucking fool us.

“Nothing we can’t handle, Fingers,” I say, not sure how much Hunt wants us to share about our current predicament. We may be in with our family, but that doesn’t mean we trust them. He turns his gaze to Hunt.

“I heard those Russians stole yer pretty new wife, Hunter,” he muses, and the tension at our table thickens to choking point. “It’s not right, taking a man’s lady like that. Not gentlemanly.” I narrow my eyes at the big man, wondering what his angle is, what he’s trying to say. Then he looks at me. “Did I ever introduce you ta yer cousin, Azazel?”

A hush falls over the VIP area, the crowds parting as three men come towards us, and my heartbeat thunders inside my chest as I realise who they are. The Fallen, part of the Enlightened, a not so secret society that rules the fucking world near enough. They have members in every government, everycountry in the world, and every echelon of society. There are several groups that make up the Enlightened, the Fallen being one who deals in information and favours.

He can’t mean that one of them is our cousin, right?

---