Page 13 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

Another memory flashes before me, staggering me for a moment. Blood everywhere. The white tile floor of the shopping mall—flooded with bodies.

Intense fear grips at my heart and salty tears start to roll from the corner of my eyes.It’s him.The nightmares that haunted me night after night—his face—it’s him. He finally got me.

The absolute terror that pulses through me is magnified and I fight harder than ever. My adrenalin is going wild.

The man grabs me around the throat and slams his body over mine, pinning me to the ground and pushing my body into the dirt roughly.

He moves my legs apart with his hips and I try to lock my thighs around his waist to get any kind of grip on him so that I can fight back—but the smile on his face makes me even more terrified. He is enjoying this.

His hand locks around my throat and he pushes his groin against me.

Is this really happening? It can’t be happening.

He grabs my breast and squeezes hard.

“Did you miss me, sweetheart?” he growls against my ear.

I can feel his cock pressing against me and my head is spinning.

I’m clawing and scratching but it’s only making him more aggressive—and lighting his eyes with more excitement.

His touch makes me nauseous. I start rocking my body wildly, trying to throw him off me.

He slaps me across the face. “Stop that,” he snarls.

“There they are,” I hear shouts from somewhere in the garden.

“Royce has her pinned down.”

Royce.

“What the fuck is he doing?”

“She’s fighting hard.”

“Restrain her.”

There are several men standing around now, shining bright torches into my face. Royce eases off me a little, looking angry and disappointed.

He has not released my throat, though, and the world is starting to spin.

“Get off her,” another man demands and everyone jumps back, including Royce who quickly lets go of my throat.

I sit up, the sudden freedom giving me a surge of hope.

Pushing myself to my feet, I glance around me, like a trapped animal. But I won’t give up—I move to run again, but someone grabs me around my waist.

No. Not him.Not Royce.I never want to be alone with him. I saw his eyes. I saw exactly what he wanted.

“Stop,” a man growls. It’s not Royce.

I spin and stare into his eyes, ready to face him down.

It’s the man from the shopping district. The one who caught me.

I start clawing and screaming and scratching and kicking as wildly as I can.

I expect him to slap me or hit me—just like Royce would.

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