Page 23 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

I glance up at him, lost in thought, taking a moment to register his words.

“Ah. Yes, what do you have for me?” I stammer, sighing heavily. This girl is an issue for me.

“It’s about the girl. We have reports back from our men that her brothers are looking for her. They are frantic and things are heating up out there.”

Ok, yes, this is what I want to hear.

“And their warehouses, are any of them focused on the businesses?”

“No, sir. None of them have gone into work. They are all meeting up at house of her oldest brother, Rodion Kuznetsov.We think they must be trying to plan a search—going through information to try and figure out who took her and why.”

“So, there is no indication that they know it was me?”

“No, sir.”

My mouth is tight, my jaw clenched. This is good news.

“Rally the forces. We are going to attack their warehouse. The one by the docks. I’ll be coming with you. Be ready in an hour. We are targeting their stock. Not their men. But I do want to create a disturbance.”

“Yes, sir.”

He marches from my office and I lean back in the chair, folding my arms across my chest. Ok. This is good. This is what I wanted. But my original plan was to let them know it was me that took her. It was meant to be a challenge, a threat, a show of power. Right now—I don’t want them to know she’s with me because that would mean possibly needing to give her up sooner than I would like to.

For now, she belongs to me.

She is in my control.

I stand up, running my hand through my hair, pushing the dark curls from my face.

I might not want to give her up, but I can cause disruptions in their business.

In just over an hour, I am sitting in the passenger seat of one of my SUVs, a team of men with me as we drive towards the docks.

We are all dressed in Kevlar, black ski masks and heavily armed.

The driver parks near the back of the warehouse.

We wait for a moment, watching, expecting their guards to come rushing around, alerted to our uninvited arrival. But nothing happens.

Their attention is focused elsewhere, exactly as I wanted it to be.

“Let’s go. I want to disrupt their shipments. Place the explosives around products, anything that looks important.”

We pile out of the car, my men rushing forward, bursting through the warehouse doors.

Workers, mostly unguarded, run in all directions to escape our gunfire. I am not here to slaughter anyone. I am not here to murder senselessly, I just want them out of the way.

The three guards that are here are bound, taped up and restrained—rendered useless and left in the office, out of the way.

We set chargers on three points in the warehouse, setting them off in a controlled manner, causing enough destruction to damage their business effectively.

Then I head back into the office.

Standing over the three guards, I ask, “Who is in charge?”

One guard, blindfolded, boldly nods his head. “I am. Leave the other two alone. Whatever you want to do—do it to me.”

I admire his courage and his willingness to protect his men by offering himself as a sacrifice of sorts. But I don’t have any intention of harming him.

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