Page 83 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

“It was obvious,” I shrug, wiggling my wrists.

“I am the one who planned those attacks. I killed Avraam’s men and he was chasing after your brothers like a fucking fool. And then I orchestrated the attack on your brothers' warehouse and made it look like it was Avraam,” he laughs triumphantly.

“It’s brilliant, you were playing both of them—but why—that’s what I can’t work out. Was it all just for fun?”I can’t believe it was him all along.

“Are you serious? You really don’t know?” He seems annoyed now. Shit. I’ve said something wrong.

He moves right up against me, his hand around my throat again and he lifts me out of the chair, my feet dangling helplessly in the air.

“It was all for you. I want you. Avraam took you and he kept you from me. He fucking took what wasn’t his to take. I had to create this chaos, I had to design an intricate plan to get them to focus on each other until finally—I could get you back where you belong—with me.”

He drops me and I land hard back down on the chair. My back hitting the backrest and pain shooting through me.

I bite back my cry of pain.

“And your plan worked,” I say ignoring the agony in my body. Ignoring the blood oozing from the cut in my thigh that seems to be a lot deeper than I thought.

“You women are all the same though,” he sighs, turning his back to me and browsing the torture table. He selects something. “You make men weak. Look at what you did to Avraam. Do you think I haven’t noticed the change in him since he started spending time with you? He’s becomeweak.Because women are a sickness. A virus. And men need to take back control over them.”

He turns to face me again with a long knife in his hand. The blade is so sharp I think it would drift through paper.

I can’t breathe for a second.

“I fuckinghate women,”he snarls at me, his face turning red.

Royce starts pulling at his belt buckle and I fight the urge to vomit.

I need a little more time. My hands are almost free. Then at least I have a chance.

I force myself to play the role again. I let my legs drift further apart and grin a mischievous smile. “You can do whatever you want to me. I want to feel everything. I want to feel you. Your rage. I want to see your art,” I whisper seductively.

His eyes go wide, surprised, delighted—distracted. He puts the knife down and uses both hands to slide his belt out of the loops, tossing it the floor. He steps close to me, pulling me to my feet and holding me against him, pushing his cock against me.

“You might be the most perfect woman I have ever met,” he whispers against my ear, licking his tongue across my cheek.

It sends a shiver of disgust through my body.

The rope slips off my hands and falls to the floor behind me. Just for a second—he is confused.

I lift my knee as hard and fast as I can and slam it into his balls.

The sound he makes is so satisfying as he doubles over forward, clutching his groin in agony.

And I bolt.

I run as though my life depends on getting away because I am fully convinced that it does.

I run towards a flight of stairs, tripping, falling hard on my knees—I am back on my feet and running again.

But strong hands grab me from behind. I scream so loud I think I could shatter glass—he drags me along the floor, furious about what I’ve done.

That was my only chance.

That was all I had.

Tears flood my cheeks as he shakes me and screams into my face.

“You are all the fucking same.”

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