Page 76 of Brutal Vows

Inside the warehouse, a shadow moves, and I see her. Vitali’s mother. She’s changed from the modest dress she wore when she hid amongst the crowd of onlookers like a coward. She is sporting a black suit with a pair of white heels. She stands there, her sharp eyes scanning me, her lips curling into a smile that makes my skin crawl.

“There she is,” she says with a cold, almost approving glance. “The perfect little pawn.”

She motions toward a man standing nearby—the buyer, I assume, from the way he is eyeing me like I am some kind of commodity.

The man steps forward, his voice holds a smooth Scottish lilt. “She’s more beautiful than the pictures, Savia.” He licks his lips as his gaze slides down my body. Gross. “Even if she isn’t a virgin anymore, the honor of owning the great De Luca wife will be enough to get over that. Tell me, how do you think she will look in a cage?”

Bile rises in my throat. I want to lash out, to throw something, anything. But the thugs are gripping my arms tightly, dragging me past the suited man begging for a taste, toward an isolated room at the back.

I have to move fast.

Scanning the area for anything useful, I spot a heavy crate near the corner, the edges sharp. The moment I’m close enough, I kick out with everything I have, hoping the noise might cover my next move. As the crate crashes to the floor, I lunge to the side, my foot sweeping across the dirt-streaked floor as I grab the lever—my last hope.

I yank it once more, desperate now. This time, there’s asatisfying click, a soft whirring sound. The door. It’s opening.

But I don’t have time to think.

I hear the thugs shouting, the sound of boots thundering behind me.

I run.

My feet pound against the cracked floor, the dim light flickering above me, casting eerie shadows along the walls. My heart races as I hear the thunderous footsteps behind me, closer now. Too close. I’m not fast enough.

A hand grabs my wrist, pulling me backward with terrifying force. I stumble, my legs almost buckling under me, but they’re too strong. The thug’s fingers dig into my skin, his grip unyielding as he drags me toward the back room.

“Thought you could escape, huh?” he sneers, his breath hot against my ear.

I try to twist away, to break free, but it’s useless. The other thug is already there, blocking my path, his eyes cold and calculating. In the blink of an eye, they’ve got me by both arms, shoving me through the door and into a small, dimly lit room.

The door slams shut behind us, and I’m alone.

Forty

When the door swings open,the buyer steps in, and the air in the room tightens around me like a noose. I force my chin up, a pathetic attempt at defiance, but my body betrays me. I’m shaking, not just from the cold but from the raw, bone-deep terror hollowing me out. The adrenaline that has kept me upright is gone, leaving nothing but weakness behind.

He smiles. Slow. Predatory. The kind of smile that belongs to something that enjoys the hunt as much as the kill.

His footsteps are deliberate, each one pressing against my fraying nerves until I feel like I might snap apart. When he reaches out, I flinch, but there’s nowhere to go. His fingers swipe across my lip, smearing the blood before he brings it to his mouth, tasting it like a man savoring the first bite of a long-awaited meal.

His gaze is hungry. And I know—I am the feast.

“What a prize you are, Gia,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with lust as he crowds me backward. My knees hit the chair, and I collapse into it.

He crouches down so that we are eye level, close enough that I can smell the leather and whiskey clinging to him. “My name is Lachlan Mackenzie, but you will address me asmaighstir.”

I don’t need a translation to understand exactly what he’s claiming to be. My stomach churns, revulsion crawling up my throat like bile.

Like hell.

I run my tongue over my busted lip, wincing at the metallic tang of blood before spitting it in his face. “Go to hell.”

The tension in the room snaps. His laughter is short and cruel, echoing like the crack of a whip. Then his hand is in my hair, yanking hard enough to bring fresh tears to my eyes. I swallow them back.

I won’t break.

“I’d be grateful, bitch,” he growls, his hot breath fanning over my face. His hunger dims, replaced by something colder, sharper. Rage. “If I hadn’t bought you, Savia would have thrown you into one of her worst whorehouses. So be a good little slut and thank me for saving you for myself.”

A tremor runs through me, but it isn’t fear. It’s fury. A wildfire in my veins. I bare my teeth. I’d rather take a bullet to the head.

---