Page 63 of Nikolai

"Novikoff has more power than you can imagine, and no matter what you do, I won't talk." He looks to his wife, who barely breathes. "My wife will die, and I won't rot in jail for it. You may as well put a bullet in me now." His chin lifts in defiance.

"You are a coward," I sneer. "Cowards don't deserve to die so easily. You will tell me what I need to know." I step closer to him and hit him with a blow to the back of the head and watch him slump to the floor at my feet. I look back at the men behind me. "I require the use of your basement," I look at Jake, who grins.

"You got it." With no words spoken, Quinn and my brother lift James's limp body off of the floor. I toss my keys to Logan. "Throw him in the trunk of my car."

"What about the mother?" my father asks.

"Place an anonymous call to the proper authorities. From this moment on, she is not my concern." My words are cold and detached.

A short time later,we've arrived at the clubhouse, and Gabriel unloads our guest of honor from the trunk of my car. My father joins me as we enter the clubhouse. "Any word on Maxim?"

"Only that he is being taken to surgery as we speak. They wouldn't release any further details." Stepping aside, my father lets me enter the basement first, where The Kings wait for us.

The air in the room is warm, humid, and smells of death. Rolling up my white shirt sleeves, I eye my prey as I circle the room. Jake and his men, along with my father, stand around the perimeter as my audience. I lock eyes with James, who is bound by his ankles and wrists to a chair in the center of the room. James watches my every move. Stepping up to him, I strike him with the back of my hand. Not allowing him to recover, I fist his hair, yanking his head back and bury my fist in his face. I feel the crunch of his teeth cracking against my knuckles. The rush I get from inflicting pain has me repeat the process a few more times until his face is a bloody mess, and his nose is at an unnatural angle. Releasing him, I roll my shoulders.

I make my way to a nearby shelf where various tools are located. Eyeing a screwdriver, I pick it up, shove it into my back pocket, and then lift another item off the shelf. "Where did Novikoff take Leah?" I ask as I walk toward him with a pair of garden shears in my hand. When I get close enough, James spits at my face. "Go to hell."

Grabbing hold of his hand, I lift his index finger, placing it between the blades. He goes from ten fingers to nine in a matter of seconds. James screams. "Fucking pussy. We've hardly started, and you're squealing like a stuck pig." Dropping the sheers, I pull the screwdriver from my pocket and drive it into the thigh, twisting and digging around in his flesh before ripping it from his body. I feed off his torturous screams as I do the same to his other leg, giving him no time to beg me to stop.

"Forgive me," James sobs like a pussy, snot running from his nose as he begins to crack. "I fucked up." Bloody spittle flies from his mouth. "I fucked up, and Leah was the price I had to pay." He hangs his head.

"You would give your only daughter to a man who sells women to the highest bidder, just to save your own worthless life."

"Forgive me," he repeats.

Bending, I grab his face in my hand and squeeze. "Where is she?" I seethe.

"She's long gone. You are too late," he struggles to look at me.

"Where?" I drive the screwdriver into his stomach, causing his eyes to bulge.

"Russia," he screams in pain. "He's taking her to Russia."

My woman is gone, taken by a skin dealer, to a country thousands of miles away due to her father's sins. Her being my wife will keep her alive for a time, but not for long. He will not sell her until he has gotten what he is after—my empire.

"Please, I told you what I know. Have mercy." James begins to beg for his life.

"Mercy? Where was your mercy for your daughter?" I press the barrel end of my gun between his eyes. "You'll find no mercy in this room." I put a bullet in his head.

22

Leah

Thump, thump, thump. What is that noise? Thump, thump, thump. Is that my heart? Am I dreaming? Can a person dream about dreaming?

"We take off in five, boss."

Wait. Who is that talking? What does he mean by take-off in five?

I struggle to open my eyes as the voices that surround me continue to speak. One was in English, the others in Russian. It doesn't take long for my memories to come flooding back. My mother's near lifeless, beaten body lying on the bed, and my enraged father dragging me away from her by the hair on my head just before handing me over to that monster, the one whose voice I recognize now. Listening to the sounds around me has my heart rate increasing, the pounding of each beat knocking against my ribcage.

Finally, my eyes open, and I blink several times as my vision fights against the blinding white light.

"Nice of you to join us, Mrs. Volkov."

I jerk my head in the direction of the man speaking. My limbs are heavy, but I manage to lift my hand to my face and rub my palm against my eyes, clearing away the fog. It takes a minute for my eyesight to clear, and when it does, I focus on the man sitting six feet away to my left. Novikoff.

A million thoughts start running through my head as my senses come rushing back with a vengeance. My once numb legs begin to prickle as the tingling sensation in them fades. The whooshing sound in my ears intensifies with every breath I take as I realize that I'm in a terrible situation. My eyes dart around what I can only guess is the interior of an airplane. My nails dig into the armrest of the seat I'm sitting in as several armed men flit about the cabin as if kidnapping a woman is an everyday occurrence.

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