Page 58 of Possessive Vows

I long to ravage and worship her, but not until I annihilate the demons lurking in her gaze.

Less than an hour later, I pull up to an abandoned building in the industrial park on the outskirts of the city.

Camilla doesn’t wait for me to open her door. I forgive her, since she remains alert and aware of our surroundings, and when I offer her my arm, she takes it without hesitation, but the stiffness in her body warns me against pulling her closer. She’s strung so tight I worry she’ll shatter at the slightest touch.

The two men I sent to help Yerik poke their heads up just long enough for me to confirm their locations. Terenti sits hidden on top of a nearby shipping container with a long-range rifle at the ready while Eduard lurks between the piles of discarded building materials closer to the front of the industrial park.

Yerik opens the side door before we reach it. I lead her into the building. The stench of fear and blood clogs my nostrils. Camilla smooths out her strides, gliding over the concrete with the bearing of a queen.

I tug her to a stop a few feet away from the curtain. Yerik followed my instructions and sectioned off a corner of the building, hiding the cruelties within using whatever supplies he found inside the building. Old sheets of black plastic draped over broken shelves, blue drums, discarded metal scraps, and so much more create a visual barrier between us and the men waiting for death.

I tilt Camilla’s face up to mine with a finger under her chin and study her expression.

She meets my gaze without flinching, and although misery lurks within her eyes, she stands with her conviction wrapped around her like a shield.

She is ready.

I caress her chin as I release her, silently ensuring her I will always be by her side, and turn to my trusted underling.

At my nod, Yerik slips through the maze of stuff into the torture chamber he created for our guests. Chains clink. Fabric rustles. A man snarls through a gag. The sound of a blow and scuffle carries through the curtain.

Camilla’s hand remains loose on my arm.

The man I saw in the alley when I first arrived in New York City spits and curses before asking in Russian, “Is this all you can do?”

Camilla flinches before digging her fingertips into the fabric of my sleeve.

As the captive speaks again, her pupils shrink and horror drains the color from her face. She lifts her gaze to mine. Recognition shines from her eyes, sealing the poor bastard’s fate.

With a single word, I command Yerik to move to the next man.

Yerik punches and gags his captive again before moving to the second vermin. Rope slides against rope before the sound of a body flopping to the ground reverberates through the building.

Camilla holds my gaze, but despite her resilience, she trembles from head to toe. Her hand inches higher on my arm. She lifts her other arm and fists the side of my coat.

I reach across myself, take her wrist, and guide her hand to the knife at my belt. She swallows and closes her digits around the hilt but doesn’t pull it free.

Water gushes onto the concrete. An empty bucket clatters across the floor. After a wet smack rings through the air, the second man wakes with a gasp and a groan. Yerik snarls a crude word before kicking him.

The man whines like a pup still in the whelping box. Camilla’s brows furrow.

“Beg me like you did when I first caught you,suka,” Yerik goads. “Plead for your life as though I might spare you if the sound of your voice pleases me.”

The man stutters before retching. Camilla wrinkles her nose, clenches her jaw, and tilts her head as though to hear him better.

Bones crunch. He screams before launching into a stream of desperate begging.

“That is better, but scream a little louder. We have an audience,” Yerik purrs in our native language.

Camilla may not understand the exact words, but by the tightness in her expression, I know she’s fully aware of what’s happening on the other side. Her eyes search my face, but her attention remains on Yerik and his prey.

Fabric rips. The man’s tone changes. Camilla flinches toward me and closes her eyes for the briefest of moments before training her full attention on me as though I’m the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

I cup her face and brush my thumb over the scars on her cheek. She nods, silently confirming both men hurt her.

I tuck her against my side, letting her keep her grip on my knife, and turn toward the door. But when I look over my shoulder to call out to Yerik, she speaks first.

Her voice carries loud and clear over the man’s plight.

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