Page 40 of The Bratva King's Auctioned Bride

I swore ruthlessly, knowing all too well the tricks of staying under the radar. I was an expert at it, but I certainly wasn’t the only one with those skills.

“Was he alone?” I asked.

“We don’t know that yet, either,” my security expert said with a wince.

I didn’t shout or curse anymore, only strode away, taking out my phone. “Get your ass back here now,” I told Eldar as soon as he answered.

As pissed off as I was at him, I was willing to wait until Mila was safe to decide his punishment for everything. The lies, the auction, whatever else his greedy hands were in. For now, I needed him. Eldar knew the men I needed to find andhad at least enough of a relationship with them to possibly get information about why they were suddenly in Russia.

“What do you want now?” Eldar asked sullenly.

“I need some answers from you,” I told him, clenching my fist with impatience at his childishness. He just had to be in charge of every situation. It was why he had fought so often with my father when he was alive. “And I need you here.” There was no arguing with the tone of my voice. Anyone with half a brain who knew me would recognize it.

Not my uncle. “You’ll see me soon enough,” he snapped.

Realizing it was the best answer I would get out of the crotchety old man, I ended the call, going back to pacing, now with the added bonus of being irritated.

Not irritated enough to forget that underneath it all, a horrible feeling was welling up. I didn’t know where Mila was or if any of those men had her. If I’d ever see her again or hold her in my arms. Would I ever be able to coax a smile onto her beautiful face again? The thought that she might be suffering while I was unable to do anything to help her made me gasp for breath.

There was no denying I was truly afraid. Maybe for the first time in my whole miserable life, I was afraid.

Chapter 30 - Mila

The men stuffed me into a room, the secure clicking of the lock telling me I had no chance even if I could get untied. I was exhausted and filling up fast with despair as I was left alone in the darkness. The room was cold, almost too cold for comfort, but I was grateful because it made it easier to breathe through the bag that remained over my head. Still, it was stuffy, and my best option not to hyperventilate or straight-up suffocate was to remain still.

Hours must have passed as I fell into a fitful sleep for a while, waking up with a start when the door banged open so hard it hit the wall, scuffing against my feet. I scrambled to sit up, a nearly impossible task being tied up the way I was.

Someone untied the rope around my neck and snatched the bag away at the same time, someone else snapped on a harsh overhead light. Its glare blinded me, and for a few seconds after squeezing my eyes shut against it, all I could make out were blurry images. A deep voice grunted something at me in Russian.

The only thing I understood was that I needed to cooperate. Yeah, that wouldn’t be happening. Not if they took the cuffs off and untied my feet. I tried to ask him to repeat what he said in English, but my mouth was dry, and my voice was a mere croak. Instead, I shook my head to signify I didn’t understand everything he said. He must have taken that as defiance because the next thing I knew, a hand was whizzing toward my face, delivering a hard smack.

“Don’t mar her face,” the other warned. Or at least that’s what I thought he said since they were still speaking in Russian. He stood by the door, and as my vision improved, I saw that hewas about the size of two linebackers. So much for my plan to defy them once I was untied.

“I was just trying to ask you to speak English. If you can,” I said.

Both of them looked disgusted with me, and it would have been laughable if I weren’t so scared. It reminded me of my father, who was always a bit disappointed when I let my language skills lapse. Oh God, Papa. Would I ever see him again?

There was no telling where I was. The room they’d locked me in was windowless and completely empty except for a ratty old bookshelf with a few cardboard boxes stacked on top. An office building, a warehouse, hell, I could have been in someone’s basement for all I knew. As soon as I turned my head to get a better look at the place, I got another smack, this time in the shoulder.

“Stay still,” he barked. So I was right when I translated that he wasn’t supposed to mess up my face. “We’re taking you someplace else now. It’s going to be a lot of fun.”

I highly doubted that was the truth. Maybe for them, but it wouldn’t be for me, of that much I was certain. I scooted back, pressed against a wall with nowhere to go.

“It would be better if you don’t make a fuss,” he said, reaching for my shoulder to drag me up. I twisted my head and bit him, sadly not hard enough to draw blood.

He yelped anyway and drew his hand back, ready to let me have it in a way that would make it easier to carry me out of there. I braced myself for the blow, but the other guy stepped forward, pushing his hand out of the way.

His own hand wrapped around my throat and squeezed. Just enough to make me go still. His giant meat paw could havesnapped my neck like a second grader snapped a pencil in two. He leaned close, his hot breath leaving a clammy trail on my cheek.

“There are ways to hurt you without leaving a trace,” he said.

Oh, I knew it all too well. My brothers tried to shelter me, but I was always aware of what went on in hidden places like this one. None of it was ever good for the person in my position. I should have gone limp, but his threat had stubbornness bubbling up past my fear to remind me who I was, and that I was pissed.

I headbutted him so hard it made his beady eyes water. And mine. Still, it felt great, at least for a split second. It angered him enough to make him forget his orders, and he raised his hand. More like a shovel. This was going to freaking hurt.

My forehead throbbed and was sure to have a huge welt. Good. I stared at him defiantly. “You don’t want my face messed up for some reason,” I said.

Whatever that reason was, I wasn’t going to like it, so I’d keep messing it up myself. Scooting backward, I turned and slammed myself against the wall, scraping my cheek. Ignoring the pain, I reared back to do it again.

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