Page 15 of Reign of a Billionaire
“Leave her alone,” I snarled, pushing against the men who surrounded me. “Run, Rora!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
She bolted while I started after her, but before I had a chance to send whispered prayers to Ma in heaven, I was knocked unconscious.
The hum of men’s voices pulled me back to awareness.
“Should we tie him up?”
I stiffened at the sound of someone laughing. “Why? There’s nowhere for him to go.”
My nostrils filled with a mixture of blood, metal, and sewage as I lay on my side, unmoving. I cracked an eye open just in time to see a steel-toed boot swinging in my direction, hitting me in the torso.
I grunted, spitting out blood.
“Look at that, the pampered prince is awake.” One of them chuckled. I pushed myself up, my limbs screaming in protest, and glared at them. My eyes darted to each one of them, memorizing their features, so when I was rescued, I could describe them to my brothers.
We’d find them and end them all.
“Someone looks pissed off.” Another kick. My nostrils flared, but before another could land on me, I jumped to my feet and struck him in the shin.
A painful howl bounced off the walls of the dark room. Someone pushed my face roughly, my head hitting the wall, but this time it didn’t hurt as much.
Instead, I focused on the group of men surrounding me. Ignoring their taunting glares and smiles, I searched for their faces, their positions. My brothers always said to locate the weakest link among bullies.
Except, none of them looked weak.
Before I could devise a plan, a pair of hands wrapped around my throat and my back slammed against the rocky wall. My sight flickered, and when I opened my eyes, I blinked to refocus and get myself out of danger.
“Wanna fuck with me?” I dangled in the air, pressed against the corner. The scent of stale alcohol was heavy on his breath. Nausea gripped my throat, but I refused to go down without a fight. I swung my arms and legs, unable to reach him. When I couldn’t land a punch, I twisted my head and sunk my teeth into his wrist.
He dropped me, and I landed on my feet.
“I’m glad we have a fighter here.” The sound of the metal door opening drew everyone’s eyes away from me and landed on the man who just entered the room.
Expressionless face. Bottomless eyes. Menacing smile. I knew no saving would come from him.
His eyes zeroed in on me, taunting and cruel. Dread settled in my stomach, and somehow I knew running away from this situation wouldn’t be easy.
The door behind him remained open, and I took my chance, my heart soaring with hope. Bolting through the group of men like I was in the Olympics, I barely made it out the door when a snap of electricity surged through me.
I fell to my knees, grunting with pain, and glanced over my shoulder, only to lock eyes with the man who held a tiny remote in his hand.
“I’m Ivan Petrov. Welcome to my realm, boy.”
Chapter 8
Kingston, 10 Years Old
Torture center.
The only time I saw the light of day was when I was brought here to train. Snow covered the ground as far as the eye could see—even the trees in the far distance were cloaked in white.
Everything about this place screamednightmare. Dark and damp castle walls. Ghosts roaming the halls at night, some of them laughing, others crying. Twilight had arrived once more, and longing slammed into me. I yearned to feel the breeze on my face. To smell the air that I knew would be as fresh as the snowfall. I’d even stand in the snow if I could.
It’d been two weeks.
I was brought to this godforsaken facility every day. Some of the boys called it the training center. Orthe death ring. Ivan Petrov said it was a room designed for hand-to-hand combat and weapons training. The looks on the fighters’ faces told me there was more to it.
I got my confirmation as I waited for my turn in the ring.
