Page 13 of The Bratva's Forced Kidnapped Bride
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” I said.
Mat Fokin had something secretive going on, using his wife as a cover. CJ was whip smart when it came to computers and had almost tricked me a few times. If it was somethinglucrative, I wanted it. If it was something that could harm me, I wanted it destroyed.
Masha shook her head again, all while staring warily at the clamp in my hand. The clear terror on her face was satisfying, but I couldn’t help feeling an inkling of respect that she still remained silent.
Why the hell wasn’t I shocking her yet? It was time to show her what she’d shown me. A complete and utter lack of mercy.
“Last chance to save yourself some pain,” I told her.
She closed her eyes and remained silent. Full of fury at both her and me, I cranked up the voltage, preparing for her shrill scream and the smell of singed flesh.
“Boss,” someone yelled down the stairs just as I was about to lay the clamp alongside her pretty, pale neck. “It’s urgent. Come quick.”
There was still time to shock her, still time to let her know I meant business. If I didn’t, I risked losing credibility. With a curse, I tossed the clamps aside, whirling to jog up the stairs and see what in the hell was going on. As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard Masha let out a long, shuddering gasp.
Good, that was good. Let her think about what was going to happen for a while longer; that was as good as any other torture. Now I had to find out what could possibly be more important than my revenge.
Chapter 11 - Masha
My head slumped to my chest as all the air in it gusted out of me in a sigh of relief. I was on the verge of puking as adrenaline pooled uselessly in my bloodstream. Ignoring the tools on the table next to me, I got my breathing under control and calmed my roiling stomach.
The chair I was tied to was a basic metal folding chair, all the better for conducting electricity, which had me feeling nauseated all over again, but also not very sturdy or heavy. It was impossible to know how much of a reprieve I had while Anatoli was called away, so I had to act fast.
Doubling over, I managed to get my feet firmly under me and lifted the chair off the floor. The rough rope Anatoli had used to tie me to it chafed at my wrists and cut into my midsection, but I ignored the pain. It had probably been arrogance or even impatience to get started that had kept him from tying my ankles to the chair legs, so I was able to inch my way to the table.
It was hellishly uncomfortable with the ropes digging in and the back of the chair thudding into my head as I stayed bent over, but I was able to maneuver around until I could get the very tips of my fingers on one of the knives. As I twisted it in my grasp, the razor-sharp blade sliced my skin, and I paused, not wanting to help Anatoli out and start cutting off my own fingers for him.
After a few breathless minutes that felt more like hours, I had the rope frayed enough to break free with a burst of concentrated strength. Still tied around the middle, I crashed to the floor with the chair on top of me, silently swearing as Iwaited for Anatoli or one of his guards to hear the ruckus and come barreling down the stairs.
All remained quiet in the torture basement, and no sudden burst of light appeared at the top of the stairwell. After another few seconds of sawing through the rest of the rope, I was free, at least from the chair. The door leading out of the basement was locked.
I started searching for something to pick the lock, not that I had anywhere to run to, but I wouldn’t sit and wait around for Anatoli to get another shot. I had been in plenty of fights, but never tortured. Taking a second out of my search, I tried to find a way to dismantle the generator he was going to use to shock me, feeling sick all over again.
My sister Lilia and I had gotten our hands on some unattended stun guns when we were kids and ran around trying to jolt each other, but what Anatoli had set up was much stronger than those little stingers. We’d barely yelped when we zapped each other, and hadn’t even been knocked out.
This thing was enough to kill if applied long enough. I knew because it was exactly the same setup I had used to try to shock some answers out of him. If a man as strong as Anatoli had screamed, it had to be bad.
“You’re wasting time,” I muttered to myself after fiddling with the generator for too long.
I was on the verge of getting lost in the sounds of those screams that echoed around in my memory, and I almost forgot I was searching for a way out. After everything I had done to Anatoli, he had to despise me, probably even more than I hated him, though I was getting there after the roller coaster he was putting me through.
I thought I was finished when he took me to the abandoned shack and left me alone to simmer in my fear. Then he married me and set me up in a comfortable room in a lavish mansion. I thought my time was up when he dragged me out of my bed, but then he had me sorting through files. Not exactly dangerous. Not so much as a papercut.
I was certain he was done with me when he saw I’d been scribbling all over the pages instead of heeding his command, but no. He took me to the kitchen and told me to have lunch. The refrigerator was full of fresh food, and I had almost begun to enjoy my sandwich, but I was distracted.
Not just by the constant fear that whatever came next might be extremely painful, but by the look in Anatoli’s gray eyes when he pushed me into the kitchen. Up until that moment, those eyes had been unreadable, blank, and unforgiving like a shark. But this time, the look he gave me was purely possessive, sending a shiver down my spine.
That wasn’t fear. The feel of his hard body against mine, the way he’d gripped my hair to force me to look at him, came rushing back. As strong as if he was crushing me to him again, but still four feet away. When his eyes raked over me, I could almost feel his fingers following the route.
Almost wanted it.
But no. I’d never be possessed by Anatoli Ovinko. I might have currently been his wife on paper, but I’d never belong to him. Never.
Snapping out of the maze of my thoughts, I pried open a closet door with a crowbar from the tool table, almost crying with happiness when I actually found a gun in there. And it was loaded. The pure arrogance of believing I’d never be able tobreak free. Well, I had done it, and before he could draw one drop of blood or rip one single scream from my throat.
Then it hit me that the gun might not have been accidentally placed there. It could have been the final step in the planned torture when he was done with me. Except that wasn’t happening. Tucking it into my waistband, I dragged the chair to the narrow windows set high in one of the basement walls. Shoving aside the nubby beige curtains, which had to have been left over from the previous owner since they were much too inviting for a torture chamber, sunlight flooded into the room.
The windows were locked, but one of the hammers took care of that. There was no time to wait and see if anyone heard the crash, and as soon as I brushed away the broken glass, I hoisted myself up.
