Page 32 of Marked (Russian Sinners 1)

My heart pounded loudly behind its cage and I thought for sure it would give away my location. Maybe at one point it had held the tools needed to maintain the expansive property but now it looked rundown and ragged as it sat almost forgotten in the middle of a forest. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what was happening inside the building that would have multiple guards rushing to or from it.

There was nobody outside, the last guard just rushed through the door like there was an immediate threat going on.

“What is this,” I muttered to myself in a whisper.

Dimitry nor Sergei had given me limitations on where I could or couldn’t go as long as I stayed on the property. So I wasn’t doing anything wrong, although a heavy knot in my stomach warned me otherwise. The sun shone brightly, the warmth on my skin contradicting the cold dread I felt on the inside. I noticed a window on the side of the building and snuck over to it.

The window was slightly dirty so I wiped my palm through it carefully as not to make noise and a sharp exhale left me as soon as I saw the scene in front of me.

“What the fuck-,” my voice trailed off.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the man tied to the chair, his face a bloodied mess. I recognized him right away. He was one of the men that kept me captive for the last two weeks.

Then there was Dimitry, his sleeves rolled, his hands covered in blood. There was a coldness in his eyes that made an icy chill creep down my spine. Dimitry spat something in Russian and the man in the chair replied, but whatever he said, didn’t satisfy Dimitry as he swung again, catching the man in the side of the face with the punch. I could almost see the spittle of blood fly from his mouth as his head jerked hard to the right.

He’s interrogating him, I realized.

The brutality of this man hit me right in the gut, although it didn’t surprise me. After all, I thought him dangerous from the moment I met him. Why was he beating a guy that couldn’t possibly be a threat? He was tied to a chair for Christ’s sake. And the odds weren’t fair either.

I spied Nikolai and Sergei standing just behind Dimitry, each of their hands just as bloody as their leader. The three of them were dark shadows looming over the beaten man.

How could I trust these men to keep me safe, I wondered.

What should I do now? Run away? And go where? I was in a foreign country without any money, legal documents, nor a way to communicate with anyone. If I could only make it to the American Embassy, they’d take me home.

Oh my God, a thought struck me. What if these guys were connected to Boris?

Chapter Fifteen

Dimitry

We were on the furthest edge of Sergei’s property where a warehouse stood hidden from anyone that didn’t know how to look for it.

One of Anastasia’s kidnappers was captured for questioning. Sergei’s men found him lurking ten miles from here asking locals about seeing a foreign woman. Fucking idiot! Those locals were loyal to us; we ensured they were taken care of and safe from men like this asshole and brutality of the rússkaya máfiya.

There weren’t that many foreign women roaming around these parts. Besides, his description matched Anastasia exactly. He was searching for a foreign woman with emerald green eyes. There aren’t too many women with green eyes like hers.

I had to rein in my rage to ensure I didn’t kill him before we got information out of him. Sergei’s property was so large that although we were twenty minutes from the house, we were close enough to ensure if something happened, we would make it back on time.

“Where is he?” I snarled at one of Sergei’s men that captured him.

“Third room on the left,” Andrey responded.

He was Nikolai’s guy who had met us here two days ago. It ensured we had plenty of security if shit went down between Boris’ men and us.

Nikolai and Sergei were right behind me.

“Dimitry,” Nikolai warned. “Wait until we get the information before you kill him.”

He knew me well. Anastasia’s bruised face kept flashing in my mind, her body covered in bruises as the doctor examined her.

The man was sitting on a metal chair, arms cuffed behind his back. He was passed out, head hanging over his chest. I took a bucket of ice water splashing it across his face. He woke up with a jolt, gasping like a fish out of water.

I dropped the bucket with a loud thud, clenching my fist. I wanted to punch his face over and over again until he could no longer see out of those two damn eyes. I rolled up my sleeves, knowing eminently the way this was going to end. I knew for a fact it wouldn’t end well for him.

“Tell me about the girl,” I spat in Russian.

“What girl?” My fist connected with his face before he could even finish his word. The blood spurted out of his mouth and his nose.

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