Page 1 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

Prologue: Milaya

I’m running for my life.

My lungs are screaming at me. They’re filled with fire, acid, lightning. My body wants me to stop. It’s practically begging at this point. I don’t know how long I’ve been running. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to run if I want to escape. I don’t know if escape is even an option anymore.

The men pursuing me want me so they can break me.

They’ve come close to doing that already. All the days and nights I’ve been under lock and key in their fucked-up mansion of shadows and secrets have pushed me close to the edge. This is my last chance to get away before they finish what they’ve started.

They told me I’m their princess. They said thattheyserveme.

What a load of fucking bullshit.

For a while, they almost had me fooled. As whips turned to caresses and cruelty turned to kisses, I started to believe the lies they were feeding me.You’re safer with us. We want what is best for you. We are on your side.

Lies, lies, and damned lies. I’ve been a pawn since the beginning.

I almost preferred the way things were at first, on those first few nights after they kidnapped me. Back then, I could understand their hatred for me. I could understand why they wanted to make me scream until my throat was raw and my voice gave out.

We were enemies, plain and simple.

But nothing is plain and simple anymore.

One thought runs through my head on repeat, a broken record:Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.If I stop, I die. Simple as that. There are no second chances in this game I was born into. The men on my trail will kill me with their bare hands.

And the sickest thing of all is that part of me believes I deserve it.

Maybe I didn’t choose to become an expendable piece on their chessboard. It was just my birthright. The blood in my veins is what brought me here.

But I’ve made all my own choices since then—that is, if choosing between death or captivity can even be considered a choice. So perhaps I’ve earned this ending. Perhaps I brought it all upon myself in some sick, twisted way.

The alley is long, damp with rain, cloaked with shadows. My feet pound the pavement. I don’t have much longer before my body simply quits on me. It has been through so much already. I have been stretched and bent and broken during my nights in the Bianci Castle. Who knows how much fight I have left in my bones.

I can hear the breathing of the men behind me. Their footsteps are heavy and pounding. Four men, almost one thousand pounds of hot muscle and seething rage, have spread themselves out in the night to encircle and ensnare me.

Getting this far was a miracle.

And, as I’m beginning to realize, getting any farther will soon be an impossibility.

I go left, then right, winding through the labyrinth of interconnected alleyways. I run until I’m aware that suddenly, I don’t hear my pursuers anymore.

There is a rectangle of light at the end of the alleyway I’ve found myself in. I go towards it. My bare feet splash through puddles, crunch broken glass, step past rats and cockroaches skittering around the dark concrete. I’m bleeding, crying, sweating—but I can’t slow down.

I reach the mouth of the alley, burst out onto the street, and race halfway across without even bothering to check for oncoming traffic. I don’t care anymore. If I die smeared across the grill of a taxi—well, so be it. Just another cruel twist of fate from an uncaring universe.

The night around me is silent and oppressive. It feels like the very air itself wants to suffocate me with its weight. Humidity and darkness combined are like a hand pressing against my chest, stopping me from drawing in a full breath. Time—brief, precious seconds—meanders past at the pace of a predatory shark trawling dark ocean waters.

I don’t have much of it left.

I freeze in the middle of the road. There is a streetlight at the intersection fifty yards to my left. The lamp casts a cone of orange light that looks far too warm and friendly for what’s happening to me right now. I think, with the same dark sarcasm that has stuck with me throughout this entire nightmare, that whoever designed this world fucked up. That light should be a cold, vicious blue. Fluorescent. The kind that exposes everything.

The first night I woke up in the castle, that was what greeted me. Harsh light. Illuminating faces that looked just as cruel, all sharp angles and deep shadows around the eyes—but God, those faces were beautiful, too. They made me understand why angels chose to follow Satan. Darkness can be beautiful. Tempting. It can swallow you whole and make you love every second of it.

The cone of light is empty. It reveals bare sidewalk, nothing more.

Then I blink.

A man steps into the light.

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