Page 131 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

“Like what you see?” he jeers.

I look away. Maybe if I just calmly ignore him and he goes away …

“What does it matter? My brother might have been paying you to be his whore, but what if I want it free?”

He tugs my chain and my stomach collapses.No, no, NO!

“Is that so wrong?” he asks.

“Fuck you,” I spit.

He just smiles and undoes his pants. “That’s more like it.”

I strain away. “I love him, you know. It was real. No matter what I said.”

For some reason, this seems to piss him off more as he rips out a knife. “What the fuck do you know about what’s real and what’s not?”

Even as warning bells are going off in my head, the words are coming, rolling out of me. I can’t stop them. “I know I’d rather die than be fucked by you.”

His pants fall to the floor and his hand slides to the back of my head. “Honey, there’s time for everything.”

I strain away, but his hold is too strong. My arms are chained at my sides, my feet too. He shoves me so that I’m on my knees.

He yanks the roots of my hair hard, sending pain arcing through it. “I’m going to teach you a little lesson in manners. Clean out your dirty mouth.”

His cock is hard and aimed at my mouth.

Fuck.

He digs the knife’s blade into my neck. “Open your lips.”

No, no, no, fuck no. Not again. I escaped this.

He digs it in harder. “Do it. I’m going to fuck your face until you’re crying, then I’m going to fuck your pussy until you’re sobbing for more. And when I fuck your face, you’re going to taste how much you like Gavril’s brother fucking you. Do you understand?”

His breath smells like whiskey. I’m trembling. But when my mouth opens, I can’t stop what comes next. “Go ahead. I can’t promise I won’t bite it off.”

He digs the blade in so much that a tiny bead of blood forms on my neck. “Are you insane? You want to die?”

No, please, just let me go, I sob internally. But I show none of that to this monster. “Maybe you should’ve found out more about me before you decided to try and shove your nasty cock into my mouth,” I say.

“Bitch,” he rasps under his breath. He smashes me across the face with the butt of his knife. I fall to the ground with a cry, bleeding from the wound. “Boys!” More shaved, tatted men run in as he yells, “Undo her! We’ll send this fucking whore to the Albanians—they’ll teach her some manners before they send her back to us. If she survives.”

My blood runs cold. I don’t know much about the world that Gavril and Osip operate in, but I know that I don’t like the sinister tone in his voice at all.

“No,” I find myself saying, all my bravado gone. “Please, I …”

But as they’re hauling me away, someone steps in front of us. “Really, Osip. That won’t be necessary.”

“Don’t fuck with me now, Walsh. I’m not in the mood,” Osip snaps.

“I can take her myself,” Richard Walsh says easily, as if this whole scene and conversation is no big deal, just another campaign stop.

I’m still bleeding, my face throbbing. I would’ve thought that Walsh would look out of place here—clean-cut politician type amongst all this rust, these tattooed faces, these ugly brutes? But to my surprise, he fits right in. Deep down, he’s one of them—just like Osip is.

“You don’t think I’m up for it?” he continues. “You know I have my own … methods.” When he says the last word, his folksy demeanor slides off his face like a melting mask. It takes only the blink of an eye before all his kind demeanor is gone, replaced with something cold, cruel, and precise.

“Fine.” Osip waves his hand. “Just get her out of my sight. You can bring her back when you’re finished with her.”

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