Page 22

ZOYA

A fist grabbed the hood along with a good chunk of my hair and pulled it away, blinding me with the pain and the light.

Why was it always the hair?

I winced, closing my eyes, trying to give myself a moment to adjust. That same hand was back in my hair, pulling, lifting my chin, while another hand grasped my jaw.

“Open those pretty little eyes, bitch,” an all too familiar voice said.

I didn’t need to open my eyes to know who it was.

But I still did, just to confirm my worst fear.

Mateo.

The man who was supposed to be my second in command had me tied to a fucking chair in a concrete room with nothing but a small table in the middle, a single caged light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and two armed guards at the door.

We were in my warehouse. My fucking warehouse.

The stupid fucker was holding me prisoner in my own goddamn warehouse.

One that the Ivanovs had already infiltrated.

If I survived this, I would never live it down. Who the fuck got taken by someone so fucking stupid?

Being taken by the Ivanov devil was one thing. He was strong, smart, and a fucking force.

Mateo was an entitled, money-hungry, drug-addicted bitch.

Who now had control of my men, including two of my armed guards who stood watching on either side of the door, their faces masks of indifference, their fingers resting on the triggers of their assault rifles.

Fucking traitors.

Cowards.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I seethed, ignoring the throbbing pain in my temples, the stinging ache in my scalp where I was sure I now had a bald spot, and every other single inch of my body that just hurt.

Mateo, the fucking pussy, was looking for weakness.

For something to exploit.

“Hello, boss,” he said with a sickly-sweet taunt. “You should be happy. I risked so many men to get you out of the clutches of the Ivanov bastard.”

“Gee.” I smiled back. “Thanks so much for the rescue. Now, how about you let me out of this chair, and we get back to work?”

Mateo let out a loud, hyena-like cackle.

God, I was going to enjoy killing him.

“Oh, it’s going to be so much fun,” he said as he tightened his hand in my hair and forced my head back further, making me stare straight into the blinding light bulb.

Another shock of pain pierced through my temples, straight into my brain. I had to fight back a wince.

“Let go,” I said.

“You are no longer in a position to make demands. In fact, you should have never been given a position to make demands of me or any of my men.”

“I wasn’t given shit. I spent good money for you. Clearly, I overpaid.”

He let go of my hair long enough to take a step back and then his arm flew through the air, his knuckles dragging across my face in a backhanded slap that sent fire through my head as my neck was yanked to the side.

The chair tipped, and I thought for a moment I was going to go over until he grabbed me by the hair again and forced me back into an upright position.

“You always were such a mouthy cunt, with your orders and demands, as if you had the right.”

“I do have the right, you dumb fuck. I pay you. And them. You work for me,” I seethed.

His hand flew through the air again.

This time I got closer to falling, the vertigo twisting my stomach, and I could taste iron in my mouth. It wasn’t a lot, but still.

“The only thing a dumb bitch like you should have ever been allowed to do is cook for my men and suck their cocks. That’s it. You are not worthy of giving demands. You’re just some blonde bitch that was given too much of daddy’s money. We are going to fix that.”

I had no idea how long the medication had been in my system.

What time was it? What time had I been given the IV? How long was I out the first time? How long had I slept in Roman’s arms?

The food I made took at least two hours, but past that I had no idea how long I had before I stopped clotting.

Shit.

“I’m a fair man. A loyal and righteous man.”

“You’re a disloyal drug addict who would be on a corner in Bogotá sucking cock for coke if your uncle didn’t sell you to Los Infideles as a child. You are nothing more than a foot soldier whose own people thought so poorly of you, they sold you to work for a Russian woman.”

The next hit came faster, stronger, and made the room spin. My eyes watered and my fingers pulled at the ropes, trying to find the knot so I could untie them. It was no use. The rough hemp cut into my skin, and I couldn’t find the knot.

They were tied so tightly my fingers tingled with the loss of circulation… or maybe it was because I still hadn’t replaced all the blood I lost.

“See, no class. No respect.” Mateo clicked his tongue like he was disciplining a small child. “Here’s how this is going to go. I suggest you listen.”

I clenched my teeth together and said nothing.

Waiting for whatever bullshit was going to come out of his mouth. If I knew what the fuck he was thinking, maybe I could find a way out of this.

Mateo grabbed a small card table and set it up in front of me. On top of it, he put my laptop, the one that was thrown to the floor when Roman abducted me.

He opened the screen, and even though there was a large crack splitting it down the middle, I could see the home screen of my bank, all ready for me to log in.

Fuck.

“So you are going to log in to your account. Then you’re going to transfer all of your money to me. Every red Russian cent of your husband’s money, and your father’s money. Absolutely every dollar to your name will be transferred to me and then I will let you walk out of here.”

“Hard pass,” I said, glaring at him. I had built this empire myself.

It took years.

I had taken the money my husband left me, and the money from my family now that my father was indisposed, and through ruthless ambition and sheer determination, built something new from the ashes of my father’s empire and what was left of Los Infideles .

Something that was mine.

The only thing left to avenge was the Ivanovs’ actions.

They had been the ones to burn Los Infideles to the ground; they had been the ones to topple my father’s empire by assassinating my brothers.

They had also been the ones to destroy my family’s name and reputation. As soon as I killed them, I would have righted that wrong and the world would be mine.

I had come too far, bled too much, to let it all be taken now by some misogynistic, tiny-dicked drug addict on a power trip.

“You will transfer the money,” he growled.

It sounded weak and pathetic.

“And if I don’t?” I asked, still meeting his gaze, still daring him with every fucking word.

“If you don’t,” he laughed and stepped over to me, his hand petting my breast through the thin cotton T-shirt I wore that still carried his scent, “then I will hurt you. I will hurt you until pain means nothing to you anymore. Then I will give you to the men. I will make sure they know their friends and family members who lost their lives to that Ivanov dog did so because of you.”

I scoffed, not wanting him to see how much his words scared me.

“I will tell them how those men gave their lives thinking that you were being hurt, were being held against your will, just to find out that instead of being a prisoner, you were that Ivanov devil’s slut. How many men do you think will want to fuck the Ivanovs’ newest whore?”

“Fuck you,” I seethed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be going first. In fact, I might just take you before I break you. Make sure you can still feel every single inch.”

“Every single inch? You mean both of them?” I asked, blinking up at him.

“Whore,” he said and hit me again. My ears rang and my headache was getting more intense by the moment.

I took deep, even breaths, trying to slow my heart rate. Maybe if the blood wasn’t circulating as quickly through my veins, I wouldn’t burn through the medication as fast?

Was that a good thing?

Normally I would say yes, but in this scenario, I wasn’t sure.

There was no way Mateo was going to let me walk out of here.

I either gave him the money and he threw me to the men anyway.

Or I didn’t, and he kept hitting me until I bled out.

I was going to die one way or the other.

Death was always a risk in this line of work. I knew that going in.

But it had never seemed as real as it did in this moment.

There was no hope. Not unless Roman came to take me back.

Would he?

I wanted him to. I wanted to believe that Roman was going to storm the castle and save me, but why? Why would he? Because he held me so tenderly after he fucked me? Because he took care of me in the shower?

No.

Just because he wasn’t a monster, despite what his reputation would have others believe, didn’t mean he cared about me. I wasn’t his girlfriend; I was his prisoner.

Even if he came to get me, that wouldn’t have changed.

No, I needed to realize that I was on my own. Like always. It was on me to save myself, to protect myself.

Life had shown me over and over that no one else could be depended on, and I needed to remember that.

“What’s it going to be?” Mateo asked, ripping my head back again. “Are you going to be a good girl? Or are we going to have a little fun first?”

Fuck him.

He wasn’t getting my money.

Mateo wasn’t going to let me walk out of here anyway, and I wasn’t going to let him become one of the richest men in the world.

“I’m not giving you the money. You’d only snort it all or shoot it up anyway.”

Mateo hit me again. And again. But his blows were growing weaker.

“You hit like a girl,” I seethed, and he responded with an uppercut straight to my gut. I coughed and doubled over, trying to protect myself.

He pushed the laptop in front of me, and then wrapped my hair in a fist, lifting my face up to stare at the screen.

“Log in,” he demanded.

“How?” I asked.

“With your fucking username and password,” he shouted.

“Asking nicely doesn’t change the fact that my hands are tied behind my back, dickweed.”

One of the men by the door barely stifled a laugh, and Mateo’s eyes shot over to him.

“You better be careful. Once the men stop respecting you, it’s only a matter of time before you’re tied to a chair with an asshole hitting you like a bitch.”

Mateo glared at the men, both of them standing on either side of the door, expressionless, fingers still resting on triggers.

I honestly had no idea which one laughed at him, but I didn’t need to know that to know the cracks were already showing.

This was why no one gave drug addicts power.

“If you try anything, one of those men is going to put a bullet in your fucking brain,” he said as he grabbed a large knife from the back of his pants and cut through the ropes at my wrists.

I brought my hands around my body and rubbed at the chafed skin while glaring at Mateo.

“If you shoot me in the head, then you’re really not getting my password.”

“Shut up,” he said again, and this time he held the hunting knife to my skin. The blade was rusty, dirty, and covered in God knew what.

What kind of self-respecting man didn’t take care of his tools? I didn’t care if he was a carpenter, a killer, a sniper, or a soldier. It didn’t fucking matter. It was disgusting, and just another example of how Mateo was not cut out for this world.

He didn’t have what it took to be a leader.

The fact that this little weasel was going to kill me pissed me off more than anything else. I held onto that anger.

Anger was good.

Anger helped you fight.

Fear, on the other hand, genuine fear, could paralyze you, especially if flight was not an option. Your instincts told you to play dead, to do what the crazy man said, do whatever it took to survive.

Fear might have its place by sounding an early warning or getting a person through a no-win situation.

But for me, in this situation?

Fuck fear.

Fear was my enemy.

Anger, however, was useful.

Anger got shit done.

I recognized there was a very good chance I was not going to survive, but I would make sure Mateo regretted ever laying a finger on me. I would be damned if I let this fucker take what I built.

“Log in,” he said again, pressing the knife harder into my throat. The dull blade grated against my skin, but it didn’t cut.

I reached out to the keyboard, my hands shaking as I typed in a username, MrsIvanov69, and a random password.

The page refreshed with little red letters telling me it was an invalid login.

“I’m not playing with you, bitch,” Mateo warned.

“Awe, really, but this is such a fun game.”

“Do it right,” he said. The hand that was gripping the blade shook, pressing it deeper into my neck, still not breaking skin, but the back and forth was irritating.

I reached out to the computer, and this time I typed in a different username.

GoFuckYourself123.

And another random set of letters for the password.

Maybe Mateo wasn’t as dumb as I thought he was.

Maybe he realized he needed me, and all I needed to do was buy time.

Eventually, he’d give up. Maybe only for a couple hours, maybe a couple days, leaving me down here to starve.

That was fine.

I needed time to figure out how I was going to get out of this.

Just because I would rather die than give this asshole any of my money didn’t mean it was on my short list of things to do today.

The page refreshed again, and again that brief message flashed: Invalid login attempt .

“You are trying my patience, bitch.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling. Good help is just so hard to find.”

Mateo hit me again. This time, he let the chair fall. My head banged onto the cold concrete, and I landed directly on my already injured shoulder.

The sadistic fuck then kicked me in the gut a few times. I coughed and choked with every single strike.

I tasted blood, but I wasn’t coughing it up, not yet.

I didn’t know how much longer that would last.

When he lifted the chair, he put me back in front of the computer.

“I’m done playing nice,” he growled.

Fuck him. He didn’t get to see my pain and he didn’t get to see my fear. He was only worth my indifference, and barely even that.

“But we were having so much fun,” I said, my words coming out as more of a wheeze before I dissolved into a coughing fit.

“Bitch,” he yelled in my face.

Vile spittle and rancid breath flooded my nose, making my coughing so much worse.

“God, I knew meth-mouth looked terrible, but no one warns you about the stench,” I said.

This time, it was his other hand that flew through the air. He slammed the butt of the knife into my temple, into the fresh stitches from earlier.

I toppled over again, but this time it wasn’t my shoulder that I was worried about.

He had opened stitches.

And I started bleeding.

Not a slow trickle, but warm, gushing blood that poured down my temple, soaking into my shirt. A hot, sticky reminder that I was running out of time.

The end was going to come so much faster than I thought.

I wasn’t going to get the chance to break myself out.

Only one word echoed through my head as the fear finally set in.

Roman.