Page 8 of Captive Vows (The Dubinin Bratva #1)

GAbrIELLA

W aking up groggy and disoriented was the first indication that something was wrong. Feeling the after-effects of whatever drug that thug had shot me up with was another.

My dad never gave me an indication that he was a good guy. I knew he was associated with some sketchy people.

But until now, when I woke up in a locked bedroom after being dragged out of my home, I hadn’t realized he knew people in the freaking Mob.

As in the Mafia.

Like all these suited guards and militant men who entered my room to provide me with cold glares and food.

If I were the kind of person to wallow in being a victim, I’d convince myself that I deserved these glowers and expressions of loathing.

I hadn’t made it easy for them, fighting each person to come in here for the sake of getting the hell out of this place.

But I didn’t. I was a victim. I hadn’t asked to be taken. I hadn’t put myself in any position to warrant being kidnapped like this and held captive.

I refused to wallow and accept it, though.

They had me now . They were keeping me here against my will for the time being.

I’d be damned if I took that as my fate, though.

Every time the locks clicked open, I tensed and braced myself to fight back and figure out an escape. Any chance I could get to bolt, I’d take it. They were quick to realize I was capable of protesting, fighting back, and squirming to get free.

At first, they came one at a time. That one bastard thought that aiming a gun at me would kowtow me into a defeatist attitude.

It hadn’t. I wasn’t stupid. If they’d wanted me dead, they would’ve killed me already.

They hadn’t.

If they wanted me harmed, they wouldn’t have hesitated to beat me and mark me up.

They didn’t attempt to wound me.

Putting a gun in my face was just a scare tactic, and I wasn’t falling for it. Yet, seeing how all these men were packing was no joke. These men were members of a criminal organization. The Mafia. I heard the Dubinin name mentioned, and that alone was plenty to convince me to watch it.

My captors weren’t amateurs. They weren’t imposters. Each and every one of these guards who entered was capable of killing.

So, when on the fourth day of being held here, I tried to fight my way free, I saw how far I was pushing my luck.

Luck seemed like a cruel tease. I wasn’t lucky to have been kidnapped without a damn explanation.

I wasn’t lucky to have been shoved in here with no weapons, no means of escape, not a single way to contact anyone.

And I sure as hell wasn’t lucky to be taken from my life, to be held away from Amy’s studio and the freedom to go to my few dance lessons that were the sole purpose of my life.

They came in threes now, one man to bring water, food, or clothes and then two more as backup. Always packing. Always with their hands on their guns, ready to defend themselves or to remind me that I had no power here.

“Let me go,” I ordered. It was the starting line of a greeting I gave them. No matter which rugged and stone-faced brute it was, I told them all the same thing. Submission wasn’t happening. Not from me. So long as I could breathe and stand, I would fight to get out of here.

This captive bullshit wasn’t the life I was supposed to live. I was supposed to be on stage or learning how to get there. I was powerless and outnumbered. I still didn’t know anyone to save me. But dammit, I couldn’t give up.

“No.” That one-word reply was all the guard said as he set down a pile of brand-new clothing. A short stack of it was accumulating on the narrow side table where the other garments sat untouched.

I’d drunk the water so I’d stay hydrated.

I ate some of the food so I could keep my strength up.

But I’d be damned if I acquiesced to wearing the clothes they brought in.

To do so would be a step toward admitting defeat.

It would give them another clue to assume I was accepting the fact that I’d been taken and would be held.

Too many questions pinged in my mind. All day and night, trapped in here with nothing to do but worry and panic, I failed to answer any of them.

Why I was taken. What the Dubinin Mafia would want with me.

Why my father hadn’t tried to help me. So many questions plagued me during the torment of waiting for answers from these men.

But I knew better than to ask them for an explanation. They were all the low-level grunt men, the soldiers and guards. I needed to speak with someone in charge, and once I did, I’d demand my release.

“Then let me talk to your boss.” I crossed my arms and tipped my chin up defiantly. These assholes wouldn’t see me weak. Yet, as I stood straight, I felt tired and nervous deep inside. Tomorrow would be five days, and I wasn’t sure I could manage to remain this tough.

The man who offered me the clothing started to smile. Dark and sinister in a suit, he showed me a cocky smile I didn’t care for.

“You want to see the Boss?” he mocked.

“I want to talk to your boss,” I repeated.

“Just talk?” With a slow, leering look that he roved up and down me, he suggested that if he were to have his way with me, he’d have other things in mind than merely talking. So far, none of them had tried to touch me. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t surprise me yet.

I tightened my arms over my chest and pressed my lips tighter together.

“The Boss will deal with you as he sees fit,” the man replied in that damn teasing tone again.

Hearing him mock me was too much. I got it. I got the big picture. I was stuck here with no defense, no options. And I was sick of feeling helpless and without power.

“Then tell him that I demand a discussion about why I am stuck here.”

“Oh. You demand?” he taunted, leaning closer to sneer at me. “You’re nothing. You’re no one. And it might do you well to accept it.”

If he’d said anything else, I might’ve been able to rein in my temper. But he’d chosen to demean me and remind me of this supposed inferiority that I was supposed to be okay with.

I wouldn’t.

And I showed it by punching him. I’d struck out at them before.

I’d kneed men in the nuts, like Tony when he tried to rape me.

Self-defense was something I’d taught myself, just like I had learned to dance by watching dance tutorials and videos.

I bet my form was all wrong, but I’d done it right.

My fist popped him in the face. A sickening crunch came with my hit.

From how he groaned and staggered back, his hand over his face, I’d gotten him good.

The other two raised their guns, and this time, as the other man reeled back and growled in pain, I worried they really would shoot me.

I wouldn’t take it back, but I feared the repercussions I could face for fighting this hard.

“What the fucking— You bitch!” The man I punched lowered his hand and scowled at the blood in his palm. Deep red and flowing fast, it leaked from his nose.

“Let’s go.” The thug to his right grabbed his arm and propelled him to retreat.

The third, the man on the punched one’s left, kept his gun trained on me as they backed up toward the door.

It closed after them with a slam. Despite watching them go and knowing the door would shut with a bang, I flinched.

Then as I stared at the door for another long moment, partly afraid and partly curious whether they’d realize I wouldn’t ever stop trying to get out of here, I wished this wasn’t happening to me.

That I’d been born to someone else. That I’d lived elsewhere, somewhere on this planet where I had an ally and a friend. Anyone.

But it’s just me.

I would always only have myself.

With that depressing thought, I let out a deep exhale and hung my head.

It wasn’t a simple matter of being alone again and having the luxury of lowering my guard.

I couldn’t. I wouldn’t dare to relax just because I was the only one in the room now.

Cameras were no doubt posted on the walls.

Eyes were on me. Ears, too. I knew better than to assume I wasn’t being watched, and with how I’d just punched and broken that man’s nose, I wondered how long it would take for someone to come and react to it.

Shaking out my hand that stung with the punch I’d thrown, I spun away from the door.

Giving it my back felt like a stupid mistake, though. As soon as I pivoted, the locks clicked once more. Someone was already coming in here.

Tense and shaking with how tightly my muscles bunched, I waited for the men to enter again.

Only one did.

A taller man with graying hair strode into the room like he was in charge. His eyes were just as cold and serious as the others’. But this hulking individual wasn’t one of them.

I knew from just one look.

I felt the change in the air.

He exuded power. Dominance. Authority.

Refusing to show an ounce of fear, I narrowed my eyes as I faced him squarely.

With every second of him stalking toward me like a predator hiding in the disguise of a finely tailored suit that clung to him perfectly, showing he was as fit and toned as his soldiers and men, I wanted to quiver.

The instinct to cower and tremble hit me, but I resisted it.

I was too determined to stand tall and strong.

Letting this brutish but distinguished older man see a hint of intimidation would only be the start of my downfall.

Extending his arms, he lowered his hands to straighten the cuffs of his jacket. Even those movements were fluid and graceful. He moved like a panther, like a powerful being at ease with his identity and unafraid to control everything that could impact him.

Watching me stare at him, he arched one brow. It wasn’t a sign of amusement. It wasn’t an expression of anything but what I could interpret as mild intrigue.

“What?” I demanded, pissed at how shaky that single little word was as it came from my lips.

“You asked to see me?” he replied.