Page 61 of Deadly Knight (The Bratva’s Elite #2)

I see her.

I hear her.

She’s all I can hear.

Screaming.

Actually, not really. She’s not screaming on the recording because she didn’t scream that day. Because she’s so fucking strong, even when she spent the rest of her life doubting it.

In my mind, she’s screaming. Her pain is my punishment for not sending her back to the bonfire that night. For not doing what I vowed to always do and protect her.

I’ve been repenting every day since.

Light washes away the misery, and footsteps echo around me but I keep my head down, my limbs exhausted from jerking on the chair the fuckers tied me to, after they realized I’d found a way to turn away from the screen. This forces me to witness Katya’s demise.

Not demise. That’d imply she’s done for, when she’ll come out of this stronger than ever.

Now, me on the other hand?

The steps presumably belong to her four rapists, but I don’t have the energy to stare at them. To promise them a lifetime of misery, to be hunted until their skull is crushed beneath my boot.

“Oh my god!”

A feminine voice breaks through the misery and rage.

Katya.

Of course it’s her. She’s tied to the bed, forced to endure the unendurable while I do nothing, watching on.

Metal clangs in the background, louder than her rapists’ grunts, but I don’t look up. Steps approach, the question of who it is when they should be pinning her to the mattress isn’t formulating in my head how it should be.

Small, warm hands cup my face as a body drops to their knees in front of me, swearing. The touch is gentle, soothing, and welcoming to my numerous aches. Maybe it’s the reaper dragging me to Ad because it’s certainly where I’m headed after witnessing what I have.

My arms are freed for some reason, but they remain in position, tied by confusion and grief.

Silence permeates the room, stilted by the heavy breaths of the person holding me. The sounds of her being raped die down, peace filtering through my ears for the first time in— how long has it been since they kidnapped us? How long have I been watching this?

“Dimitri, look at me.”

I do. I lift my head, if only to ensure I haven’t completely lost my mind because there’s no way she’s here when she should be tied to the mattress. Did they let her go? That makes no sense.

A caramel shade of brown clashes with my eyes, widening as she scans my face. Her touch gets lighter on my cheeks, but I rest my hands over hers, unwilling to let her go. I don’t know why she’s here, or how, but I’ll be damned if they ever touch her again.

“You’re okay,” she whispers. “You’re safe.”

I’m safe? I wasn’t the one raped over and over.

More steps move closer, words of Russian being shared back and forth. Everything past the woman in my arms, who’s finally stopped screaming in my head, is muted. I barely catch words like recorded and days.

They can’t touch her.

Not again.

I won’t survive it.

I scramble to my feet, body swaying after being tied to a chair for all the hours they forced themselves on her, and push her behind me, glaring at the figures between the bars.

Bars?

Two women approach slowly but I shove Katya towards safety, arms out and teeth bared, fucking daring them to approach.

Two women? There should be four men.

“Stay the fuck away.”

One flicks a black braid over her shoulder and lifts her hand, gun in one, the other empty. Her finger remains off the trigger. “Dimitri…”

The men never called me by name.

Katya slides in front of me, despite my attempt to shield her.

She says something low to the others before twisting, her hands coming up to my cheeks again.

The swelling over my one eye makes her blurry and unfocused, but also somehow clear as hell.

I’m able to make out her braided hair, track sweater, and yoga pants, a knife in one hand.

She’s not naked. Not been raped. Not destroyed.

More so, she’s armed.

The fog over my vision lifts slightly.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “We’re here. Me, Vanessa, and Anastasia. Your family. We’re here for you. I’m so, so sorry, Dimitri.”

Vanessa, Anastasia…Katya.

Bars.

Recording.

Mikhail and Andrei.

It all comes back to me then, a series of images.

Beatings and torture as I’ve been kept captive, forced to wait out the undetermined length of time until Vanessa realized I was taken and traded me for my father.

Then the TV they wheeled in and forced me to watch the recording of that day. How long ago was that?

“Katya.”

She smiles tentatively, and I hate how uncertain she seems. I cover her hands again with my own, the extra pressure on my face painful from the numerous hits taken over the weeks.

“Everything’s fuzzy.” I lift my head, finding my cousin slowly approaching the door. “Sorry.”

Anastasia comes up beside her, holding a USB stick. She grimaces, glancing between Katya and I. “Fuck, I never could have imagined… fuck , Katya?—”

“Don’t.” Katya shakes her head, her hair brushing against my face. I breathe in the scent of citrus. A scent fresher than anything else this cell could offer.

I hold out my hand for the drive, intending to destroy it once we’re safe, and Anastasia hands it over without question. “Do you know how long they’ve had that playing?”

“They had it on a loop. The stream was seventy-two hours long—three days—and it was about halfway through.”

A fucking day and a half of being forced to witness past horrors. No wonder it fucked with my sense of past and present, blurring them together.

“We need to get out of here. Dimitri, you look like hell.” Vanessa crosses to my side, tucking herself beneath my arm to take some of my weight; I didn’t realize it was needed until she begins walking.

“I feel it too.”

Katya clings to my side, her hand tight around mine while she throws my other arm over her shoulder. Unlike my cousin who can handle my weight, I attempt to keep as much off her as I can.

Anastasia leads the way out of the room and into a dim hallway. I’m forced to release Katya to walk in front when we reach a set of stairs. My eyes remain on her, unwilling to let her out of my sight.

Seeing the past again…I’m torn between hiding her in a cell for the rest of her life to keep every fucker away, and setting her free to get far away from me, exactly like she’s been asking me to this entire time.

I don’t know at what point I finally understood her requests.

Clearly, I was a moronic teenager who believed he could take on the world when she was already facing her trauma.

I hid mine away, but she embraced hers. Recognized and accepted her limits.

I was one of those limits, though I didn’t realize it.

Not then, not for the past ten years, not until now.

It doesn’t stop me from grabbing her once upstairs, keeping her close for as long as she allows me to. I wonder why she’s here, how she knew to come, why she’s with Vanessa and Anastasia, fighting in a place that once was guarded, but realize I don’t want to know that answer. Not now, at least.

She shouldn’t be here, putting herself in this kind of danger. I want to demand she go home and forget what’s happening. I want to be pissed at Anastasia and Vanessa for bringing her.

I grip her tighter, my muscles crying when I squeeze her hip. Any pressure is too much, but it’s a pain worth experiencing in order to touch her.

“Stay here,” Vanessa orders when we reach the main part of the old jail. “I’ll send two guys down. Get Dimitri to the vehicle. I’ll take care of the issue upstairs.”

She helps me to a wall, shifting most of my weight against it, and disappears towards the stairs. Katya remains close, stroking my jaw over and over as she studies my injuries, the skin between her brows low. Anastasia wanders away with a whistle, pretending to be looking elsewhere.

“Why are you here?” I murmur, the need to know growing greater than anything else.

“It’s where I should have always been. Sorry for not realizing that sooner.”

Before comprehending the meaning behind her explanation, two Bratva soldiers appear in the doorway, immediately taking over for Katya, throwing an arm over each shoulder.

“Glad to see you alive, Volkov.”

Anastasia grabs Katya and keeps her close as they lead the way out of the building and into the dark outdoors. Nighttime or not, the fresh air after nearly two weeks is suffocating in that nourishing, refreshing manner. Or it’s all the injuries.

They rush me a few building lengths away and into a black SUV.

“My father?” I ask as they pile me into the back seat, spreading across two of the three seats.

“Still in prison,” Anastasia replies, easing at least one concern. “We killed Andrei and his men, no trade. Vanessa’s finishing up with Mikhail.”

Katya climbs into the back with me and stays close, her hand loose on mine which won’t do. I weave our hands together, staring at the stark difference. Not only of size, but my chipped nails and soot marks, and hers, clean and polished.

“What can I do?” she asks.

“Stay.”

She grabs my hand tighter and scoots as close as she can, her free hand resting over my heart. With her proximity, she gives me life, and my heart beats if only to feel her holding onto it.

“I won't be leaving again.”

We’ll see.