Page 8 of Salvation (Reckless Kings MC #6)

Yulia

Pain pulsed behind my eyes, a steady throb that dragged me from the darkness into unwelcome consciousness.

I tried to lift my hand to my head but found my wrists bound together with something tight that bit into my skin.

Panic flared, momentarily overriding the pain.

My eyes snapped open to darkness, then adjusted to reveal dim shadows cast by a single flickering bulb hanging from a concrete ceiling.

This wasn’t the fair. This wasn’t home. Cold dread settled in my stomach as memories flashed -- cotton candy, colored lights, Salvation’s warm gaze just before we lost Clover in the crowd. Before everything went black.

Clover. My heartbeat accelerated. Where was she?

I forced myself to sit up despite the way the room tilted around me.

The damp and cold from the concrete floor seeped through my jeans.

Concrete walls surrounded us in a small, windowless box.

A basement, maybe. Or a storage room. I scanned the space and my breath caught when I spotted a small figure huddled against the wall.

“Clover?” My voice came out as a rasp, my throat raw as if I’d been screaming.

She lifted her head, face pale in the weak light. Zip ties bound her wrists together in front of her, matching mine. Her eyes were red-rimmed, mascara streaked down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying now. She stared at me with a shell-shocked expression that broke my heart.

“Yulia,” she whispered. “You’re awake.”

I scooted toward her, ignoring the wave of nausea that followed the movement. “Are you hurt?”

“Just scared. I never should have gone back to that henna booth. They grabbed me while I was looking at the tattoos and deciding if I wanted one. Put something over my mouth. Then not much later, they took you too.” Her voice cracked. “They dragged you into the van and took off.”

I reached out with my bound hands, brushing hair from her face. My fingers trembled slightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“Not your fault,” she murmured, leaning into my touch like she had as a small child. Despite everything, my heart swelled with love for this girl who wasn’t mine by blood but was mine in every way that mattered.

The Bratva. It had to be. After eleven years, they’d finally found me.

My father’s enemies, coming to finish what they’d started when I was sixteen.

I traced one of the silvery scars on my wrist with my thumb, the familiar gesture bringing no comfort now.

I’d always known this day might come, had prepared myself for it, but I’d never imagined they’d take Clover too.

“It will be okay, malishka ,” I whispered, my accent thickening as it always did under stress. “Your father will find us.”

“How?” Her voice was so small, so afraid.

“He’s Salvation.” I tried to sound confident. “And the entire club will be looking. The Reckless Kings do not abandon their own.”

Clover nodded, pressing closer to my side. I wrapped my bound arms around her as best I could, ignoring the bite of the plastic ties. We sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the distant hum of what might have been a furnace or water heater.

Then, voices filtered through the thin door -- men arguing. I stiffened, straining to hear.

“-- too fucking low,” one voice snarled. “They can afford more. They got the whole drug trade locked down.”

“Don’t be stupid,” a second voice replied. “Two hundred grand is plenty. Push for more and they’ll just come gunning for us.”

“That’s the whole point of hostages, dipshit. Insurance.”

“These ain’t just any hostages. That’s Salvation’s kid. And his woman.”

“Exactly. Time to teach those Reckless Kings a lesson in humility. They walk around like they own this town.”

I frowned, confusion replacing some of my fear. These weren’t Russian accents. There was no mention of my father, of taking me back to face punishment. Just talk of ransom and teaching the club a lesson.

The realization hit me like ice water. These weren’t Bratva professionals sent to collect me. They were local thugs who’d targeted the club, and Clover and I had been convenient targets at the fair.

Relief made me dizzy for a moment -- relief that this wasn’t about my past. But it was quickly replaced by new fear. Amateur kidnappers were unpredictable. Dangerous in different ways than trained Bratva soldiers would be.

“Two hundred thousand, final offer,” the second voice continued. “We’ll be in touch in the next hour, give them proof of life, and set the drop for midnight.”

“That’s not much time. What about six in the morning?”

“I guess that works,” the second voice said.

“Fine. But I still say --”

The voices faded as the men moved away from the door. I looked down at Clover, who had gone very still against me.

“They want money,” she whispered. “Dad won’t give it to them, will he?”

I shook my head slightly. “No, malishka . The club doesn’t pay ransoms.” I kept my voice steady, though my heart raced. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t come for us.”

Clover trembled against me, and I felt wetness on my arm where her face pressed. Silent tears. I shifted to pull her closer, shielding her with my body as if I could somehow absorb her fear.

“Do not cry, little one,” I murmured, pressing my lips to the top of her head. “We will be strong, yes? For your father.”

She nodded against my shoulder, but her tears continued to fall, soaking into my shirt.

I held her tighter, my mind racing. They would call the club.

Make demands. Show proof that we were alive.

And Salvation… what would he do? I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t sit and wait.

Wouldn’t follow their instructions. He would come for us with the fury of a storm, bringing the entire club with him.

And these men -- these stupid, amateur kidnappers -- had no idea what they’d unleashed.

I stroked Clover’s hair, whispering reassurances in a mix of English and Russian, while part of my mind calculated. How long had we been here? How long would it take the club to track us? What would our captors do when they realized their mistake?

Footsteps approached the door again. I tensed, angling my body to keep Clover behind me as the lock rattled. Whatever happened next, I would protect her. This girl who had become my daughter in all but blood. This child who had helped heal my broken pieces over the years.

I was Bratva born, and now I was a Reckless King’s woman.

These men would learn there were fates worse than dealing with the club.

They would learn what happened when they threatened a mother’s child.

I’d been weak and defenseless before. Now I had a true reason to fight, and I’d give them hell if they tried to hurt Clover.

The door began to open, and I narrowed my eyes against the sudden light, keeping my body between Clover and whatever came through that door.

It swung open with a rusty creak, flooding our dim prison with harsh fluorescent light from the hallway beyond.

Two men filled the doorway -- the smaller one flicking a wall switch that brought our single bulb to full strength, temporarily blinding me.

I blinked away the spots in my vision, taking their measure as they stepped inside.

Not Bratva. Not professionals. Just local trash who’d made the worst mistake of their lives.

The taller one stood in front with a lazy confidence that marked him as the leader.

Lanky but wiry, with dirty blond hair pulled back in a greasy ponytail.

His most distinctive feature was the tattoo that slithered up his neck -- a green and black snake that curved from beneath his collar to behind his ear.

Cheap work, prison-done from the look of it.

His companion was shorter but broader, muscles straining the seams of his T-shirt.

His head was cleanly shaved, with a jagged scar bisecting one eyebrow.

Snake Tattoo carried a plastic bag in one hand and a smartphone in the other. He tossed the bag at my feet, where it landed with a soft thud. Through the thin plastic, I could make out the shapes of water bottles and fast-food containers.

“Dinner time, ladies,” he said, his voice matching the one I’d heard through the door. “Don’t say we don’t treat our guests right.”

Behind me, Clover shifted closer, her fingers digging into my arm hard enough to bruise. I welcomed the pain -- it helped me focus, kept the fear at bay.

“What do you want from us?” I asked.

Snake Tattoo smirked. “Just a little insurance while your biker buddies put together our money. Nothing personal.” He glanced at his shorter companion. “Isn’t that right, Marco?”

The shorter man -- Marco -- grunted, his gaze darting nervously around the room rather than looking directly at us. “Let’s just get this done, Vince.”

I filed away the names. Vince and Marco. Amateurs who hadn’t even thought to hide their identities. They were already dead men walking -- they just didn’t know it yet.

Vince held up his phone. “Time for your close-up. Gotta show the Reckless Kings that their precious family is still breathing.”

“My dad will kill you for this,” Clover said, her voice surprisingly steady despite the fear I could feel trembling through her body. “All of them will.”

Vince barked out a laugh. “Hear that, Marco? Little girl’s making threats.” He pointed the phone at us, the small light beside the camera illuminating. “Smile for Daddy, sweetheart. Tell him how well we’re treating you.”

Clover’s grip on my arm tightened. “My dad will come for us,” she repeated, staring directly into the camera. “The whole club will.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s the idea.” Vince moved closer, his phone focused on our faces. “They’ll come with our money, and you’ll go home in one piece. Simple business transaction.”