Page 33 of Sexting the Bikers (Ruthless Riders #2)

DOG

S he’s shaking in my arms, face buried in my neck, her breath ragged against my skin.

I’m still inside her, the last aftershocks rolling through us both, her body clenching around me like she never wants to let go.

Our foreheads touch, sweat and tears mixing between us.

I wrap both arms around her, holding her as tight as I dare, feeling the quiver in her shoulders.

She’s crying real, silent tears. My chest squeezes. I cup her jaw, thumb brushing her wet cheek, forcing her to meet my eyes. “What’s wrong, Katya?” My voice cracks on her name.

She tries to pull away, but I won’t let her. “Why did you come for me, puppy?” she whispers, voice raw, broken. “You know it’s suicide. You could have just…not come.”

I shake my head, tightening my hold, my heart thundering. “Couldn’t,” I murmur, voice thick. “You know that. I couldn’t just let you disappear, not when I knew what they’d do. Not when I knew you were alone in this hell.”

She’s trembling, tears streaking her cheeks. I kiss them, tasting salt and something that feels like relief. “I’d do it again,” I promise, breathing her in. “Even if it was the stupidest move of my life. I don’t care about odds. I care about you.”

She chokes out a laugh that turns into another sob. “You’re a damn fool.”

I shrug, brushing her hair from her face, memorizing every line, every scar, every look in her eyes. “That’s me. Your damn fool.”

She leans her forehead to mine again, eyes glistening. I know what I need to say. What I should have said days ago, or maybe only minutes. I can’t swallow it down anymore. “Katya, I think I’m in love with you.” The words come out rough, torn from somewhere deep.

Her eyes go wide—startled, scared, hopeful. For a second neither of us moves, both of us suspended in the moment, all the world narrowed to this battered, hidden place and the mess we’ve made of each other.

She touches my cheek, gentle and unsure. “You can’t mean that.”

But I do. I’ve never been more sure of anything. “I do. I love you. Doesn’t matter what happens next. Doesn’t matter if I’m crazy or doomed. It’s you, Katya.”

The fear in her face softens, her mouth trembling into a wobbly smile. She presses herself tighter against me, tears and sweat and everything else blurring away. “I don’t know if I deserve that,” she whispers.

Katya clings to me, both of us still breathless in the cramped crawlspace, our bodies tangled and sweat cooling. I run a thumb over her jaw, feel the tremor in her muscles. Her eyes shine with fear and something fiercer—hope, maybe, or the refusal to give up.

“What now, Dog?” she whispers, voice husky.

“We get out of here,” I say, more certain than I feel.

“But how?” she asks, the shake in her words betraying her nerves.

I squeeze her hand. “The same way I got in—through the vent.” I jerk my head back the way I came, toward the faint silver glow at the far end. “We crawl until we find daylight.”

She nods, gathering herself. “Will it be safe?”

I give a short, low laugh. “Don’t know till we try, princess. But it’s better than waiting for Gregor to find us down here.”

We rearrange our clothes, and with her in front of me, I guide her into the vent.

The metal groans under our weight, but it holds.

My heart thumps in my ears as we inch forward, the cramped space barely enough for our bodies.

Dust chokes my lungs, the only sound our scraping, hurried breaths and the shudder of the metal.

We reach the grate. I press my shoulder to it, wincing as it pops free and tumbles into the tall grass outside. Cool night air washes over us. Katya crawls out first, then I slide after, my boots squishing in the damp soil.

“Come on,” I urge, grabbing her hand. We run low through the knee-high grass, legs burning, every muscle braced for a shout or the crack of a gun.

The house is chaos, searchlights sweeping the windows, voices barking orders in Russian.

We cross the lawn, the massive estate looming behind us. The stand of trees that borders the property is so close I can smell pine. Hope flares in my chest.

Then, a searchlight slams over us—white and blinding. “There!” someone shouts. “On the lawn!”

“Run!” I bark, dragging Katya with me, feet pounding over wet grass. Gunfire erupts behind us. Bullets tear up dirt, thudding into the trunks as we dive for the cover of the trees.

We hit the ground, rolling, Katya gasping against my shoulder. Voices are closing in fast, boots crushing the undergrowth. My heart pounds, not from fear, but from the drive to keep her safe.

Hands clamp down on my arms, rough and unyielding, yanking me to a halt just steps from the hedge.

I try to twist free, fist raised, but there are too many—four, five, maybe more.

They wrench my arms behind my back, slam me down, a knee grinding into my spine.

Katya screams my name, but they’ve already got her too, dragging her by the arms, her hair tangled over her eyes.

She screams my name, but she’s yanked away, her face white with terror as she fights against two men twice her size.

They shove us both down, guns pressed to our backs, and march us toward the house.

The darkness of freedom behind us shrinks with every step.

Inside, they drag us through hallways slick with the scent of bleach and old violence, back down to the basement, where it’s suddenly blindingly bright, fluorescent bulbs humming overhead.

I stumble as they throw me onto the concrete floor.

This is a different part of the basement, deeper—now there’s a long drain in the center of the floor, blood pooled around the edges.

Rust-colored stains mark the concrete and the cinderblock walls.

Hooks dangle from the ceiling beams. A black plastic tarp is rolled up in one corner, splattered with something I know isn’t paint.

The metallic stink of blood hangs heavy in the air, and I realize this isn’t just a hiding place. It’s a killing room. The kind of spot you don’t walk out of if the wrong people have your name.

Katya is shoved down beside me, her hair tangled, dress ripped, fear blazing in her eyes. She clings to my arm, knuckles white. I try to twist, to cover her with my body, but a boot slams between my shoulders, pinning me down.

One of Novikov’s men crouches in front of me, face blank and hard. “You picked the wrong night to be a hero, American.”

All around us, men fan out, weapons drawn, waiting for the next order. Katya squeezes my hand, eyes darting to the stains on the floor.

I try to keep her behind me, but there’s nowhere to hide in this room built for death. I know what happens down here.

I’m forced onto my knees, wrists straining behind my back, blood roaring in my ears. My face still stings from the hit, but I keep my chin high, eyes fixed on Katya. She’s trembling, lips parted, horror in her eyes as she tries to inch closer, but a heavy hand shoves her back.

Zaika and Novikov descend the stairs together, talking low in Russian.

Their steps echo against concrete, their faces cast in cold fluorescent glare.

Novikov is in one of his tailored suits, hair slicked back, eyes dead as black glass.

Zaika’s even more intimidating, broad shouldered and stone-faced, his smile a thin, dangerous line.

I lift my head as they enter, tasting blood on my lip and a fresh wave of dread in my gut. Zaika stops first, looking down at me like I’m something he stepped in. “I told you, next time there would be no forgiveness,” he says, voice low and casual, as if he’s discussing the weather.

Novikov glances sideways at him. “You let him go before?”

Zaika shrugs, not taking his eyes off me. “Didn’t want a mess in my hotel room.” He looks almost bored. “But looks like you’re stupider than I thought.”

Novikov steps forward, smooth as a viper. “I have an idea.” He motions to one of his men, a thick-necked brute with a mean look in his eyes. The guy cracks his knuckles, and without another word, wades in.

The first punch cracks against my jaw, rattling my teeth. The second slams into my ribs, pain blooming out in hot, wild flashes. Katya cries out, trying to get free, but Zaika holds her back with one meaty hand, never looking away from me.

I can’t help it—pain is familiar territory, almost comforting in its own twisted way. I spit blood, grin up at Novikov’s man, and laugh. “That all you got, sweetheart?” I manage, winking at him with a busted eye. “My grandma hit harder than that, and she was eighty when she died.”

Another punch, harder this time. The world spins, but I keep laughing, coughing up more blood, throwing out a fresh round of taunts—anything to keep their attention on me, anything to keep them from looking at Katya.

“That’s the trick with Russians,” I gasp, “they like a good show. You ever heard of cable TV? Might be easier on the carpets.”

The guy snarls, fists flying, and my body jerks with every blow. I can hear Katya screaming, begging them to stop, but I keep laughing.

Zaika folds his arms and watches. Novikov looks bored, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke across the room. The man’s fists keep coming. I see stars, feel bone grind against bone, but I don’t stop. Not for them, and sure as hell not for me.

Katya’s begging, her voice raw and breaking. “Please, please, stop! You’ll kill him!” But Novikov and Zaika don’t even blink. They just stand there, silent, cold, letting their men do all the dirty work.

Another fist crashes into my ribs. I cough, blood spattering the floor.

I can barely see, one eye swelling shut, pain rolling through me in waves.

But when the bastard hauls off for another swing, I snatch his wrist. My grip is slick with blood but I twist hard, yanking his arm back at an ugly angle. For a second, he howls, stumbling.

That’s when Novikov lunges, grabbing Katya.

She cries out, kicking and struggling, but he clamps an arm around her waist and hauls her against him like she weighs nothing.

I jerk forward, trying to get to her, but two more of Novikov’s thugs grab me and drag me down, pinning me flat on the filthy, bloodstained floor.

The first guy shakes free, snarling, and launches a boot into my side. I grunt, seeing stars, but I don’t break.

The beating picks up again—knees in my back, fists to my face and ribs—every strike meant to put me down for good. I hold Katya’s gaze as long as I can, desperate to let her know I’m still here, still trying, still refusing to give in. My body is nothing but pain, but I grit my teeth and take it.

Novikov bends low over Katya, his shadow swallowing her whole.

He’s close enough that I see the way her fists curl in her lap, her eyes blazing even though I know she’s terrified.

He hisses something in her ear, voice cold and oily.

“You can stop this,” he says, just loud enough for me to catch.

“You go through with the wedding in the morning. You smile, you don’t make a peep, and your friend lives.

You try to run, or cause trouble—I’ll have him beaten to death. Here. Tonight.”

She shudders, trying to jerk away, but he just grabs her chin, digging in until I see tears spring to her eyes.

“You’re a monster,” she spits, her voice trembling, but the fury in it does something wild in my chest. I want to get up.

I want to kill him. But there’s a boot on my neck, a fist tightening in my hair, and nothing but pain pinning me to the filthy floor.

Novikov just smirks, satisfied. “So glad you understand the nature of our relationship.” He leans in again, whispering something I can’t hear.

But when he pulls back, Katya’s face has gone pale as a ghost. I can only imagine what promise or threat he just made, but I know it’s bad enough that she doesn’t fight him anymore.

He stands, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. “You will marry me, or he dies.”

The men holding me ease up just a bit, waiting for her answer.

My own voice is thick with blood, but I try to speak, desperate to stop her from giving in.

“Don’t do it, Katya. Don’t let him win. Not for me.

” Every word hurts. My ribs are on fire.

My jaw feels broken. But I need her to hear me, need her to know that I’d take a thousand more beatings to keep her free from this.

She meets my gaze, and something breaks inside me. “I’m sorry, puppy,” she whispers. There’s a storm in her eyes, all that strength and defiance, but I know what she’s about to do. She’s always been the bravest person in the room, but this—this sacrifice—is too much. It guts me.

She closes her eyes, breathes in shakily. Then her voice comes out small, trembling but clear. “I’ll marry you.”