Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I kick open the bedroom door and bash it closed behind me with my hip, and then spin and quickly let Sparky go. I lock the door and grab Sparky, but my hands meet with the air as he leaps back, eyeing me knowingly.
You’re keeping me from helping my dad, his intelligent eyes say.
“Sparky,” I whisper, moving toward him slowly, leaning down and ignoring the burn in my legs from the sex and the running. “Come on, boy. It’s okay.”
I move to grab him, but at the last moment, he wriggles out of my grasp and leaps onto the bed. He runs across and then springs up onto his hind legs, waving his forelegs at me.
He collapses into a play bow and then springs up again.
“Sparky, please just come here,” I say.
I glance at the locked door, but it hasn’t made a noise since we came in here. The noises are further along the corridor.
Grunts and screams and Russian men roaring at each other, words I don’t understand.
My body tightens with fear as I start to realize that Sparky’s right.
What are we doing?
We’re in here hiding when we should be out there helping Damian.
I move toward the door.
And then I hear his words, growling in my mind, a beast just for me.
Keep yourself, my baby, and my dog safe, understand? That’s your role.
“Okay,” I say, turning back toward Sparky. “Boy, come here—”
A knock comes from the door. I turn, biting my lip.
“Yes?” I say, trying to make my voice calm.
“It’s me,” Damian growls. “Open up. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Sirens touch the air, getting closer, which means they must be almost outside if I can hear them all the way up here.
I walk to the door and open it with a shaky hand, letting Damian walk in … with a man’s head clutched in his bear paw. He grips him by the back of the head and drags him into the room.
The man is tall and blonde, with a pencil-thin mustache over his upper lip. He’s well-built and muscular like most of the Bratva, but next to Damian’s savage muscle, he looks too bloated, like a wannabe tough guy.
Whereas Damian is an actual tough guy.
“Dakota,” the man says, wincing at the pain of Damian clutching his skull. “It is nice to see you.”
“Where are the others?” I gasp, looking at the open door.
“They won’t be bothering us,” Damian snarls.
“Are they—”
“They’re all alive,” Damian says. “But some of them might die from their injuries if they don’t get help soon. Which I’m sure they will get on their way to prison. You fucked up, Andrei. You hit a place people care about. And you owe this woman an explanation. Why do this to her?”
I stand up straighter, bunching my fists, my soul singing that Damian would think of me at a time like this. Sparky crouches ready to spring at my side, softly growling at the man.
“Yes,” I snap, fierceness entering my voice.
I’ve got my man behind me.
We’re in this together.
“Tell me. I deserve to know.”
Andrei smiles sadly, his hands hanging limply at his sides.
Every time he tries to move, Damian squeezes his head and he grows still.
It makes Damian seem so huge and powerful, the protector I’ve always dreamed about. He stands half-turned toward the door, his gun hand primed, ready just in case any of the injured men drag themselves down here.
Andrei smiles and smiles.
“Well?” I snap.
“It’s all business,” he sighs. “Your father used to travel for his work. Did you know that?”
“He was a photographer.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Andrei says. “The thing is, on one of his trips he came to Moscow. And he got involved with some very bad men. The Bratva, we are the civilized side of the Russian crime world. You should see the dogs in the gangs of Moscow, no offense to your friend here …”
He glances at Sparky, who’s ready to tear him apart, no matter if he only weighs a few pounds. He’ll fight.
“Get to the point,” Damian snarls, squeezing his hand.
“Ah, ah, okay,” Andrei whines. “Your father was kidnapped. One of these crazy men made the offer that he’d give his daughter as payment for his freedom. He agreed … as tortured men will. He came home and, it seems, he pretended he had never said those words. Life went on and he thought he was safe. But the Bratva never forgets. We came to deliver a message. And we delivered it.”
“But we left you behind, because, well, simply put …”
“What?” I hiss, tears breaking in my voice.
“You were not old enough yet,” he says. “But we kept tabs on you. When you were old enough, we claimed you. Why do you think you were never touched by the guards? Dobry made a mistake claiming you for himself that night. You belong to me.”