Time had no meaning in that room. The days bled into the nights. The nights into days. A terrible and vicious cycle took place where Dominik tortured me for hours on end, only stopping when he became exhausted.
After the beating he’d given me when Aleksandr refused his ridiculous offer—my freedom for the Pakhan role—he’d been more careful in his tactics to cause me pain.
“Don’t want to damage you. At least…not on the outside,” he’d said. “No one will buy a broken horse.” He’d laughed.
His original plan had clearly backfired. He’d foolishly thought my capture would be enough to force my children into doing whatever he wanted, but Aleksandr knew better. He knew I would never negotiate to save my life, least of all with my brother.
So, Dominik had a plan B, and based on the not-so-cryptic taunts he continuously threw my way, I had a feeling I knew what it was.
He was going to sell me to the highest fucking bidder.
The Bratva had a lot of enemies. A lot of people who would pay good money to make me suffer.
The question was… Who was it going to be?
Until that moment, he had still wanted to cause me pain. He’d just chosen meticulous methods so he wouldn’t “damage the merchandise” because, as he constantly pointed out—usually while laughing in my face—no one wanted to buy a broken horse.
There was nothing my brother wanted from me except my pain. He wasn’t after answers or apologies. He just wanted to hurt me. Make me pay for outdoing him at every turn while we were growing up. Punish me for having our father’s admiration and respect while he only got contempt and disappointment.
It was all about making me suffer. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I rolled my neck along my shoulders and leant back against the wall behind me. Sometime during the beatings, I’d been released from the cuffs hanging from the ceiling and moved. Unlike the other prisoners—four by my count in little glimpses throughout my never-ending torture, I was cuffed by the wrists, ankles and neck. Dominik wasn’t taking any chances with me, apparently, which was a compliment in and of itself, really, but still incredibly irritating. There was zero chance of escaping out of that hellhole, even if I had the energy.
Which I didn’t.
I barely had the energy to glare at the annoying redhead chained to the wall beside me.
I didn’t know who she was. Didn’t know her name or what she was doing there. I didn’t know a damn thing about her except that she infuriated me to no end.
She talked…a lot. To herself. To the other prisoners. To the wall. And when she wasn’t talking, she was fucking singing.
I’d never been a prisoner before, but I was fairly sure there was some sort of unspoken etiquette to it. Some unspoken rules for anyone in the same position as you, like don’t piss off the other people trapped in the room.
Does the redhead care?
No. She doesn’t.
Because she is doing it right-fucking-now!
“Have you ever heard the expression, ’don’t pull that face because if the wind changes, it’ll be stuck like that forever’?” She was looking directly at me, so I suspected her question was intended for me, but I did nothing but glare at her. “I think that’s what’s happened to you. You’ve had that same look on your face for hours now. This perpetually sour and grumpy as shit look.”
“That’s because you won’t shut the fuck up,” I hissed out in frustration.
“He speaks,” she gasped in mock horror. “I’m shocked. I thought the extent of your vocabulary was just grunting and snarling.”
“That’s the only response you warrant.”
“I don’t know what you’re so crabby about. It’s not like I attacked you for no good reason.” She lay on her back, tucking her interlocked fingers behind her head and crossing her feet at the ankles.
She was tall. Just over six foot, if I had to guess, with a lean, athletic build that showed she worked out and took care of herself. Cuts littered her tanned skin. Some old, some new, yet her face was clear of any injuries. Her eyes were a sparkling kind of green. She had a heart-shaped face, sharp and angular, and long, thick red hair.
“Something you haven’t shut up about since,” I snapped, growing more and more irritated by the second.
I swear, Dominik placed me next to her deliberately as another form of his sick, twisted torture. I was sure of it.
I hated people. Especially the chatty ones.
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I annoying you?” Her head rolled to the side lazily, and she flashed me a big, beaming smile. “Good.”
Yep. Definitely torture.
I glared even harder. It should have made her recoil. Tremble in fear. I’d spent many years perfecting it to ensure that very reaction. But she just frowned at me.
I growled out an irritated huff. She didn’t like me because I tried to kick her in the head when we first met—something she demanded I apologise for, which I absolutely refused to do.
And I didn’t like her because… Well, I didn’t like anyone, really. That woman, though… She pissed me off more than usual.
We’d gotten off on the wrong foot, and we both had zero intention of righting that wrong. It was a hill we were both prepared to die on together.
Or, at least, I was. Fuck knew what was going on in that devil woman’s head.
When she started singing some pop culture song—rather badly, I might add—my left eye started to twitch uncontrollably. “I swear to God, if you don’t cut that out right now, I’m going to fucking kill you,” I seethed.
“Oh, reallyyy?” she dragged out, giddiness in her tone. She sat up and spun to face me, crossing her long legs eloquently. “And how do you plan to do that? It isn’t lost on me that you’re on a much shorter leash than the rest of us.”
Fuck. Her.
She was right.
She knew it was nothing but an empty threat. If I was capable of reaching her, she’d have been dead already. Regardless, I moved into a low crouch, like a tiger about to strike, and leant forward menacingly, as far as the chains wrapped around me would allow.
‘The Butcher Staredown’, a term coined by my youngest son. Something he’d seen me do countless times that made grown men shit their fucking pants. It was a threatening glare with the sole purpose of intimidating and instilling fear.
I’d yet to come across a single person it hadn’t worked on, my children included.
Instead of being terrified, like she damn well should have been, she looked…confused.
“What’s going on with your face?” Her head tilted to the side in assessment. “That’s the second time you’ve had that look. Are you… Are you trying to intimidate me?”
Then, she burst out into a fit of laughter.
If I was within reaching distance, I would have fucking strangled her. I growled and flopped back down onto my ass.
I guess it wasn’t as scary if you didn’t have the full story. She clearly didn’t know who I was, otherwise she wouldn’t have reacted that way.
Yes, that was it.
She was still laughing. “Oh… Oh, that was just… I can’t-can’t breathe,” she wheezed out. “Do it again, do it again.” She slapped her thighs and held her stomach as if all that laughter was causing her pain. She then did a very unflattering imitation of my staredown, essentially mocking me, and what little restraint I possessed vanished. I hadn’t been mocked like that since elementary school.
I picked up the metal bowl containing my water (the fact that it resembled a dog bowl didn’t allude me) and threw it like a frisbee right at her fucking head.
A very satisfying “donk” hit the air, followed by an angry screech.
“You bastard! I’ll kill you!” She lunged for me, and because she had more slack on her chain than I did, she hit me like a ton of bricks, knocking me flat on my back.
“Oommff.” The air rushed out of me as her hands wrapped around my throat, trying to squeeze even more air out of my lungs.
I had been taken completely by surprise. She was far less innocent than she appeared to be.
I didn’t think she had it in her to kill someone—or to even try—but clearly, I was fucking wrong because she was squeezing harder and harder with no indication of stopping.
“Get…the fuck…off me,” I rasped, thrashing.
She came nose-to-nose with me, this dark, evil look glittering in her eyes. “I think I’d rather watch the life drain from your eyes.”
Who the fuck is this woman?
Before I had the chance for any kind of retaliation, the door to our prison opened, a beam of light shooting down the staircase. Footsteps followed, along with a male voice.
“Oh, Miss Autumn,” he sang excitedly, eagerly. “It’s time for our date.”
The woman strangling me to death stiffened. She cursed, punched me in the face and then scurried back to her side of the wall just as the man stepped off the last stair into the basement.
I sucked in a huge breath of air.
That fucking bitch.
The light cast from the open door illuminated the man’s body, allowing me to see who it was. I didn’t know his name, just that he was part of an MC Gang, based on the cut he was wearing. It was something I’d noticed all of Dominik’s little lackeys were wearing; he’d paid for MC muscle.
The guy was wearing one that said “THE BROTHERHOOD”. Small time but well organised. The word “PRESIDENT” was stamped across the symbol on the front of his leather vest, making me frown.
I kept close tabs on anyone who was even remotely a threat to me and mine. The Brotherhood charter in Vegas was run by Ward Russell. That wasn’t this man. That I knew for sure.
I coughed, massaging my throat, giving the redhead who I now knew as Autumn an angry scowl before focusing back on the man, studying him closely. I ran through the dossier of men I knew about in this particular MC, and his image barrelled its way through my mind. He was the VP, second in command, and now he was in charge. There’d been a change in leadership.
The timing was suspicious.
Ward and I didn’t have any kind of working relationship, but we stayed out of each other’s way, an amicable agreement that suited both parties. He wouldn’t have authorised a strike against me, so he’d been removed—most likely with a deadly method—and replaced with someone who would. Someone who clearly didn’t know better because whether he was aware of it or not, he’d just signed his fucking death warrant. His and those of his men.
“Isn’t this all a little pointless, Samuel?” Autumn lounged back, giving off the illusion she was completely relaxed. However, there was a slight stiffness in her shoulders. Tension in those cunning green eyes. She wasn’t feeling as casual about the whole thing as she was trying to make herself appear. “You know I’m not going to talk.”
“I know,” Samuel smiled. “And I hope you never do. Because it means we can continue our little dates until you die.” He hauled Autumn to her feet, unlocked her from the wall and used the chain still strapped around her neck to lead her to an old, crusty reclining chair like a dog on a leash. “Now, be a good little doggy and sit.”
She took a seat, not putting up any fight.
I scoffed. What an obedient little bitch—
Autumn front-kicked Samuel right in the family jewels. He went down like a house of cards, hands tucked firmly between his legs, eyes wide and groaning in agony.
I arched an eyebrow in surprise.
Samuel writhed on the ground, and Autumn just sat there watching him, looking bored. She didn’t try to make a run for it. Didn’t try to escape. Maybe because she knew what a wasted effort it would be. I knew my brother. He’d have contingencies in place to counter anyone who tried to escape his prison.
Autumn crossed her legs elegantly like a well-mannered woman from the upper class, tilted her head to the side and said, “Woof, woof.”
A chuffing laugh burst out of me before I even knew what was happening. My eyes widened in shock.
What. The. Fuck?
I glared at Autumn like it was her fault the sound slipped past my lips. I didn’t want to find anything that woman did funny.
She was insufferable.
“You bitch,” Samuel hissed, legs shaking as he slowly got back on his feet. “You’re going to pay for that.”
She rolled her eyes. “You say that every time.” She lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Can we get on with it, then? I’m sick of looking at your stupid face.”
She’s either brave…or stupid.
“Who hired you?” It was the fiftieth bloody time he’d asked that stupid, infernal question, and like every time prior, Autumn didn’t say a word.
Frustration marred the lines of Samuel’s face, and he picked up the needle and thread. It was an ingenious torture technique. Even I had to admit it. He would ask the question, and when she didn’t answer, he’d cut her deep enough that it would require stitches. He’d then give her the opportunity to answer again (which, of course, she didn’t), and then stitch the wound closed with no anesthetic. No pain relief.
It was effective in two ways.
For one, it was incredibly painful. Don’t believe what all of those Hollywood movies show you where the main character gets hurt, and they stitch themselves up with nothing but a bottle of alcohol to quell the pain.
It hurt a lot more than they depicted. The skin, already agonisingly tender and sore from being sliced open, felt like it was being burnt off your bones.
And second, it helped prevent the victim from bleeding out, ensuring they didn’t die before getting the information they were after.
Like I said… Effective.
Autumn sucked air in between her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as Samuel weaved the needle through the open wound, humming joyfully.
“Who hired you?” he sang like he was stitching a blanket and not sewing human skin.
“Your mother,” she spat, rearing forward to try and headbutt him. He dodged it expertly, almost as if he’d anticipated the strike.
It was the same question over and over again. Nothing different. Just always “Who hired you?”, “Who hired you?”
The curiosity was inevitable. I mean, who wouldn’t be curious after hearing the same question a thousand fucking times?
“Who hired you?”
Hired her to do what? What was it she was trying to do? Or, more specifically, what was it she got caught doing?
Curiouser and curiouser.
The torture session lasted for a little while longer. He continued to slash and dice, stitching her up as he went. He was very precise with his cuts, making sure not to slice anywhere that would cause massive blood loss. The intent wasn’t to kill but to cause as much pain as possible to get the answers he was seeking.
Begrudgingly, I had to give Autumn my respect. Despite being an annoying, chatty, massive pain in the ass, I had to give respect where respect was due.
I’d seen men crack under less pressure than she was being put under. Seen full-grown men, hardened criminals, crumble after the first fucking slice. But that woman had managed to take one of the most brutal torture sessions I’d ever witnessed without shedding one fucking tear, and I was an expert on the subject.
Autumn… The name suited her.
A silhouette appeared in the light shining down the staircase. A few moments later, Dominik appeared, shadowed by three of his MC men. His eyes sought me out instantly, and our gazes clashed. That annoying fucking smirk curled his lips. I clenched my hands into tight fists, hatred pumping through my veins.
I hated being at his mercy like that. Every single fibre of my being rebelled at my circumstances. At how much control Dominik had over me. The only thing keeping me sane was knowing my children were okay, and I knew that with one hundred percent certainty.
If they weren’t, if they’d been hurt or killed during the raid, Dominik wouldn’t have been able to resist rubbing it in my face, knowing the immense pain it would cause me.
I kept my expression neutral, an almost bored air surrounding me as Dominik moved further into the room.
He went straight towards Autumn and Samuel.
“That’s enough, Samuel.” He was trying so hard to emulate our father. From his stance to his voice, right down to the look in his eyes.
Samuel paused mid-slice, a frown on his brows. “Boss?”
“I said that’s enough. No more damaging the merchandise. If I want to get a decent price for her, I can’t have her all cut up.”
