Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
As he yells, the butt of a machine gun comes down on the back of his head, and he goes out cold.
I whimper, my heart racing as I back against the side of the car, and the stranger clambers to his feet. With a snarl, he points at me.
“Bring her.”
“What do you want?” I demand, backing against the wall as Ramses is dragged half-conscious into the warehouse behind me. The enormous space is lit sporadically from dangling overhead bulbs, its shadowy corners hiding monsters and I think of our children. There’s a strong smell of tobacco and a faint one of gasoline. “Please! We have children!”
“My father had children,” the big man sneers, his nostrils flaring as he casts his eyes on me. He points to some chains hanging down in one of the circles of light, and his two guards nod, shoving and manhandling Ramses in that direction. “My father had four sons and two daughters. My sister Anya was barely a year old when your husband left her fatherless. I robbed a bank at the age of sixteen to provide for all of us. You have life insurance?”
For a second, I consider whether to tell the truth or lie, but what’s the point in keeping it from him? “Yes.”
“Then your children will not have to live as I have lived.” He looks me up and down. “Strip.”
“Excuse me?”
“Take off your fucking clothes. Or would you prefer we cut them off? Might be more fun for us…”
I back away, ignoring the excited glances from his men as they leave my husband with one wrist attached to the chains hanging above him.
“Fuck you,” I growl. “Let my husband go.”
He laughs. “You are in no position to argue. You do as I say, maybe I let you live. Maybe I let you watch your husband being skinned alive, and then I dump you back at your home. You get to see your children grow up, after all.” His eyes darken. “Now strip.”
“Leave her…alone…” Ramses grunts, his head still lolling from the beating he received. His lip is cut, his clothes torn, but it doesn’t look like there are any permanent injuries. “You lay one finger on her and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” The big Russian chuckles, turning away from me and sauntering over to Ramses. “You’ll what, huh? You will watch as she strips and I let my men fuck her one at a time, fill her up so full she won’t know who the father of her next child is. Or maybe I want a little show first? I make her get down on her knees and suck your cock until she gags. Would you like that? A last farewell to your pretty little girl?”
Ramses grabs at the gun strapped under the Russian’s shoulder, but he easily steps back, laughing.
“You want this?” he says, pulling the pistol. He aims it at Ramses’ head. “You want this, Mister big man Mafia? You want me to shoot your balls off and let you bleed out on the warehouse floor?”
He steps forward, drawing the gun back and striking the butt across Ramses’ skull. The sound of the metal hitting bone rings out, a dull thud in the large empty space.
“Stop!” I sob, leaning down to take hold of the hem of my dress. “Stop! I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt him.”
The Russian turns as I lift, pulling the dress up, exposing thighs, panties, stomach.
I try not to look, but I can’t avoid the way he and his men seem to forget that Ramses is even there. They grin, their eyes lighting up as I pull the dress over my head and drop it to the floor, standing in my underwear. Lingerie I picked out for my husband, knowing it would drive him wild.
Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, I turn my head to avoid looking as I prepare myself to remove them. And for whatever comes next.
But everything changes in an instant.
I turn my head at the sounds of a scuffle, to see Ramses’ leg hooked around the waist of one of the bruisers, pulling him back. He cries out as he’s dragged to the chains, my husband instantly looping the free one around the man’s throat as his eyes go wide, his mouth falling open.
Ramses grabs the gun from the man’s hand, aims and fires it at one of the other men, sending him reeling as the bullet rips through his shoulder in a spray of blood and bone.
“What the shit, man?” Suddenly there’s a British accent, and it takes me a moment to figure out who it’s coming from, before the big ‘Russian’ speaks again. “First you attack me at the car, and now this? Not cool, man. Not cool. You’re fucking killing Mitch!”
The one with the chain around his throat is turning purple in the light from the bulb overhead. His feet are scrabbling against the floor as he tries to get away. The big ‘Russian’ steps forward, but Ramses turns the pistol on him and he nearly loses his footing in his desperation to get away, his hands coming up in front of him.