“Yeah, fucker. I saw you last night, fucking my woman, so I taught her a fucking lesson. If I’d known it was you, Luka fucking Tolstoi, I’d have slit both your throats in that cove you love so fucking much.”
Stepping back from the side of the cage, I clenched my fists together and Alik smiled, shrugging off his shoulders.
“So are we doing this shit, Luka?” he said, curling his lip like it amused him that I’d been trapped in a hell because of him for twelve damn years.
“This ends tonight.”
Alik smiled.
The crowd went wild.
And we both ran straight for each other with death in our eyes, my fist plunging straight into his stomach, blades first.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kisa
My mouth was dry.
My tongue was like sandpaper and my lips were swollen and split.
I cracked open an eye, my eyelid like lead. I took a glance around the strange room. It was dark. My breathing was too fast when I tried to remember where I was. And then my eyes landed on a cleared space at the far side of the room. A clear space covered in plastic… blood residue spattered up the walls.
My mind raced.
The beach.
Raze… my Luka.
Him remembering.
The gym.
Serge—
Serge!
A pain-filled sob escaped my mouth when I thought back to the night before.
Alik!
No!
Alik had found out about Raze and me. He’d threatened Serge, and Serge… no, Serge died trying to protect me. My sweet, protective Serge…Tears dripped heavily from my eyes, sorrow overwhelming me and I forced myself to push up from the bed. Every part of me ached, my dress bunched around my waist, my skin covered with blood and bruises… He’d beaten me half to death.
Suddenly feeling nauseous, I scurried to the edge of the bed and puked all over the floor, my head thudding like a drum.
I could barely see a thing.
An incessant ticking made me wince, the tinny pings shattering my brain. I slowly rolled my head left, only to see an old clock on a battered bedside table. I stared at the face, reading the time, knowing it meant something to me.
I tried to focus on what that was, my cheek lowering to the soiled sheets. I watched the second hand tick around, my eyelids lowering with every stroke, when, suddenly, The Dungeon flashed into my head and I stilled.
The Dungeon Championship!
My chest heaved as I stared at the time. Alik and Luka were about to fight!
Forcing myself off the mattress, working hard to breathe calmly through the pain, I managed to get to my feet. Reaching down, sobbing through the excruciating aches, I slowly fixed my dress and spotted my shoes and jacket flung haphazardly on the floor.
It was a struggle, but when I had everything on, I stumbled to the door, using my hand on the wall to guide my steps and keep myself upright.
I had no idea where I was. I knew I was near the docks, but I had no idea where.
Luckily the door unlocked from the inside. Alik obviously planned that I wouldn’t be able to move through his punishment or else he would have bolted me in. But I needed to get to The Dungeon. I had no choice.
Opening the front door, the hot, salty breeze immediately smacked at my face and I cried out as it stung my wounds. Ducking my head, I kept walking forward, praying to find a phone. I walked and walked for what felt like an age, my body exhausted, the apex of my thighs burning with every single step.
That sensation almost had me crying again… Alik had raped me, beat me… My fiancé had nearly killed me.
All these years defending him, submitting to him, when I—when we all—knew Alik was disturbed… Alik was a psychopathic murderer. The fact that he was an heir to the great Russian Bratva could no longer disguise that truth.
And when my papa saw me like this—if Luka didn’t kill him in the cage—my papa would, and I was now resolved to that.
As long as Alik lived, I would never be free.
“Miss? Miss? Are you okay?”
I lifted my head to the side to see an older man walking toward me. He looked like a fisherman or something, or a worker on the docks.
“Miss, are you okay?” he asked again. Then his face paled when he took in the sight of me. “Jesus Christ! What the hell happened to you?”
“Do you have a phone?” I asked, my voice barely audible through my severely bruised throat.
“Miss, I need to get you an ambulance!”
“No!” I argued. “Just… do you have a phone I can borrow?”
The man nodded and pulled out his cell, handing it over. “Miss, I don’t feel right not calling you help.”