Page 82 of Prey of the Bratva

His accent was thick, indicating that he was local. His movements were slower than they should have been. I could sense that he was comfortable since he did not think I was a threat. I couldn’t blame him. The second guard walked inside and closed the door behind them, but he did not check my restraints immediately.

“Look at this bitch, so compliant,” he chuckled as if my position was funny to him, but I didn’t turn to look at him.

“All of them do eventually become compliant. What choice do they have?” the first guard replied, talking as if I were not even there.

Idiots.

The tray was set down on the metal table beside me, and the first guard stepped closer than usual. Too close. I kept my breathing even and waited until his hand reached out to finally unlock my handcuffs so I could finally eat. It was a simple practice. They unlocked me, watched me eat, and then they handcuffed me again before leaving. But today, this moment mattered the most. The minute his weight shifted forward, I moved.

Fast.

Violence was never about hesitation. The moment the camera changed positions, my bound hands snapped upwards, the chain between them tightening as I drove both wrists into his throat with every ounce of force I had been holding back for four days. His breath cut off instantly, and I twisted hard.

“AGH,” his scream of pain echoed just as the other guard turned to register what was happening.

His knee buckled under the sudden imbalance, and I drove my shoulder into his chest, using his own momentum to slam him down. The chair scraped violently across the concrete as I rose just enough to shift my weight.

The chain bit into my wrists, but I ignored it.

My knee came up sharply, slamming into the side of his joint, and I heard a crack. It was loud and ugly, and his scream never fully formed because I didn’t give it time to. I grabbed hiscollar with both bound hands and slammed his head sideways into the edge of the metal table.

Once. Twice. The third time was where bone gave way, and he went limp.

Ten seconds.

The second guard was already moving, but I was too quick, and he was too slow. I moved towards him, getting to the other side of the blind spot, still hidden from the camera even though I knew it might not matter.

“You bitch,” the man shouted, but I was upon him already.

“Oh yeah, that’s me,” I replied, finding my voice again. It felt as if I hadn’t spoken a word in too long.

His hand reached for his weapon, but I was already using the first body as leverage, kicking off the ground and dragging the dead weight forward. The impact threw him off balance, and his gun slipped. I pivoted, ignoring the screaming protest in my shoulders, and looped the chain between my wrists around his neck from behind.

I pulled. Hard.

He choked, his hands clawing at the metal, and I stepped in closer, pressing my weight into his back while tightening the angle. He tried to turn, but I didn’t let him. My foot hooked behind his ankle and I twisted my entire body with it. His spine followed the motion, but his neck did not. The sound was quieter than the first, but it was much sharper and carried a finality to it. He collapsed forward, dragging me with him for half a second before I forced myself upright again.

Silence crashed into the room. Heavy and absolute.

My pulse was loud in my ears, but my breathing stayed controlled. There was no panic in my body since I had been planning exactly that for the past four days. I knew I needed to do that if I wanted to escape. There was no escaping otherwise. I stepped over the bodies and dropped to my knees beside the second guard, fingers already searching his belt.

My hand touched the bunch of keys hanging from his pocket, and I brought them up with shaking hands, but I knew I was not shaking from fear.It was from adrenaline instead, which was pumping through my system like it was the only thing that mattered in the moment. I needed it.

From the aftermath of stillness breaking into motion, it took me two tries to get the right key into the lock. The cuffs snapped open and I pulled my hands free, rubbing quickly at the raw skin before moving to my ankles.

Three seconds. Four. And I was fully unlocked.

I pushed myself to my feet, but my body protested immediately. My muscles were stiff from restraint, and I could sense that my balance was slightly off. Despite that, I was still functional. More than functional. I was alive. I grabbed the fallen gun without hesitation, checking the chamber out of instinct before stepping towards the door.

I paused to listen, but there was nothing. No sounds. And I knew it was finally safe to move.

The hallway was completely empty and appeared cold. There was nothing but concrete stretching in both directions under harsh overhead lighting. I stepped out, closing the door behind me softly, the gun steady in my hand. I knew I didn’t have much time. I wasn’t sure of the surveillance, but if I was being watched constantly through the camera, they would already know. However, if no one was there on the other end ofthat screen, I might have a few minutes to figure out an escape route.

I looked around me, knowing I could go either way. Left or right. I chose left. Movement always has rhythm in places like this because the footsteps echo a little too loudly and the air shifts with the smallest of changes. However, once you spend long enough surviving in the chaos of it all, you learn to read things.

I moved quickly but not recklessly, every step measured.

One corridor led to another and then another. The place was a labyrinth with no way out. Identical doors lined the walls, but all of them remained closed, making me wonder if there were more women inside them. Like me. If I were being kept here as an asset for the auction, I was certain there were other women, too. But I didn’t have the luxury to risk it. Not right now. There were no windows and no obvious exits but I kept moving.