Page 10 of Marked By the Mob

The kiss is furious, all teeth and anger and something darker. His hand tightens on my hip, pulling me closer, and I wrap my arms around his neck because I need the leverage, need to feel like I have some control even as I’m giving it up.

His other hand slides down my thigh, hitching my leg around his waist. The position opens me to him, and when he grinds against me, I gasp into his mouth.

He makes quick work of my clothes, his movements efficient and sure. When he pushes inside me, I bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. The stretch of him is almost too much, pleasure edged with pain, and I hate that it feels good. Hate that I want more.

This is about planning, I remind myself. This is just to get him to let down his guard so that I can figure out a way to escape.

He sets a brutal pace, pinning me against the wall with each thrust and my thoughts scatter. I meet him stroke for stroke, my nails digging into his shoulders. This isn’t gentle. It isn’t tender. It’s a fight we’re both losing. Or winning. I haven’t decided yet.

When I come apart, his name is on my lips, and I hate myself for it. The pleasure crashes through me in waves, leaving me shaking and breathless. He follows moments later, his grip on me tightening as he buries his face in my neck.

For a few seconds, neither of us moves. Then reality crashes back.

I push at his chest, and this time he lets me go. My legs are unsteady as I find my footing, and I have to lean against thewall for support. He watches me as I straighten my clothes with shaking hands.

“Emma,” he starts.

“Don’t.” I cut him off, my voice raw. I can’t look at him, can’t face what I just did.

Footsteps echo in the distance. Guards, probably alerted by the commotion. I’m still trapped here, still his captive, and now I’ve given him something I can never take back.

I force myself to meet his eyes. “Next time I run,” I say through clenched teeth, “I won’t let you catch me.”

The guards round the corner, flashlights cutting through the darkness. One of them calls out something in Russian. Rurik answers without looking away from me.

“Take her back to her room,” he says in English, his voice flat. “Post two guards at the door.”

As they move toward me, I hold his gaze. I won’t look away first. I won’t give him that.

But inside, I’m already planning. Already calculating. Because next time, I will get away.

I have to.

4

EMMA

I wake to sunlight streaming through reinforced windows and the immediate, crushing realization that last night wasn’t a nightmare.

I’m still here. Still trapped in this fortress disguised as a mansion. Still the property of three Bratva bosses who paid ten million dollars for me like I’m a piece of art they wanted to add to their collection.

And I slept with one of them.

The memory hits me like a physical blow. The way my body responded to him even as my mind screamed that it was wrong, that I was using him, that this was strategy and nothing more.

Except it didn’t feel like strategy when I came apart in his arms.

I sit up slowly, my muscles protesting. The bedroom is exactly as I left it last night before my failed escape attempt.

Expensive furniture carefully placed around the room for the best aesthetics. It even has a sitting area with chairs thatlook both elegant and cozy. Everything is designed to look comfortable while reminding me that I don’t belong here.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, testing my balance. My wrists ache where the shackles cut into them from the auction. My face throbs where I was hit. But pain is familiar. Pain means I’m still alive and still fighting.

I move to the door first and try the handle.

Locked, as expected.

I press my ear against the wood and listen to the footsteps in the hallway. At least two guards, maybe more.