Hunted By The Bratva Beast: A Bratva Stalker/Captive Romance - Jagger Cole (the ebook reader .TXT) 📗

start to talk to shadows. At two months, you become one of those shadows.

I’ve done four months before. It isn’t something I wish to repeat. I know I’m in here for life. And I know bars and the constant background hum of danger and attack isn’t a very pleasant life. But it’s better than insanity.

“Vremya idti,” the guard snaps. “Time to go, motherfucker.”

He whistles down the dark hallway. I hear the marching boots, and then see the seven men in full riot gear, with masks, shields, stun batons, and drawn guns. I sit up on the edge of the stone, blanket-less ledge that serves as a bed in here. I smirk at them.

“Are we having a party?”

There’s a barked command. The door swings open, and suddenly they come pouring in. I hiss as all seven of them hit me at once. They slam me back, yanking my arms around to cuff them behind my back. A stun baton jabs into me, and I roar in pain. Another hits, and then another, until I’m writhing on the ground.

They haul me up and shackle my ankles. Another guard comes in pushing a dolly—the kind delivery drivers use to cart around boxes. I know the drill, but they shove and hit me into place anyways. When I’m standing on the wheeled thing, they shackle me to it and strap a leather bit over my mouth.

They wheel me down the hall, and the outside. I blink, blinded by the first sunlight I’ve seen in a week. The cold air slams into me too, sucking the breath from my very lungs. I may be Russian, but Siberia is still fucking freezing.

I look up at the light cresting over the rim of the pit. Yes, the reason they call this place a pit is because it literally is. Formerly a cobalt mining operation, it now has a prison at the bottom of it. So if you somehow manage to break free of the bars, chains, guards with guns, and razor wire, you only need to climb five-hundred feet up sheer rock to freedom.

Inside the main prison wing, they wheel me down to my cell. The block is silent when they do it. No catcalls. No insults. Like I said, in this hell, I’m the devil.

Back in my cell, the same seven men unchain me and force me to kneel. They take away the rest of the shackles. I feel the gun at the back of my neck as they back away and then slam the door shut.

When they’re gone, I hear one lingering chuckle. I turn, and it’s a face I don’t recognize, a new guard.

“Nice ink,” he snickers. I’ve been without a shirt my entire stay in solitary. I follow his eyes and realize he’s laughing at the blue and green butterfly on my shoulder.

“You get that for your boyfriend?” He grins.

“Nyet,” I smile. “For your mother.”

His grin fades. “Watch yourself.”

I just glare at him.

“That’s a tattoo for a girl,” he grunts. “Why do you have it.”

I ignore him and start to turn.

“Are you a girl? Is that it? You have a pussy between your legs?”

“You want to come in here and get a close look to see?” I snap.

He chuckles. “How about this, motherfucker.” He pulls a switchblade out of his flack jacket. “How about I cut your balls off and give you a pussy, yes?”

I roll my eyes and turn away again. He’s young, and cocky. He’s trying to prove something by starting shit with the toughest guy in this place. I’m sure he read something somewhere about being the “alpha dog” or some bullshit. But to me, he’s just a nipping pup. He’s no threat. He doesn’t worry me.

In here, I am the alpha dog. Unquestionably.

“You get that pussy tattoo for a girl?”

I stiffen. He chuckles.

“Da, yes? You get a pussy tattoo to try and get some pussy?”

I’m still ignoring him, but I can feel my pulse thudding a little harder, a little hotter. The guard chuckles as he clanks his knife against the bars.

“This girl… is she a whore?”

My jaw grinds. He’s wandering dangerously close to a line. I’m still turned away from him when I open my mouth.

“Maybe we should ask your sister if she knows her.”

The clanking of the knife on the bars stops, and I hear him hiss.

“You want me to fuck you up?”

I turn, smiling thinly at him. “I am only saying I’m happy for your sister. It’s good that she found a job doing what she does best.”

His lips curl into a sneer. “Maybe I find this whore of yours, yes? Maybe when I go on leave next month, I make it my job to find this girl, and fuck her in every single hole—”

He barely has time to blink before I’m at the bars. He shrieks, but it’s too late. My arm has already shot between them and grabbed him by the throat. I yank him hard against the bars, breaking his nose and splitting his lips. He screams again. But then I grab the knife out of his hand, flip it, and sink it deep into his neck artery. The screams turn to horrified gurgles as he claws at my hand.

“You will never touch her,” I hiss into his ear. “And when I see you in hell, plan on me doing this to you again, and again, and again…”

I twist the knife as the life fades from his eyes. Guards come rushing down the hall, screaming at me, guns out. I drop the sack of shit to the ground, watching him bleed out as I step away. There are a dozen guns aimed at me as they open my cell door and pour in.

The beating goes on, and on, and on. I’m limp and barely conscious when they drag me back to solitary. And this time, I know it will be much longer than four months. But it doesn’t really matter. I close my eyes, I think of my little guardian angel, and I