by Claire Marta
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Damien
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
“How the fuck did that savage get his hands on my wife? Better yet how the fuck did he get our location?” I shout.
“Obviously he was following us. Seems you’re not as careful as you think.” Grey says from the corner.
“Shut the fuck up.” Phillip snaps. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and find her.”
“It’s not that simple. Yes, it’s easier because we’re tied together by blood, however, it takes too much time and too much energy.”
“Oh, don’t worry about wasting your energy. I have enough for five people. I just need to know where to go.” I assure him.
“We have a guy, can’t you do your thing on him and get the location? It’ll be faster.”
“Oh, you don’t want to waste energy, but you don’t mind if we do?” Oscar gripes.
“Chances of him knowing anything are slim.” I explain. “Do what needs to be done. I’ll take care of our unexpected guest.”
Swiftly I move from the sitting room to the basement of the new house. This is not how I wanted to spend my first night in my new home.
I’m pissed, but until we know where the fucker is there’s nothing we can do. I just pray that Ava has some strength to not die before I get there.
If she dies I’m going to be really pissed.
Downstairs I find one of the bastards who dared fuck with my family.
Oscar shuts the steel door behind us. Luckily our men finished setting up our downstairs room just this afternoon.
Dark eyes meet mine. Shaggy blond hair hangs in greasy strands around his face. If I had to guess I’d say that fucking savage picked this one off of the street.
“I’m not in the mood. So either you tell me what you know and die quickly, or don’t and die slowly.”
Oscar and Sheila walk to the far corner of the room where some of their toys are waiting for them.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spits in accented English.
“What is that? German? We could send you back to Germany in pieces if you wish.”
He spouts of profanities in his native tongue, one which none of us speak. Doesn’t matter. With the look of hate he shoots at me I can guess the content.
Suddenly his whole body tenses up as Oscar stands behind him. We didn’t have time to bring his favorite toy in, but the cattle prod works just as well.
Oscar lets up only to start right back up. The process happens over and over while the fucker tenses and screams. After five minutes I signal Oscar to stop.
“You see, I have a problem. Your boss took my wife. I need her back. I needed her back an hour ago.
So either you tell me what you know and this will stop. If you don’t know shit, say it. We’ll gladly kill you. God knows we have better shit to do than sitting down here with your whiny ass.
But if you do know something, then please stay silent. My siblings bore easily.” With that I step back and Sheila takes her turn.
With a firm hand she grabs stands of his dirty hair. With a rather dull and dirty blade she digs into the man’s scalp.
Scalping on a normal day is messy and painful, but with a dull knife? It’s fucking difficult. My sister, however, knows how to get the job done.
“Okay! Okay! Call your bitch off!” He sobs.
Sheila releases him when she has a strip of his scalp dangling from her fingers. The punch to the stomach comes hard and fast. “What do you know?” I bark.
“He said something...something about a ship. I don’t know much else. Please. I only did this for the pay day. I got a kid, I need the money.”
“I don’t need to hear your useless excuses,” I spit. “You knowingly went into this situation, and now my wife and child are in danger because of it.
You’re lucky I don’t have the patience to torture you.”
Sheila hands me a sledgehammer and the satisfying crunch I get when I smash his skull in is enough.
We leave his body dangling from the ceiling and make our way back to the sitting room. We all have blood and brains splattered on our clothes, Sheila’s hands are bloody, but none of that matters right now. No, what matters is praying that while we were wasting time with our plaything Grey actually got something good for us.
I refuse to allow anything else to matter right now but finding out which location that bastard has Ava in.
A ship, that could be anywhere up and down the fucking coast. He’s had a two fucking hour head start.
I can’t wait to get my hands on him.
“Grey,” I say as soon as I enter the sitting room.
He’s leaning back against the sofa, hand in Michael’s, eyes closed, body completely still.
He has about five seconds to come back and give me something useful before I shake the fuck out of him.
With a gasp and a tremor that shakes his whole body Grey slowly opens his eyes. Brown eyes dull, face paler than usual, I know whatever he’s seen can’t be good.
“New York Harbor.” He gasps out. “It’s...It’s bad, Damien.” His worry is evident in his shaky voice.
“Call everyone in,” I snap.
“Already on it, they should be descending upon us at any moment.” Phillip says.
“An hour and a half by car is too fucking long.” I growl.
Shit.
“I need Phillip, Michael, Oscar, Sheila, Serg, and Grey with me. Samson, Shaun, and Shane I need directly behind. Everyone else needs to be within a mile.
We need to surround the bastard. Don’t give him any opening to run through.”
My voice is hard.
I can feel my control slipping.
The bastard side of me. The one that craves bloodshed. The one that kills first and asks questions later is coming out.
Nothing matters from here on out except my family.
Nothing matters except finding my fucking wife and killing that fucking savage.
Failure is not an option.
Bastard is going to wish he never dared to fuck with what’s mine.
Nobody touches my family and lives to tell about it. I don’t care who they are. I’ve been way too lenient these past few months.
Falling in love with the princess has turned me soft. That shit ends now.
Ava
Pain pulses through me as I whimper. Another shallow slice licks across my skin and I jerk from the cut. The silver Ivan burns me with makes it hurt far worse. It sends agony through my nerve endings. Fueling my hoarse screams as my contractions dominate my being.
Time has stretched into one long agonizing infinite moment.
My flesh is covered in his marks as the hours trickle by, and with it my hope that rescue will come.
What my father did to me growing up is nothing compared to this. I’m trapped in a nightmare.
Damien promised me he would be there when I needed him the most. At my side. Where is he now?
“I’ve had people break before now.” Ivan tells me as inspects the damage he has done so far. “You’ve lasted longer than I thought, but you are Carr’s daughter after all. Even if you are a useless whore.”
I don’t answer. Head resting back on the table, my body shakes from the loss of so much blood. Like crimson paint I wear it where it’s bled down my body in red streaks.
Each slash he has inflicted on me is different from the last. He doesn’t want me to bleed out quickly. No, that would be no fun for him. Instead he makes sure I don’t heal properly. The damage remains with the help of the drug still being pumping through my system.
The kicks inside my belly have become less and less. I don’t even dare to think about what that means. If I lose my child now all my hope will die along with her. It will be the end for me.
A tip of a blade works its way across my shoulder, leaving pain in its wake. As it makes its way to my throat I freeze. Has he changed his mind about the baby? Or maybe this is it. He’s going to cut my throat and t
ake her while I choke on my own blood.
“It’s almost a shame to get rid of you.” Ivan confesses his voice a low rumble. “If you hadn’t mated that Rochester bastard things could have been different. I can’t chance his family coming after you. I just have to make sure what I leave of you is unrecognisable and let them believe you’re both dead.”
Lowering the knife he takes something else from the table.
The hammer comes down so swiftly on my foot with such strength I feel the bones beneath my skin shatter into pieces.
Screaming, neck straining, back arching, the agony is so immense I almost black out. Before I even have time to recover Ivan brings it down on my other foot.
Warm, wet, liquid gushes from between my legs, soaking my naked backside and thighs as I begin to cry.
“Hmm, your water’s finally broken, princess, and look you’ve made a mess.” The Russian bastard laughs sadistically.
“No more, please, no more.” I can’t stop myself from begging.
I’m not sure how much more I can take. Time is running out. He will soon slice me open and leave me for dead.
“I don’t stop until you’ve delivered the brat.”
Lowering the hammer, Ivan moves across the room with purposeful strides.
“Did you know they brand cattle?” He asks conversationally. “So they bear the mark of their owner.”
Moving around to face me, he holds out a branding iron. In his other hand is a blow torch.
Careful, and efficiency, he begins to use the blue naked flame to heat up the metal until the tip is glowing white hot.
I can’t move or talk, paralysed with the horror of what’s coming next.
Grinning maliciously, he jams the silver-infused searing symbol into my inner thigh.
The smell of my own burning flesh fills my nostrils, making me thrash in my bindings and howl in torment.
Throbbing, sizzling, it continues to eat away at my skin even after it’s removed.
“Not so high and mighty now are you, princess? My mark’s going to be all over your pretty soft figure before I’m done.”
Flicking the blow torch back on Ivan determinedly reheats the iron.
Metal meets the other thigh, making me shriek, my voice raw and high with the pain.
“I’m going to do your tits next.” Ivan murmurs with an evil grin. “You won’t be needing them much longer anyway.”
A contraction hits me harder, twisting in my restraints I try to rid out the wave of pain. They’re getting closer and closer together. Not much longer and my child will be born into the arms of this monster.
Tears blind me as I wail hysterically. Where is my family? Why have they abandoned me? If not for me than they should be here for my daughter. Damien said no matter what she was his. Ours.
Flesh hisses as it burns. As Ivan mutilates the middle of my chest.
My screams entwine with beeping from the other room. My mind begins to crack under the weight of his torture.
Cursing under his breath, he discards the brand, before rushing to check his equipment.
Lips trembling, I suck in an excruciating breath as my head slumps back. Everything hurts.
I can’t even remember what pleasure feels like. The touch of Damien’s hand. How he took me over and over in our bed. It’s lost. Stolen by Ivan and what he’s doing to me.
If I survive I am not sure I will ever recover from this.
The sound of people shouting takes a while to penetrate. Even then all I can do is stare, unfocused and subdued at the door, while I silently cry.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Damien
SIX HOURS. THAT’S HOW LONG IT took to find this bastard. Now we’re in the middle of a fucking firefight with his minions.
“Spread out. Find her. Now!” My brothers and sister each take a direction. The large cargo ship wouldn’t be hard to search, except of course it has what seem to be never ending shipping containers onboard.
“You really know how to pick them, brother.” Sheila bitches. “Stupid enough to get captured not once, but twice.”
“Yes well, you can punish her for it later.” I remark.
We head below deck and almost get filled with bullets. “Fuck,” I shout. I don’t really aim, I just pull the trigger and a few assholes fall dead.
I toss my gun to Sheila and pull out my knives. The weight of them in my hands is almost calming, despite the situation we’re in.
I sink a blade into the last fucker and then all is silent.
“Well, so much for the element of surprise,” Michael deadpans from behind.
“Quiet.” I snap.
A door at the end of the corridor opens and then slams shut. It’s pitch black, but as heavy footsteps get closer we can see the fucker who’s behind all of this unnecessary nonsense.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” the ugly Russian spits out.
“You know, you really shouldn’t talk about yourself that way.” I murmur.
He shoots me an evil grin. “How’s the hand? Skin healed up? I would so love to do it again.”
“I bet you would. Tell you what, you let my wife go and then you and I can have some fun.” I palm a blade.
Every instinct wants me to gut the bastard and take back what is mine, but the logical part knows it’s better to play his game. After all, he dragged us out here for a reason. I’d hate to be rude and ruin all of his hard work.
“You’re an arrogant bastard.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, sweetheart.” I drawl. “You have about five seconds to release my wife. Otherwise, bad things will happen.”
He grins and shifts.
Sheila doesn’t wait. She pounces, all one hundred and thirty pounds of her flies through the air, she attaches herself to Ivan’s brawny body. A knife digs into his flesh and he hisses.
She clings to him, twisting the knife into his neck.
Phillip quickly and effortlessly joins his wife. Phillip shoots Ivan, point blank. He’ll die a slow death if we leave him long enough. But that’s too good for him.
The Russian fights, trying to dislodge Sheila, trying to push Phillip away as he maneuvers him to the wall.
“I’ll be back for you.” I say lowly, and then I move down the corridor to where Ivan first appeared.
Ava
Tears blurring my vision distort the figure I coming into view. Cowering I whimper, knowing that Ivan has come back to finally end me.
“Princess?”
What’s left of my fractured mind freezes at the voice. Blinking back the dampness on my eyelashes I stare disbelievingly at my husband. Damien. He’s here.
I can’t look away. Is it a hallucination? A cruel product of the pain? I’ve pleaded for him to come for so long it would make sense my broken mind conjured him up.
“Son of a bitch. Oscar, get your ass in here.” A hand gently caresses my cheek and more tears fall.
As another contraction rips through me my stomach convulses. Screaming, my fingernails claw into the table below me. “Baby’s coming.” I pant when things become tolerable.
“Of fucking course. Because when shit hits the fan it really hits. Oscar, I swear to God you better get your ass in here.”
I’m vaguely aware of someone else entering the room.
“Oh fuck.” Oscar’s voice is familiar and strained.
The chains around my wrists are unfastened. Hissing as the silver infused metal lifts free I wiggle my numb arms.
Flinching, as hands touch my burned inner thighs, I desperately try to close my restrained legs. No more pain. I just want it all to be over.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Oscar chants trying to sooth me. “I’m just checking for the head.”
“Don’t make it sound like you didn’t learn everything about childbirth from the fucking internet.” Damien snaps.
“It’s not that hard.” Oscar replies.
“Please, I need to push.” I grunt as another wave of pain hits me lower in my
abdomen. Teeth gritted, I bare down with the urge. I have to get her out. It’s instinct. Like the need to breathe.
“You’re doing wonderful, princess.” Oscar encourages. His voice is a little shaky.
A hand laces with mine. Clutching onto Damien I rest my head back with the brief lull. Exhaustion has me functioning on fumes. I’m so tired, I just want to close my eyes.
“Come on, princess, you’ve got this.” He tells me squeezing my palm.
Legs shaking in the stirrups, body tensing, I push with all my might.
“It’s coming.” Oscar shouts. “Keep going. That’s it.”
Pressure eases. Something large slips out between my legs.
Thank fuck for that. Is the first thing that passes through my mind.
The sudden silence is deafening. In that split second I know with certainty something is wrong.
“She’s not breathing.”
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Not now. Oscar’s words rip a guttural roar from the depths of my soul. Everything has been for nothing. She’d dead. Ivan took her from me. The fucker did this and there is nothing I can do.
“Come on, sweetheart, breathe.” Quick, frantic, my brother-in-law begins CPR on the bloodied little body in his arms.
Damien is still beside me. Tension is rolling off him in waves, but he doesn’t move or say a word.
I can’t watch. Closing my eyes, I can’t bare to see my newborn lifeless in Oscar’s arms. It’s too much. After everything this is destroying me. There will be no going back from this.
A faint noise makes my heart stutter. As the cry comes again I feel my tears slid down my face faster. “She’s alive.” I sob. Relief is overwhelming.
Raising wet eyelashes, I stare at Damien as Oscar hands him a small bundled up form, wrapped in his jacket.
My husband looks stunned. Face pale, he’s wearing an expression I have never seen before. He’s staring at our daughter as if she’s the most precious thing in the world.
Carefully, with her resting awkwardly in the crook of his arm, he moves closer so I can see her.
Tiny hands brush against my face. Opening her mouth, her outraged cry at being torn from the warmth of my womb is loud and angry. Silver eyes blink slowly up at mine. She looks more like me than Damien, with her little tuft of black hair.
