SIXTY - THREE

SIXTY - THREE
CELESTIA

Fifteen million, even though it was a fortune to some, would never be enough for Kyla. Somehow I could never regard her with the full name — Donovan — because she did not deserve it.
A soft knock on the door snagged our collective attention as one of her armed lackeys get to it.
"Ma’am, Mr. Yefim Bobkov is here for you."
Kyla nodded and confirmed her consent to allow the man into the room. And when he did, the sight of him unnerved me even more. The man was tall, exceedingly so, and so much well-built as compared to my dwarfed stature. And for a man in forties, he had very thin hair, sleeked back and sun lines around his inquisitive black eyes.
“Mr. Bobkov,” Kyla beamed. “Welcome. I was awaiting your arrival.”
He did not bother to spare a look at Kyla, having his gaze pinned over me as he stepped into the room. The leer of his eyes told me that he was satisfied to see me restrained.
“Are the formalities complete?” he asked without wavering his gaze. And if his name was any indication, the thick Russian accent was all the confirmation I needed to know of his identity.
Kyla stepped in between. “She refused to sign the papers. Obviously, I can use various methods, but I am afraid it will ruin your property,” she said in a clinical tone as if I were hers to broker and sell. It made me sick to the stomach.
“You paid up front,” the Russian growled.
“I’ll let you decide then. But she cannot be released without signing the papers.”
“You have wait a lifetime for that,” I spat her. At this point, if it means to bleed, scream and die—I would take it. But as long as I live, Kyla would never get what she wanted.
Sleazy pairs of eyes sized me up for a long beat while the man’s lips curled into a smirk. “I will break her in then,” he announced. First, let us see if she is healthy and intact.”
My mind spun with all the worst of possibilities. There was no way I would come out of this unscathed, and with the arrival of this beast of a man, it clear that my death was a distant thing.
What they wanted was a broken little toy. And I refused to be that girl.
The Russian gave a series of orders as the men unstrapped only my legs and dragged me down a hallway, leading to the basement. The room they forced me into was just walls and a metal door. Inside, a long wooden table dominated the space and a man in a white coat stood by it.
“Lay her on the table and strap her down.”
My heart stung, filling with fear. How long could I keep with this? Every second was a nightmare, and I still did not know whether Raffaele was able to pick up the clue.
Would I even survive by the time he arrives?
I screamed and kicked but to no avail. Within a minute, overpowering figures had my back laid on the cold surface of the table with my legs strapped to the farthest corner of the table, and my wrist clicked into cuffs on the edges. A gag forced over my mouth, cutting out the screams and range of expletives.
They had me spread like a sacrificial animal, only instead of slaughter, I would be violated.
“Be thorough about it, doctor,” the Russian called out to the white-coat man. “I would like to have my money’s worth.”
“You will, Mr. Bobkov,” he assured.
Even though everyone in the room heard me sob against the gag, they did not bother. Bracing for what was coming, I fixed my eyes on the ceiling, unwavering, and prayed for a miracle.
Something cold touched my skin, something…
The sound steel scissors through fabric rang louder in the room, and before I realised, the dress was cut down ruthless off me. It did not take the time to snip the lacy bra or the panties, the last of my modesty, and have me rendered entirely naked in a room full of strangers.
A cold, meaty paw settled over my breasts, manipulating it. “Lovely,” came the filthy Russian accent. “She looks promising.”
“She is,” Kyla’s voice floated in even though I could not see her.
“I still need to know if she is unspoiled.”
I wanted to shut my senses and be transported in a world where I was no longer treated as an animal. With every passing second, my resolve was slipping, and the infinite desire to endure, survive and live was fast becoming a distant dream.
When does living become the wrong choice and death the right one?
A gloved finger, or perhaps two, scoured around my sex, probing and prodding like I was a prized horse for inspection. Every touch made my skin crawl and prickle with disgust, and if I could throw up — I would have.
Biting on to the gag, I suppressed the pain until a hand grabbed my nipples and twisted savagely. My eyes gaped open, head lolling from side to side as their cruel faces lit up with sadistic grins.
“I have rarely paid for women upfront, and you cost me a lot. It is only fair I sample you, pet,” the Russian grumbled with his nasty breath over my scrunched up face.
“Eh, Mr. Bobkov,” the man who shamelessly inspected me snagged his attention, and for a brief second, I felt relieved. “She is not exactly unspoiled.”
“Impossible!” Kyla’s heel clicked closer as she appeared in my line of sight.
“Well, I can only tell you the specifics.”
She took the gag off, digging her fingers into my cheek. “You little whore, how many men did you sleep with?”
Anger churned in my chest, and I no longer feared the consequences. The saliva pooled, and I spat on her face. “Go to hell,” I sneered.
A slap painted my cheeks. She was going for another when a voice stopped her. “Enough.” Russian again. “She is mine to deal with.”
Since there was more power in dirty money, Kyla pursed her lips and stepped back with a stiff nod. He walked to the other side, positioning his hand between my legs and rammed his digits into the dry channel. The intrusion forced a blood-curdling scream echoing around the room like a ghost.
It hurt so much.
The next hour or so entailed another episode of torment and their animalistic attempt to break me — physically and mentally.
They strung me up by the chains from the ceiling and took a whip to my back. It rained unbearable lashes, and I was given a choice to make it all stop at the cost of my signature.
A signature that would have marked Kyla’s victory and condemned a lifetime of misery.
And I would instead choose my death.
The pain ricocheted higher and higher with every lash that licked my skin. My chest rose and fell with agony; vision flickered with black spots as I hyperventilated. And finally, the darkness took me in.

RAFFAELE

I felt like I was racing against time.
Even though I managed to find out the location, confirmed with sources that Kyla have been there a few days, it was still a toss. The place was at least a two-hour drive from Vegas, middle of nowhere, and it was hard to track without rampant communication.
The car came to a screeching halt as Amadeo, Cesar and I jumped out. There were two cars parked already, and I was more sure it was the lead we were looking for.
“Rafe, be careful,” Amadeo warned.
I barely nodded, frantically heading in. Cesar took the lead and crashed the door, and as soon as he did, guns were blazing, and bullets were flying. The gunfire continued for some time until a scream and sob strained my ears.
Celestia?
While the Amadeo and the rest of my men shielded, Cesar and I followed down the long path and descended towards the basement.
She was there.
My little, precious bambi.
Naked, bloodied, broken.
The next few seconds were a blur. I charged, fired and annihilated whatever came in my path—a man holding a whip, a white coat guy, then a few with arms. I did not care. I did not see it.
I merely fired.
Blood pooled and splattered around the dingy place as rushed to Celestia and brought her down.
“Open your eyes,” I begged, cried and howled. “Please, please, please.”
I rocked back and forth, holding her to me, pleading to open her eyes.
My heart smoked to ash.
My mind broke with hers.
I was falling.
Celestia.
The love of my life.

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