Captured By A Sinner: Chapter 7

God help me.

I lie on the floor next to the bed with my eyes shut tightly.

I don’t want to face the world without my family. I don’t want to think of the bleak future that awaits me.

I can’t deal with the trauma. It’s too much, threatening to strip me of my sanity.

I hear Viktor’s footsteps come down the hallway and press my back hard against the base of the bed as I curl into a tight ball.

“Get up,” he orders.

Leave me alone.

“Rosalie.” Warning laces the single word.

I ignore him, just wanting to lie here until I die.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he snaps, then he grabs hold of my arm and yanks me to my feet. I’m shoved in the direction of the bathroom. “Shower and change your clothes. We’re late for lunch.”

My jaw clenches, and my throat tightens. Spinning around to face him, I shout, “I’m not going!”

“Blyadʹ, you’re testing my patience,” he grumbles, his expression rivaling a thundercloud.

I lift my chin, determined to at least stand my ground. He might have kidnapped me, but I sure as hell won’t obey his every command. “I. Don’t. Care.” Feeling reckless and like I have nothing to lose, I take a step closer. “Kill me.”

Viktor’s eyes narrow on my face. “Don’t tempt me, Little Rose.”

Losing my sanity, I dart forward and slam my fists against his chest. “Kill me!”

Viktor’s arms lock around me and secure me to his chest with a brutal hold. I squirm and fight but quickly grow tired. The emotions I’ve managed to squash down during the night erupt like a volcano and force broken cries from me.

He places a hand behind my head and curls his body into mine, his other arm remaining locked around me. I feel him press his mouth to my hair. “Shh…”

Engulfed by Viktor and in desperate need of comfort, I press as close to him as I can while weeping for everything I’ve lost.

“Jesus, Rosalie,” he murmurs, concern tightening the words. “I’m so fucking sorry for the pain you’re going through.”

The apology won’t bring back my family, but it eases some of the heartache – enough for me to breathe and for my sanity to return.

My arms are caught between us, and I manage to grip hold of his shirt, needing the comfort he’s offering just for a little while longer.

“If you don’t believe anything else, just believe that I won’t hurt you.”

It doesn’t matter. I’ve already been hurt in ways I’ll never be able to recover from.

Viktor pushes me back an inch, his hands frame my face, and I’m forced to look up at him as lost sobs flutter over my lips. His eyes bore into mine, and for the first time, there’s no sign of the brutality always lurking in the dark depths of his irises. There’s only compassion.

“You’re going to be okay.”

I shake my head, my skin brushing against his palms. “I won’t.”

I’ve lost too much.

The happy girl from yesterday died with her family, and in her place are broken shards of who she once was.

“You will. It’s just going to take some time.”

Because he doesn’t look like the head of the bratva but a man who actually has a beating heart in his chest, I dare to plead, “Please, let me go.”

Slowly he shakes his head, the compassion vanishes, and he pulls away from me. “Stop asking. I’ll only give you your freedom when you’re twenty-one.”

My shoulders slump, and turning around, I walk to the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

“You have ten minutes,” he calls out.

Inhaling deeply, I turn on the faucets and watch as the water sprays against the tiles.

I’m so tired. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally.

I won’t be able to fight for three years. But giving in is not an option.

Maybe I’ll be able to talk to Viktor’s mother. Or, with a little luck, I’ll get to meet Isabella. Maybe one of the women will be willing to help me.

The thought is the only thing giving me the strength to shower. When I step back into the bedroom, I’m relieved to see Viktor’s not waiting. I quickly dress in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers. I braid my wet strands, then leave the bedroom.

When I walk down the stairs, Viktor’s eyes sweep over me. “Much better.” He holds his hand out to me, but I ignore it and walk past him.

I don’t take in the beautiful garden but search the perimeter walls for a way to escape. There are guards stationed everywhere, quickly snuffing out the hope of ever escaping this prison.

“The mansion on the left,” Viktor mutters when I reach a fork in the path.

That means Isabella’s house must be the one on the right. If she’s not joining us for lunch, I’ll go to her and ask for help.

When I reach a set of open French doors, Viktor places his hand on my lower back and nudges me inside. I pull away, shooting a scowl up at him. “Don’t touch me.”

He holds his hands up in a surrendering gesture, then tips his head toward the door on our right.

When I walk into a dining room, my feet instantly come to a faltering stop as all eyes turn to me. Five people are seated at a long rectangular table. Three women and two men.

Viktor walks past me and pulls out a chair. “Come sit.”

My eyes flit between the two older women, trying to figure out which one is Isabella, as I take a seat.

Viktor sits down at the head of the table, then gestures at each person. “Alexei, Isabella, and Mariya Koslov. And these are my parents, Demitri and Ariana Vetrov.”

My eyes are glued to Isabella, who’s staring at my neck. Her voice is low with anger when she asks, “Why are there marks on her neck?”

“Rosalie put up a fight. I never intended to hurt her,” Viktor explains. “I had to subdue her because she was having a panic attack after seeing her uncle being killed.”

Mariya reaches for my hand, and it quickly has me pulling both of mine beneath the table, not wanting anyone to touch me.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmurs.

My loss? I’ve suffered more than just a mere loss, and now I’m expected to have lunch with the enemy and smile and thank them for taking me in?

Shaking my head, I let out a bitter chuckle. “This is insane.” I keep shaking my head as I rise to my feet. “I’m not doing this.”

I dart past Viktor and out of the dining room. I find my way to the French doors and sprint as fast as I can toward the boundary wall.

Before I can reach it, four guards move in front of me.

I come to a faltering stop, wildly looking for another way to escape. When I glance behind me, it’s to see Viktor standing by the path, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches me.

“My men have work to do, Rosalie. They’re not going to chase you around the property all day long,” Viktor calls out.

I look at the Russian soldiers and feel stupid for even trying to get to the wall. Frustrated, I turn around and stalk back to Viktor’s house and straight to my bedroom. I slam the door shut, wishing I had a key to lock it.

Not even a second later, it opens, and Viktor mutters, “So much for having lunch with my family.”

“You can all go to hell. I have no interest in getting to know your family,” I snap as I step out of my sneakers.

Just because I have to stay here for three years doesn’t mean I have to interact with any of them.

“I’m trying to make you feel at home.”

I roll my eyes as I climb onto the bed and yank the covers over my head. “Leave me alone.”

I hear the door shut and when I peek from beneath the covers, I’m relieved to see Viktor’s gone.

So much for asking Isabella to help me.

Honestly, she looked scary as hell. Beautiful but scary nonetheless.

The hope I had before I met Viktor’s family is gone, and the desolate feeling is back. It doesn’t take long before my grief and trauma break me down, and I cry myself asleep.