The Petrov Brothers Read online

“You're going to fucking regret doing that, you whore.” Another slap lands on my face, the pain intensifies, and before I can even get my bearings, my dress is being ripped down my body in one furious pull, leaving me in nothing but my underwear.

  “Fuck, look at that little body. I bet she’s tight.” Luca grips me by the chin, his fat fingers digging into my skin. I snarl my lip and spit right in his face. He looks at me with murderous rage, and I wonder if this is where I’m going to die.

  He wipes a hand down his face and with that same hand, he punches me. Literally punches me. My jaw aches at the impact, and the copper taste of blood fills my mouth.

  “Please... please, stop…” I cry, trying to wiggle out of their hold, but my futile attempts just seem to egg them on. The one behind me is grinding his erection into my backside and the one in front of me starts smiling while he squeezes my boobs painfully. When one of his hands travels down between my legs, roughly grabbing me there, another rush of anger floods my system, giving me just a little bit more strength.

  I grit my teeth and push through the pain. In my final attempt to fight them, I throw my head back as hard as I can, hitting the guy behind me somewhere in the face. He releases me with a grunt, and I use that moment to bring my knee up and kick the guy in front of me between the legs. He falls to the floor, swear words filling the air. Without looking back, I bolt toward the door and out into a well-lit hall. I’m out… I’m outside of the cell. I glance back at the man over my shoulder and see out of the corner of my eyes that I can see through the mirror into my cell like it’s a window.

  They’ve been watching me this whole time... watching me, seeing me struggle and cry. Adrenaline floods my body, forcing me forward. I start running, without thought to where I’m going, only that I need to get away from those men. I hear someone following behind me, heavy footsteps, and words in a language I don’t understand.

  Once I reach the end of the hallway, I take a sharp turn around the corner, ready to pick up speed. Instead, I slam into a wall… or what I think is a wall. When I lift my eyes, I discover that it isn’t really a wall, but a wall of muscled chest.

  All the air leaves my lungs at the impact, and my knees buckle. Strong arms grip onto me, engulfing me in warmth…in safety. My hands land flatly on his huge chest, and I curl my fingers into his shirt when I hear the two men trying to hurt me approach behind us.

  I look up at the face of the man holding me. His eyes are gunmetal gray, reminding me of the sky before a storm, but as he looks into my eyes, his gaze softens.

  “Help me, please help me,” I whisper, my voice trembling. I grip onto his shirt tighter, willing him to help me, to save me from these horrible men. He doesn’t say a word, he just stares at me, no emotion whatsoever in his eyes. When the heavy footfalls of the two guys chasing me stop behind us, I see his eyes move past me to where the two guys are standing.

  I feel their presence without looking, and it terrifies me. I pray he isn’t going to give me back to them, I don’t know what will happen if he does, but I won’t just let them have me. No way. I bury my face into the unknown man’s chest. His scent washes over me, like expensive whiskey and cinnamon. Feeling his muscles move underneath my touch, I know he is so much bigger and stronger than those two. He could protect me from them.

  An eerie moment of silence falls over us, and my body starts to shake uncontrollably.

  “That bitch tried to run, boss. We were just going to put her back in the cell,” Luca says into the silence.

  “And who opened the cell door for her?” the man holding me asks. His voice is deep and dark, and dread fills my veins at his words. He is not going to help me. Maybe he is the one who put me in that room. The one who kidnapped me. Sobs rack my body at the disappointment. I’m never going to get out of here. I’m never going to be safe again.

  “Ivan… boss, we were just going to have a little fun… we weren’t going to hurt her...”

  “You don’t touch the merchandise and by the looks of her fucking face, it seems like you did a whole lot of hurting her,” Ivan growls.

  One single word stands out from his sentence: Merchandise? I know what the word means but I can’t comprehend what it means for me. They can’t possibly be selling me... or anyone for that matter, right? It’s illegal to sell humans… men, women, it doesn’t matter.

  As I listen in shock to their conversation, I realize that I’m still holding on to the man who obviously has something to do with me being here. Why do I feel safe in his arms? I should push him away, fight him like I did the other two men. I should try and escape, but instead, I lean into him for comfort. I feel safe in his arms, even though the rational part of my brain tells me I shouldn’t.

  I enjoy his big hands sprawled out over my back, and the warmth his body gives me. For a moment, I can forget the throbbing in my face and the split in my lip. I can forget that I’ve been kidnapped and held prisoner.

  “She tried escaping, boss. We had to stop her. Maybe if she didn’t try and claw our fucking eyes out, she wouldn’t look like she does,” the other man starts, but Luca cuts him off by clearing his throat, as if he knows better than to disobey.

  “It won’t happen again, boss. We just wanted to have a little fun. Clearly, we made a mistake. We’ll put her back in her cell and lock it up.”

  My body stiffens at his words, and my fingers clutch Ivan’s shirt. Please say no. I beg in my head like a prayer. If he gives me to them, I’m going to run. I’m going to run as fast and hard as I can.

  “I’ll take her back myself and if I see you two around her cell again... I’ll kill you both. We don’t touch the merchandise. If you want to fuck something, go to the whorehouse,” he warns them.

  “Of course, boss,” they both mumble and when I hear their feet pounding against the floor, going in the opposite direction of where we’re standing, I sigh. I cling to the man before me, my fingers refusing to let go of him.

  A whimper escapes my lips when he pries my fingers from his shirt and lifts me into the air, holding me like a groom holds his bride... like I weigh nothing at all. I probably don’t, considering his size. I briefly catch a glimpse of a large tattoo on the side of his neck before I lower my face so he can’t look at it.

  He cradles me to his chest like I’m a small child. His skin feels so warm against mine, and I want to sink deep inside him and stay there forever. I twist and burrow my face into his chest. I remember then that I’m completely naked, other than my panties. I’ve never been naked in front of a man before, and now I’ve been naked in front of three all in one night.

  “Please, don’t put me back in that room,” I murmur into his shirt. He doesn’t respond or stop walking in the direction I just came from. He just continues walking as if he didn’t hear me at all. With every step he takes, I lose a little more hope that I’m ever going to get out of here.

  2

  Ivan

  Her blue eyes pierced through my heart like a dull butter knife. I’m so fucking angry right now. More than angry, actually, and I don’t understand the emotions I’m feeling.

  I carry her small body back into the cell. With her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, she is holding on to me as if her life depends upon it. I glance down at her, but her face is buried into my chest. She is crying, sobbing, her whole body shaking with the force of her tears, and I can’t get her stupid pleas out of my head. She’s stupid, so stupid. Without knowing who I am, she begs me to help her, like I’m some kind of fucking hero. She has no fucking idea how wrong she is. I’m just as bad as those assholes who bruised up her face and tried to have their way with her.

  Still, hearing the desperation in her voice, seeing how scared she, feeling her cling to me like I’m the only one who can save her gives me an ounce of hope that maybe there is some good left inside of me, when I thought all of it had been snuffed out a long time ago. I saved her, protected her, and that does something to me, even I don’t want to acknowledge it.

  Typically,
I don’t deal with this part of the business. Mainly because I don’t like how they treat the women. It doesn’t get me off to see women sexually abused or beaten, so I try to ignore this part of the job and leave my men to deal with this shit. Which makes me no better than them. Yeah, I might not hurt the women, but I don’t do anything to stop it either. I knew she was here, of course, I’d gotten her file thrown on my desk the second she was brought in to be processed, but I’d never seen her, besides the small picture of her driver’s license, not until now. Most of the women here never saw me, the man who made sure the entire operation went as smoothly as possible.

  I carry her to the bed, my molars grinding together when I see the ripped dress discarded on the floor. I quickly scan the room, getting even angrier when I see there isn’t even a blanket or sheet on the dirty mattress. I don’t want to put her back on it, but what else am I going to fucking do with her? I didn’t realize the women lived in such shitty conditions, but I suppose offering them anything gives them false hope. Most of these women will end up dead or worse after they’re sold. So, something as superficial as a blanket or pillow won’t matter anyway.

  I kneel down next to the mattress, ready to lay her down on it, when her shaking intensifies.

  “Please, don’t leave me here, please.” Her words cut through me.

  “I can’t help you,” I tell her with a stern voice, but I can’t bring myself to peel her from my body or put her down on the mattress. Something about her makes me want to break every rule.

  “Can you stay with me… just for a little while?”

  I don’t dare look at her. I should put her down and walk out that door without ever looking back, but the way she clings to me has awakened a protective instinct inside me.

  An instinct I thought I’d lost long ago, one I shoved down so deep inside me that it would never see the light of day again. I guess I was wrong. I hadn’t lost the ability to care, I just hadn’t had a reason to.

  I sit down on the mattress, resting my back against the cold wall, while continuing to hold her in my arms. She cuddles into me as if she can't get close enough.

  “I’m so cold,” she whimpers.

  I tighten my arms around her and rub my hands up and down her cold skin, trying to get her warmed up. I need to find her something to wear and get her a blanket. There’s no way I can leave her in here naked like this.

  I sit there for a long time, just holding her, attempting to warm her fragile body while she sobs into my chest. I don’t say anything to her. Mostly because there is nothing to say. There is nothing I can offer her that will change the outcome of her future. Selling women is part of my job, and she was brought here, plucked off the street. She might not have asked to be brought here, but she’s here now, and I can’t just let her go.

  After a while, her sobs quiet down and eventually, her crying ceases altogether, but her grip on my shirt never eases up. Her breathing evens out and when her head rolls from my chest onto my arm and I see her eyes closed, I know for sure she is out.

  I look down at her face, studying her features, taking in her natural beauty. It’s no wonder the men selected her. With her long blond hair framing her heart-shaped face, she looks like a sleeping angel in my arms. My eyes drift down to her split lip. There’s smeared blood across it, a small cut in the corner, and her swollen jaw is turning black and blue with bruising. Looking at her, at how fragile she is, pulls a memory from deep inside my head.

  Mira. I try to shake it away, but this situation is all too similar to hers. I’m holding a small broken body in my arms, her eyes are closed, and blood covers her face just like it did Mira’s. And just like back then, I can’t help her. I can’t save her. I can’t save anybody.

  “Stop, Mira,” I yell. I hate having to play with my baby sister.

  She’s so annoying, all she ever does is follow me and Tyler around.

  “Ivan,” she whines, looking up at me with big blue eyes.

  “No, Mira, go play by yourself.” I turn back to Tyler. We start walking down the sidewalk in the direction of the playground.

  “I want to come with you,” she demands, her tiny feet sounding behind me. I whirl around, and she stops dead in her tracks.

  “No. You’re too little,” I boom over her, watching tears glisten in her eyes. I clench my fists at my sides. I feel bad for hurting her feelings, but I don’t always want to play with her. Sometimes, I just want to play with my friends.

  “You’re so mean, Ivan. The worst,” she pouts, turning around, bouncing the giant purple ball in her hands. It bounces away from her and toward the street.

  My heart pounds inside my chest…

  I squeeze my lids shut for a short time, trying to catch my breath as the memory washes through me. Once I’ve calmed myself a bit, I get up, still holding her in my arms, and very gently lay her down onto the mattress so she won’t wake up. She immediately curls up into a tight ball, her tiny hands tucked under her angelic face. I look down at her naked form, knowing that I can’t leave her here like this. It’s an irrational thought, knowing that she will be sold, but while she is here, the least I can do is give her some type of modesty and make sure she doesn't freeze to death. So, I pull off my black long-sleeved thermal shirt and cover her small body with it like a blanket.

  When I straighten, I take another look around the empty room. How long has she been here? I can’t fucking remember but I know the auction is not for another three weeks.

  I exhale a ragged breath, scrubbing a frustrated hand down my face. I shake my head in anger. I can’t worry about this shit. There is nothing I can do to change the outcome of this for her. I just need to go have a drink and forget this whole shit show ever happened.

  I take a few steps toward the door and glance into the tiny bathroom. It’s fucking filthy, and there is no soap or a towel… not even fucking toilet paper? How the fuck can she be expected to remain sanitary when they don’t even give her the necessities needed to do so?

  Fuck, what am I thinking? She isn’t being treated like a human because she isn’t going to be seen as one here. I’ve never thought about the women brought here because I never saw them. I never paid an ounce of attention to them because I didn't want to.

  But now that I have, I’m appalled. My blood boils, and I have to stop myself from slamming the door shut behind me when I leave the cell. I want to find someone to punch and yell at, but I really have no one to blame other than myself, and that makes this ten times worse. Guilt is a bitch, and it’s hitting as hard as it never has before.

  The men working for me just follow my orders; they don’t come up with this shit on their own. If I don’t order them to do something, then they aren’t going to fucking do it. This is on me.

  I walk from the first floor up the stairs to the second floor, my feet pounding across concrete. When I reach the door to my room, I unlock it, and twist the knob, walking inside. I slam the door closed behind me and walk into the bathroom connected off the bedroom. I shouldn’t be feeling shit for this woman... and still, I can’t get the image of her without a single fucking thing to give her comfort out of my head. There are other women here, all on that same floor, experiencing the same things she is, so why the fuck don’t I care about them, too?

  Because they aren’t her.

  Holding her in my arms, feeling her cling to me, reminded me of the one person in my life that I failed to save, failed to protect. I grit my teeth, grabbing onto the sink that’s barely fastened to the wall. Things were easier before she escaped and ran right into my arms like I was the hero in this twisted fucking story.

  But I’m not the hero. I can’t save her. I can’t even save myself. I force air into my lungs and swallow down all the emotions swirling out of control inside of me. This is my job. The only life I’ve ever known, and some tiny, fragile fucking woman isn’t going to ruin it for me.

  I lift my eyes to the mirror, and I see the man I’m meant to be.

  The hardened criminal, the killer
, the fucked-up asshole.

  I was born to do this. It’s in my blood.

  3

  Violet

  I blink my eyes open, feeling a little warmer than I have in a long time. My jaw throbs, and I fight back tears at the pain. When I shift against the mattress, I feel an unknown fabric rubbing against my naked skin. I gaze down at my body, which is now covered with a large black shirt. I look around the room expecting… hoping the owner of that shirt would still be here, but I’m met with nothing more than disappointment when I realize the room is completely empty, as always.

  I suck in a ragged breath, and the faint scent of cinnamon and whiskey tickles my nostrils, which I quickly realize comes from the shirt covering me. I get up and shimmy the shirt off of me while trying to keep my boobs covered.

  Now that I know for a fact this mirror isn’t really a mirror and that someone might be watching me right now, I am not going to give anyone a show. I turn my back to the door and slip the oversized shirt over my head. The soft fabric falls over my body, swallowing me whole. The shirt is so long on me it fits me more like a dress than a t-shirt, coming to rest just below my knees.

  I sit there for a long time, wrapped in Ivan’s shirt. It still smells like him, and I can’t help but revel in his unique scent. It calms me, makes me feel safe, and reminds me of how he made me feel when he was holding me in his huge arms. He said that he couldn't help me, but he doesn’t realize how much he already has.

  Not only did he save me from being raped by those two men, but he also held me for I don’t even know how long. After being without any human contact for so many days, his gentle touch meant everything to me… not to mention the warmth he provided me with. Because of him, I felt a little more human again. For the first time since I got here, I smile. He even left me his shirt; he cared enough to leave his shirt, knowing how cold I was. If that’s not kindness, then I don’t know what is.