Page 110 of Essence of Fear

In her chest, her heart raced.

For a brief second, a part of her wanted to tuck herself into a tiny ball in the corner of the couch and cower away. If only because she knew the more she fought back against this man, the worse it would be for her in the end. The past had proven that to her, and she knew it without a doubt that he would make her pay for each and every mark she left on him.

Still, she had to try.

She would not hide.

Not from him.

Monsters were only scary when one didn’t face them. Well, here she was. Staring hers right in the face. Broad daylight, too. She couldn’t be scared.

Not anymore.

And still, Viktoria pushed up from the couch to sit straight again, sneered at Boris, and struck out at him. She used her hands to claw down his face, and got at least one good, hard slap in before he finally snapped out of his surprised daze just long enough to catch both of her wrists in his beefy hands.

He shoved her back to the couch. She kicked and bucked, spat and screamed, for all she was worth. She refused to let his man take anything from her willingly—he was going to have to force every fucking thing he wanted from her, because she wasn’t giving it.

Fuck you.

Fuck all of you.

Her angry, hateful words only seemed to spur and encourage Boris on more, but she didn’t give a shit. He forced her back to the couch, his heavy, disgusting body pushing her into the rough cushions as he worked his way between her thighs. He pulled at her jeans—too-big clothes she have been given by her captor—as his other hand came to wrap around her throat.

She spat at him again, using her fingernails to dig even more red lines down his face while he continued his attempted assault. He didn’t seem to be the slightest bit bothered by her fight, or thwarted from her efforts to stop him, either.

If anything, he liked it.

The pig.

In the background, Viktoria could hear a phone ringing. She knew there were other men in the house, but they certainly weren’t coming to her rescue. They could hear her shouts—they had to, given they were just one room over, but it didn’t matter to them.

She was a pawn.

She didn’t make a difference.

Boris had just ripped the zipper of her jeans down when someone in the next room called out, “Boris, we’ve got confirmation the bastard is back at his place with the wife. It’s time to act. Let’s go.”

It took Boris a second.

Then, two.

He pushed away from Viktoria like it was the last thing he wanted to do. At the same time, he pointed a finger at her, his gaze nailing her to the couch as he muttered, “We’re not finished here, I promise you that.”

She wanted to let out a sigh of relief but didn’t.

What would be the point?

Without warning, Boris reached for her and dragged her off the couch to force her to stand beside him. “Let’s go. Yes, we have business.”

“What—where am I going?”

“You’re my guarantee.”

His … what?

• • •

Boris’s hand clamped around Viktoria’s mouth to keep her quiet while his other one wrapped tight around her throat. He effectively took away any ability she had to speak and breathe, all at the same time. Somehow, he still managed to have a gun in his hand, which he pointed at the men they came face to face with when they stormed Konstantin’s home.