Page 56 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

Isabela is straining against the cords with wide eyes and a tear-streaked face, her wrists rubbed raw and bleeding where she's been fighting the restraints. The sight of her alive cuts straight through my chest. "My God," I grumble as I rush to her side, taking the knife from my boot to cut her free.

The tethers Sergei used have cut into her flesh on all four limbs. She seems frantic to get away. "Demin," she whimpers, sobbing so hard I barely understand her. She's waiting for me, desperate to be in my arms, and while I don't ever want to see her this scared again, I love that this is her response.

"I've got you," I tell her, freeing the last loop and catching her as she leans forward off the chair into my chest. "I've got you, Milaya. He's gone. He's never putting his hands on you again."

She sobs into my neck saying my name over and over as I lift her into my arms and turn to find Bart and Mishka walking toward me. They have stern faces but they're unhurried, which means the place is clear and we need to get out of here.

"Call Mikhail… Ask about the chemist," I grunt, holding Isabela tightly to my chest. She clings to me, whimpering things in Spanish I can't quite make out, and Bart nods, taking his phone out.

"Papa," she whines, and I pray to God in heaven that he is out there being merciful somewhere. That whoever the fuck Sergei was working with hasn't managed to take Octavio the way they took her.

I can handle an emotional woman. I can't handle it if she's grieving. I may just purge the whole house if that happens.

29

ISABELA

His arms are so strong as they carry me from the SUV into the house. There are men everywhere, wearing their weapons like badges of honor. I smell smoke somewhere too, like it's been painted on the walls. Furniture's overturned, and paintings from the walls have fallen, bullet holes in them. I tuck my head into Demin's neck to hide from it all as he carries me toward the bedroom.

"Is he okay?" I ask, snuffling as I think of my father and what probably transpired in this hell hole while I was locked away with Sergei.

"Your father is fine, Milaya." Demin's pet name for me is sweet, but I need truth, not coddling.

He pushes through the door to his room and sets me on the bed, dropping to his knees to assess my wrists and ankles, lacerated and burned by the ropes I was bound with.

"My father, Demin. Is he okay!" I'm in no mood for this. I've been through hell and I need to know Papa is alright.

"Bart said he's fine, Isabela. Okay? The men held the line. Seven Cartel members dead, two of my own, and your father is safely tucked away under heavy guard getting medical care and asking for you." His eyes search mine. "Are you alright?"

"He didn't touch me, if that's what you're asking."

But Demin is ignoring my words in favor of touching every part of my exposed body, fawning over every wound. I've never seen him so attentive and obsessed, and when he killed Sergei, the rage in his eyes was terrifying. I've never seen a man so determined.

He starts peeling my shirt off, removing the filth as he examines my flesh for bruising, and I catch his wrists, pinning them together and forcing him to stop. He looks up at me with concern in his eyes.

"I'm okay," I assure him, but I swear his eyes are brimming with emotion. "I swear. I'm alright."

"I thought…" He won't even finish his sentence. I don't know what he thought Sergei would do to me, but whatever is going through his mind has scared him. He may never admit it but this behavior isn't like him.

"I know… me too," I breathe, pulling him in.

He wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my hair, and I wrap my arms around him in return. It's an odd moment. My captor who has insisted my father become his property has come full circle, defending me without any good reason. My father was working just fine for him. Demin never had to come save me.

And to know that hell had invaded his home at the same time that I had been taken and he chose to come to me instead of stopping Solano from getting to my father means something. He chose me over his business.

"Why did you come for me?" I ask softly, which makes him pull back and cup my face with both hands firmly. He looks me in the eyes, almost trembling.

"How could I not? Your presence in my life has changed everything, Isabela. Can't you see I love you? You mean more to me than all the business or money or power in this world…" His eyes search mine, then he leans in and kisses me fiercely. "I thought I lost you."

"I'm here," I mumble between frantic kisses. Then his hands are on my hips pulling me into his body as he leans me over the bed.

Demin pins me down against the mattress with his weight, his body crushing mine. His hands grip my wrists and stretch them above my head, while the other yanks at my shirt. He strips it off me, then hooks his fingers into the waistband of my pants and drags them down my legs along with my underwear until I lie completely bare.

"You're mine, Isabela," he growls against my mouth possessively. "This body belongs to me. No one else gets to touch it. No one else gets to take you from me." He kisses me hard, his tongue pushing past my lips as he claims every inch of my mouth. His free hand roams down my side, squeezing my breast before sliding lower over my stomach and between my thighs.

I arch under him, but he keeps me pinned, as he says, "Look at you," he says, his fingers dipping between my folds. He strokes me there, spreading the slickness, then circles my clit with slow pressure. "This pussy is dripping for me. Tell me who you belong to."

I gasp as he pushes two fingers inside me, thrusting them deep and curling them against that spot that makes my thighs shake. He kisses me again, biting at my lower lip while his fingers pump in and out. "That's it, Milaya, good girl. This tight little cunt squeezes me so perfectly. No one else will ever fill you like this."