Page 4 of Stolen By the Bratva

He lifted his hand, though, narrowing his eyes at me as he stopped me. “You keeping up with the correspondence?”

I nodded, curious about why he’d question me. I always kept up with his demands, even something as inane as forwarding emails to separate addresses with the slightest updates. Hadn’t he ever heard of carbon-copying messages? Multiple emails sent at once?

A gruff grunt was all he gave me in reply, but before he left, he eyed me with a slow once-over. His lips curled in slight disgust, but he didn’t comment further, leaving with Lev.

As soon as the door closed, I heaved out a deep sigh and relaxed from sucking in my stomach. I approached the front door, locking it up for the evening. In the reflection of the glass, I saw what he had seen.

Short, curvy, and scowling. I’d never been a petite girl or woman, much to his frustration, but I didn’t look bad. I knew I didn’t. Smoothing my hands over my dress, I took pride in my attire, how flattering my clothes were for my size.

Fuck him.

I’d lived twenty-two years with his constant belittling and judgment, but I knew he was wrong. I took care of myself. I stayed fashionable. I made sure to emphasize my tits that all the whores envied. My long locks of deep brown were sleek and glossy. My eyes were sharp, my skin smooth and hydrated.

My father was an asshole to ever try to make me feel like crap about myself, but I could take his criticism. I had to.

I headed up to the private rooms, seething about my father’s attitude toward me, but the moment I entered the private rooms and saw the evidence of what Rosamund was subjected to, my lungs seized. I couldn’t breathe past the utter shock and horror of what she had suffered at my father’s hands. Her husband’s hands. All of them.

“Took you long enough,” Rosamund whined.

I shuttered my face, locking down on showing any emotions.

My God… I approached her, amazed that my knees didn’t buckle.

Her skin was littered in red, swelling scrapes. Most bled freely, no doubt from the ropes and whips they’d used on her. Cum dried everywhere, smeared on her flesh that still bore the deep-tissue bruises from the last time they’d shared her so aggressively.

Her hands and ankles were still leashed. Cuffed tight with wires, her limbs were locked in suspension.

They hadn’t even bothered to let her down.

My fingers trembled as I hurried to untwist the locks keeping her in the air. “Sorry.” I hadn’t delayed coming up here, truly. But if I’d known they’d left her hanging, literally, I would have run.

She snorted, gazing absently at the ceiling. One eye was puffy. The lids slitted over her eye as she waited. “No, you’re not.”

“That this happened to you? Yes, I am.” I bet she'd once wished for a happily ever after just like I did. Daydreaming for the impossible wasn’t supposed to hurt this badly.

“You mean that this happens to me?” She hissed, drawing in a hard breath as I freed one hand. With that wrist free, she jerked, lowering her arm to support herself with the other cuffs still on. “Because it will. Until I can fucking kill myself, this will be my life.”

I swallowed hard, not in any position to scold her or even react to her harsh words. If I were in her position…

No. Not yet. I would be married off, but I couldn’t count on it happening any time soon. My father wanted me slimmer so he wouldn’t suffer the embarrassment of offering a fat wife to my betrothed. My father wanted me to work in the shipping office so he wouldn’t have to train another who would better serve elsewhere as he tried to expand his power.

“I am sorry that this is how it is.” I freed another hand, and she rested partly on the bed. The sheets were saturated with the blood that dripped from the wires bound at her wrists and ankles, but I bet the support of a solid surface had to help.

She hissed, twisting to her side the best she could.

Maybe not.

Bile rose again. The sight of her whipped and mutilated back would haunt me for days.

“That this is how it is?” She scowled at me.

“Yes. Being a wife.”

“I’m not a wife.” She cried then, angry and destroyed. “I’m a fucking whore. His whore, to pass around.”

I swallowed hard, remaining hard to her plight as I freed her ankles.

“Don’t try to give me any of that shit about this being my duty.”