The Hermit (Mafia Empire Book 1)

“Wake up.”

Someone taps my cheek, pulling me out of the peaceful darkness.

What?

I struggle to regain control of my senses as I pry my heavy eyelids open.

There’s a throbbing pain in my temple, and my vision blurs as I glance at my surroundings.

I make out the face of a man who’s dressed in a gray suit, his light blond hair cut short and neat. Behind him is an expensive-looking desk and floor-to-ceiling windows. The view beyond is dark, giving me the impression we’re in a high rise.

I find myself sitting on a chair, my wrists tied and my hands lying limply on my lap. There’s no sign of my shoes, and the dark red lace dress I carefully selected for the party suddenly feels too revealing. Even though my breasts are fully covered, the dress has a deep cleavage.

My lips part, but I can only manage a slur of incoherent words. “Wha…pening…”

The man’s palm cups my cheek, and he smiles sinisterly at me. “Welcome back.”

His accent is thick, and realizing I’ve been taken by the Russians, a dark and hopeless feeling coats my very soul.

The bratva is ruthless. Chances are good I’m going to die.

When he steps to the side, my gaze creeps over the office before stopping on a monitor that’s mounted against one of the walls.

Dad.

Seeing Dad’s face on the screen, my heartbeat instantly speeds up, and everything that happened before I passed out flashes through my mind.

Oh God. What’s happening?

“What do you want?” Dad barks, his features set in a grim expression.

The man in the suit shrugs. “Just the five missiles I already asked for.”

“I don’t deal in missiles.” Dad scoffs, his mouth turning down even more. “I’m good as dead if I supply the missiles to you. It’s Varga’s territory.”

“That’s not my problem,” the man in the suit says. He reaches a hand out to me and brushes strands of my hair away from my face. “Either you supply me with the missiles, or I’ll tear your beautiful daughter apart.” His fingers brush over my cheek, and I yank my face away from his touch. “I like my women feisty.”

A familiar sense of dread creeps through my veins, and it makes one of the many horror-filled memories creep to the surface.

Braden shoves me face down to the floor, the chiffon of my wedding dress lying scattered around me. I hear the zipper of his pants and fight to get free from the weight of his body pressing down on mine.

“No!” I shout as I try to crawl from under him.

“You’re my wife, Grace,” he growls as he grabs hold of my legs, forcing them open. His dick presses against my entrance, making disgust roll in my stomach. “Which means I get to fuck you whenever I feel like it.”

He shoves his way inside me, and it feels as if I’m being torn apart.

A strangled sound escapes me, and as my new husband consummates our marriage, my soul shrivels away from the violent act.

A fist connects with my cheek, making my head snap to the side. I bite down on my tongue, and a second later, a copper taste fills my mouth.

Jesus.

The blow rips me away from the clutches of the horrible memory and back to the dire situation in which I currently find myself.

The man who was in charge of the attack at the party seems to be the one who just hit me, while the one in the suit watches with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Let Grace go, Pavlov! Nothing good will come of this,” Dad demands.

The man in the suit, Pavlov, shakes his head. “The only way this will end is with you giving us the missiles.”

He uncrosses his arms and walks closer to me. Gripping hold of my chin, he tips my head back so I’m forced to look up at him, then he glances at the monitor again.

“Do you know how many men are in the bratva?”

No.

My eyes flick to the screen, silently begging Dad to give them the damn missiles.

There’s a flicker of worry and anguish on Dad’s face before it vanishes, and his expression grows ruthless.

No, Dad. Please don’t leave me here.

My soul cries out, knowing my father’s not going to give in. He’d rather abandon me than give them the weapons they want.

“I won’t go against Varga,” Dad growls.

Pavlov stares at the monitor for what feels like a solid minute before he glances down at me. Letting out a sigh, he says, “Everything that’s about to happen to you is because of your father.”

My eyes dart to the screen again, and it takes more strength than I have to keep from begging Dad to just give them the weapons.

Instead, I swallow hard and close my eyes as I try to find a safe corner deep in my soul where I can hide from the brutality that’s about to be unleashed on me.

“Untie her,” Pavlov orders.

The instant the man’s fingers touch my skin, my body jerks. My mind scrambles to shut down, but just like the hundreds of times before when Braden raped and beat me, I can’t.

I’m yanked up off the chair, and my eyes dart open. It’s in time to see a fist fly at my face, the punch sending me crashing against the chair before sprawling over the floor.

Shit.

The splintering pain makes tears jump to my eyes, and when I manage to push my upper body up off the floor, drops of my blood splat onto the clean tiles.

I’m grabbed by the arm and shoved onto my back, and then an unholy pain tears through me as the man begins to beat me senselessly.

Through the hellish pain, I hear Pavlov sneer, “One word can make all of this stop.”

I try to block the blows with my hands and arms, but each punch makes my face, neck, and torso throb.

“No,” Dad grits out my death sentence through clenched teeth.

Another blow to my temple has my vision darkening, but then Pavlov orders, “Strip her.”

The two words rip through me like a destructive tornado, and when the man begins to tear the lace dress from my body, my mind becomes crystal clear.

My skin shrivels every time he touches me.

My stomach churns and churns, bile building until it threatens to surge its way up to my throat.

Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering explodes around us and the man stops tearing at my dress. My eyes fly in the direction of the sound, and I see a man dressed in black combat gear land on the tiles in a crouching position.

Holy shit.

He just came in through the window.

The bottom half of his face is covered with a black bandana, and as he opens fire on the other men in the room, Pavlov makes a run for the door.

I try to turn onto my stomach so I can crawl to a safe place, but I’m too weak.

The man rises to his full height and stalks toward me as he keeps firing in the direction of the guy who beat me to a pulp, burying one bullet after the other in the bastard.

“Thank you,” I hear Dad say. “I owe you.”

With wide eyes and terror still coursing through my veins, I backpeddle while staring up at the man dressed in black. He crouches down by me, and wrapping an arm around my waist, he yanks me to his body as he rises to his feet.

Then Dad’s words register, and realizing he sent this man to save me, makes a relieved sob burst over my lips.

Gripping hold of my rescuer’s shoulders, I feel the strength in his body as he begins to run toward the window. I’m nothing but a rag doll pressed to his chest, and too late, I realize what he plans to do.

Throwing my arms around his neck, I shriek, “Nooooo!” Then the word turns into a scream when he leaps out of the office and into the cold night air.

God!!!!

The wind whips around us, and I make the mistake of opening my eyes and glancing down.

Oh shitttttt!

Seeing the ground rush toward us has my stomach spinning and my mouth growing dry. My eyes widen even more, and another shriek tears loose from me before the wind rips it away.

Suddenly, we slow down drastically, and the second my feet touch Mother Earth, he lets go of me, and I crumble to the ground. Another relieved sob bursts from me while I sit stunned out of my mind on the hard ground.

Completely breathless, I tip my head back and stare up at the high rise before watching as my rescuer unlatches the rope from the harness he’s wearing. He quickly takes off the harness, then grabbing my arm, he hauls me back to my feet.

My mind struggles to comprehend everything that’s happened since I opened my eyes in the office.

For a moment, my rescuer’s eyes burn up and down my body, and it’s only then I become aware of every inch of exposed skin and the tattered lace of my dress.

His eyes lock on my bare feet, and the next moment, he grabs hold of my hips, and for the second time today, I’m hauled over a shoulder.

When he starts to run away from the building, I’m jostled like crazy. Everywhere I was beaten begins to pulse with pain, and my head spins as dizziness threatens to overwhelm me.

After a few torturous minutes, I’m tugged away from his shoulder, and when my feet touch gravel, my body collapses against his muscled one.

The scent of his cologne hits my face. Something fresh, laced with spices and woods, blends with his sweat. It’s easily the most enticing scent I’ve ever smelled, and I’ll never forget it.

He moves, his chest pressing into me as he opens a car door, and I notice the top of my head doesn’t even reach his jaw.

He’s tall, strong, and… mysterious, dangerous, courageous. God, the list is endless. He’s super-human.

I’m shoved into a passenger seat before the door’s slammed shut. As my eyes follow his dark figure around the front of the car, I wonder who he is.

He yanks the driver’s door open, and as he slides behind the steering wheel, I feel a weird sense of safety.

I feel completely safe with this stranger.

When he starts the engine, my head falls back against the headrest. I stare at the visible part of his face, his eyebrows dark blond and his eyes piercing blue.

Like ice.

My eyelashes begin to grow too heavy to keep open, and as they slowly close, I see tiny lines peeking from beneath the bandana.

“Thank you,” I manage to whisper right before I lose consciousness.