Page 94 of Claimed By the Damned
Kolya’s office is dimly lit, the heavy scent of leather and whiskey thick in the air. When he had first dragged me back here, days ago, terror had been a living thing inside me, its claws digging deep as Kolya spat vile threats, promises of renewed violation, of sharing me like a party favor. That fear still coils in my stomach, a familiar venom. But something had shifted in the suffocating days since, locked away with the undeniable truth of the tiny life I carried. Passive terror had never saved me. It wouldn’t save my baby.
So now, I sit in one of the chairs opposite his desk, my body positioned just relaxed enough to unnerve him. My hands rest lightly on my thighs. I want him to see me as calm, unaffected, but inside, every muscle is coiled, every nerve screaming. The desk, his throne, sits against the far wall, but he’s not behind it.
Kolya is pacing. His movements are terse and controlled. That’s how I know he’s pissed. Not just at me, though my defiance is clearly grating on him, but at the whole damn situation – my escape, the men who helped me, the challenge to his perfect world. If he were truly calm, he’d be lounging in his leather chair, drink in hand, smirking at me like I’m a petulant child. But no. His jaw is clenched so tightly I half-expect his teeth to crack, and his fingers twitch at his sides, itching to grab something—me, probably.
Good. Let him boil. Every time he looks at me, I make sure my expression is a little too smug, my posture a little too relaxed. A desperate gamble, perhaps, but cowering had only ever invited more pain. I know it infuriates him; he wants me cowed, afraid, begging. Instead, I meet his gaze like I’m the one in control. Like he’s the one trapped in here with me.
But even as I push him, my heart is slamming against my ribs. That lingering fear is a cold, twisting point in my stomach. Not just for me, but for the little life inside me. I press a protective hand to my stomach, the instinct overwhelming. Could the stress, the adrenaline, hurt the baby? I swallow hard, pushing the thought down. Hesitation isn't an option right now. I have to get out of here. I have to survive. For both of us.
“You think you can defy me, Pet?” he says, voice deceptively smooth, like polished steel. “That I’ll allow this... attitude?”
I don’t flinch. Not anymore. I tilt my chin up, daring him to make the next move, daring him to prove he has any real power over me. It’s a dangerous game, but I need him angry. I need him reckless. If he’s consumed by his rage, he’ll make mistakes; leave a door unlocked, turn his back at the wrong moment, send his men scrambling instead of watching me. I need him to make a mistake, any mistake.
He steps closer. “You were always so much more pleasant when you knew your place.”
“My place?” I scoff, stretching my legs out slightly, feigning boredom. I know the act will make his blood boil. “What, beneath your boot? You thought I was broken. You thought I was weak.” My voice hardens. “You were wrong.”
His hand moves so fast I barely track it before he grips my chin hard, forcing my gaze up to his. Pain radiates through my jaw, achingly familiar, but I swallow it down. I brace myself, forcing my body not to react, not to show weakness.I’ve been here before. I know how this game plays out.But this time, I’m not just enduring it, I’m planning. His fingers bite into my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of wincing.
“You always belonged to me, Lila.” His breath is warm, sickly sweet with whiskey. “And you always will.”
I stare at him, at the monster who stole years from me, who made me doubt my own strength. I let my lips twitch into a slow,taunting smile. Let him think I find this amusing. Let him think I’m still slipping through his fingers. And then I smile—small, defiant. “We’ll see about that.”
Before he can respond, his phone rings. He stiffens, eyes narrowing before he pulls it from his pocket. His grip on me tightens for a second, then he shoves me back against the chair like I’m nothing. My body jolts, the force rattling through me, but I steady myself, gripping the armrests to keep from toppling over. I swallow down the urge to react, watching as he answers.
“What?” His voice is curt, clipped.
A pause. Then his expression darkens. “Igor?” His free hand curls into a fist. “Are you telling me Igor has been stealing from me?”
Another pause. Kolya exhales through his nose, a slow, controlled breath that does nothing to hide the fury in his eyes. “Find him,” he growls. “Bring him to me.”
I stay silent, watching, waiting.My mind flickers back to my previous escape attempt, how I’d miscalculated, Kolya had caught me before I even made it past the gates. The punishment had been swift, brutal.A reminder that failure wasn’t an option. That lesson had burned deeper than the bruises ever could. No mistakes this time. No hesitation. If I see my chance, I will take it.
“Dimitri!” Kolya barks, and his right-hand man is there within seconds. “Get word out that I want Igor in this room before the sun sets.”
Dimitri nods once and vanishes, leaving Kolya seething. He slams his phone onto the desk, fingers drumming against the surface. His mind is spinning.
All of a sudden, the door bursts open. Three of his men rush in, their expressions tight with urgency. “Boss,” one pants, “the shipment, it was a setup. Cops intercepted it before it even hit the docks.”
For a moment, there’s silence. That eerie, suffocating kind. And then—
Kolya explodes. His entire body tenses like a coiled viper before he lunges forward, sending his glass of whiskey flying across the room. It shatters against the stone fireplace, amber liquid dripping down like blood. His face is a mask of crimson, veins pulsing at his temples, a muscle leaping in his clenched jaw.
“What do you mean, a setup?!” he roars, voice raw with fury, knocking over the decanter on his desk with a violent swipe. The scent of whiskey fills the air, bitter and sickly-sweet, as it pools across the floor. Shards of crystal scatter across the rug. He strides toward the men, eyes wild, fury radiating off him in waves. I don’t miss the way they flinch, shifting back as if distance might spare them from his wrath. “How did this happen? WHO LET THIS HAPPEN?”
The tallest of the three hesitates, swallowing hard. “We…we don’t know, boss. Someone tipped them off.”
Kolya doesn’t stop. He grabs the heavy oak chair nearest his liquor cabinet and hurls it across the room, the wood splintering as it crashes into the bookshelves. A framed photo of him and his father, the one where he’s pretending to be a doting son, topples, the glass shattering as it hits the floor. His chest rises and falls in ragged heaves, eyes wild, teeth bared. His hands slam against the desk, rattling everything on it. Papers scatter, a glass pen holder topples, and for a moment, the only sound is his ragged breathing.
One of his men stammers an excuse, voice shaking, but Kolya moves before he can finish. He lunges, grabbing the man by the collar and yanking him forward. “You useless piece of shit,” he snarls. The man gasps, his hands trembling at his sides.
Kolya’s fingers twitch, then—CRACK. He backhands the man so hard he stumbles into the desk, blood dripping from his split lip.The others remain frozen, eyes averted, knowing better than to intervene.
One of them sneaks a glance in my direction. Kolya notices the glance. His eyes snap to the man, and in a blink, he snatches a bottle from the bar and hurls it. It smashes just inches from the man’s head, glass raining down. “You looking at her?” Kolya snarls. “You want what’s mine?” The man shakes his head furiously, hands up in surrender.
“Find out who it was.” His voice is low, lethal. “And when you do, gut them or I will gut you!”
The men scramble, murmuring quick affirmations before they flee the room, leaving Kolya shaking with barely contained rage. He’s unraveling. Losing control. Exactly what I need.
