2. Mila

2

MILA

T oday began like any other day.

I left my father's home to promptly come in to manage the front desk of the S.T.L. Shipping headquarters. Dealing with paperwork for one of the family's cover businesses was how I survived the daunting hours as they passed.

I wasn't ever idle, and that helped to keep my mind on my tasks. Business was good—both the legitimate shipping transactions and the undercover and more profitable transportation services that happened at the Colver dock. I didn't have much to do with those dealings. My father would never trust me with everything, certainly not those high-risk arrangements. All I was good for was keeping the front running. I did. My days were full of paperwork, emails, and taking calls.

This Wednesday seemed ordinary, but it would end on a sour note.

As soon as Lev, one of my father's top soldiers, entered the office and headed to the private rooms upstairs, I knew I had to be on my best behavior. I always was, anyway. I had been trained to be submissive and obedient. Acting out or being sloppy wasn't allowed. Lev was sort of like my supervisor, but he wasn't here to watch over me. He only showed up when he'd have a meeting with my father, and those came with stipulations.

Lev had escorted his wife, Rosamund. Next came Geoff, another of my father's top men. Then my father showed. Another brigadier, laughing and talking as they entered the private floor of the shipping offices.

As each of them came in and headed to the private rooms in the back up there, I kept my head down and acted oblivious. Every month, they arrived as a group. For the sake of appearances, it looked like a top-secret meeting would occur.

I knew better. Rosamund had confided in me once, explaining that the sounds they made frightened the other whores who hung around. Mistresses would get concerned. Too many men would want to be invited.

Here, with no one but me in the offices, they could have their fun as loud as they wanted. I'd once tried to use ear plugs to tune out the screams, shouts, and wails, but Geoff had noticed them when he'd left.

"Don't hide," he'd teased as he removed the ear protection on his way out after they'd all gang banged her. "I know it turns you on to hear her screaming."

It didn't. That was my father in there, participating. Rosamund was one year younger than me, only twenty-one, and newly married to Lev.

As the first scream cut through the air, bile rose up my throat. I rubbed my stomach, grimacing as it churned with unease. If I knew when they would decide to share Rosamund, I would simply close down the computer and head home, but they never gave any notice. They never announced when they'd show up, and tonight, I had too many emails to forward to the specific customers.

This was our life. To be a woman under the protection and possession of the Kastava Family, this was expected. Demanded. I'd grown up knowing the sanctity of marriage, and I was aware that above all else, I would be expected to obey my husband.

But this?

No. Please, no.

Hours later, just before evening fell, they exited the building. First, the brigadier and Geoff, who stormed off, cursing up a storm. Then my father exited, laughing with Lev as they came through the doors connecting to my office up front on the first floor.

"Mila."

I sat up straighter as my father addressed me. "Yes?" I sucked in my stomach and pulled in my cheeks. Anything to thwart him from commenting on my weight again. If he cut any more calories from my diet, I would faint from malnourishment.

He nodded his head to the side, indicating the door he'd just walked through. "Rosamund needs some… help cleaning up." He spoke it like it was a waste of time. Like that slender blonde should be able to handle their dicks shoved into her over and over, in any possible way. Like that young girl, barely an adult, should be stronger to withstand abuse and torture because she'd been arranged to marry an asshole.

"Yes, sir," I replied as I stood.

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."

I opened and closed my mouth, stuck on what I could say to that. My father raped her. My father took her like this, like a depraved, abusive asshole. What could I say?

"I know what you're thinking. Our duty as bratva women is to please our men."

I cleared my throat as I moved to the cuff on her other ankle. "In most circumstances?—"

"No. My circumstances fucking suck. And I don't want to hear you say you care."

"I do." Even if I hadn't been told to help her, I would.

"That's rich, coming from you."

I grabbed a towel to assist her to sit, then rise to her feet. With every hiss and whimper that left her lips, my heart cracked that much more. She spoke the truth. We were expected to serve our men. There was no escape, but this abuse she endured…

"I sincerely wish this wasn't your fate, but I can't change it."

If I could, I would. For all of us.

"The fuck you would," she bitched as she gingerly walked toward the bathroom with my assistance. "You don't care. You'll get a nice, cushy life away from your father."

He'd never tried to abuse me like he did her, but still, she was wrong. I wasn't going anywhere.

"I'll still be right here to help you the next time."

Rosamund almost fell, but I held her up. "No, you won't."

I didn't understand.

She scowled at my reflection in the mirror. "You're pure. You'll remain untouched as a virgin. You've always been safe, expected to be a virgin."

"As were you."

"Yes. Safe—until your husband gets you."

Not every man in the bratva wanted to share his wife.

"I'm sorry you were promised to Lev."

She huffed a weak laugh. "I was talking about your husband."

Mine? I shook my head, watching her carefully as I guided her into the shower. "I don't have one."

"You will. Soon." She cried out at the first touch of the water spray.

"I don't believe you." This wouldn't be the first time she'd tried to lash out verbally at me after the scenes forced on her. "My father would have told me."

"When? When he was busy shoving his dick up my ass?" She moaned and leaned against the shower wall.

"I'm too vital with the S.T.L. and making it look like a real business. He wouldn't get rid of me yet. I'm too critical in the office." Besides, he'd claimed I was too fat and hideous yet.

"I heard them. As they…" She weakly gestured at the room she'd been abused in. "They were talking about it. Geoff didn't want to hear about it." She grimaced as she rubbed the blood from her chest. "Lev and your father discussed your marriage to Andrey Valkov."

I froze in rolling up my sleeves to hand her the washcloth to tend to cleaning up the cum and blood.

Andrey Valkov? Heir to the Valkov Bratva? Our enemy?

With how angrily Geoff had stormed off tonight, that made sense. He'd always been eager to have me for himself. This news wouldn't have pleased him.

"Valkov?" I knew my father was speaking with Pavel Valkov, but about my marriage to his son?

Please, no.

I'd heard too many horror stories about him. He was reported to be a hard, sadistic, and greedy man. As I helped Rosamund clean off, I wondered how much worse I would fare with him. Here, my standing as the Pakhan's daughter kept me untouched. There? With the enemy? I dreaded it.

"When?"

Rosamund looked me in the eye, perhaps pitying me now. "Friday."

So soon! I hardened myself to the shock and drew in a deep, steady breath. My father planned to marry me off at the end of the week, and I was only learning of it now.

"It's your duty, Mila." Her tone dripped with sarcasm, cruel and mocking. "Are you going to be a good wife for him? Please and obey your husband, no matter the circumstances?"

I stared right back at this tortured woman. Neither of us could escape this life. All I could do was remain icy and numb and take it all.

Nodding once, I resolved to overcome my circumstances and beat my odds—no matter how awful they might be.

But deep inside, my heart chipped and cracked just a little more.