Rebecca
He dropped like a sack of potatoes.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even check on Mikhail. Content with starving to death, chained to a wall, as long as I didn’t need to know what that glint in his gaze promised when he looked at me.
Mikhail didn’t speak to me for hours. He didn’t even get his shoulder stitched until morning. When he did, he looked at me differently. Not with gratitude. Not even with anger. Just... ownership.
“You could’ve let him kill me,” he said, voice hoarse as his half-brother dug a bullet from his shoulder. I didn’t answer, I knew the asshole was way worse than Mikhail, I was content with death; although, I had no intentions of being raped to it.
“But you didn’t,” Mikhail said casually while I glared at the fireplace.
“Better the devil you know
