BlackXs

Katrina Volkov was forced to leave Angel city, the only home she ever knew. It was the only way to stop the nightmares. At the time, it was necessary, but there comes a time when you have to face the demons of your past.

She came back home to Angel city only to witness the devil’s work as he ripped off the wings. Crime gripped the streets with an iron fist, and the police sat like loyal dogs under its feet. Drugs, murder, rape, and violence became the unavoidable norm. It didn’t take long for him to train his sights on her.

Mikhail Zakrov.

The one who men look to with both envy and terror. He has everything to be feared.

The one who has women falling at his feet. Some of whom he shot.

The one they call the prince of the Russian mafia.

The one who both saved Katrina and then damned her soul down to hell with his touch of corruption. She will be his princess of darkness.

This story is the property of doomer and no plagiarism or translation or use of my plot or characters is allowed.

♡ ♥♥♥♥♡

🖤 Katrina’s POV🖤

I groaned as my eyes fluttered open. God, I always hated waking up. I was never a morning person, nor a night person, really. If you were the one to break the peace of my dreams, you reserve your spot on my hit list, in the top five no less. The annoying feeling of waking up was always the same.

Except, this time, it was different. So very, very different.

For one, my head throbbed like someone gave it a pounding with a sledgehammer, and then they threw me into oncoming traffic just for the extra measure. Then there was the situation with my hands.

I was tied to a chair, by what appeared to be every knot taught in the boy scouts plus the god damn army. A bag was wrapped around my head, blocking my vision of where I was held. I could only glimpse traces of light through the fabric, but it wasn’t much to go by.

The bag smelled something horrible. I don’t know if the poor soul who last had it over their head, was tortured, or met an unpleasant ending. I didn’t want to know what happened to them because my imagination will run wild with all the awful possibilities of the one hundred ways to die.

Possibilities that could very much happen to me, in seconds, minutes, or maybe even hours.

As my head cleared of the fog, and I started to fully comprehend the situation. There was nothing I could do to keep my breathing nor my heart steady. Fear grabbed me by the neck like a mother cat carries her kittens.

How in the world did this happen? I had only just moved back to the city. Been here barely a week, and I’ve already made an enemy. Why else would someone do this to me unless they had a vendetta?

I was still foggy on the details of how I got here, some parts of my brain were still asleep from whatever drug they knocked me out with. I wish I could just shock them awake so I can figure out what the hell is going on.

I squirmed, almost crossing the threshold to a full-blown panic attack. I tried to free my body from the bindings, but I only managed to inflict rope burns on my skin. It hurt like a bitch.

The ropes were tight, but the chair seemed worn out, its legs shook loosely as I shifted my weight.

Distracted in my mini escape operation, I didn’t realize someone had opened a door in the room until it slammed into the wall. In came several heavy footsteps, glass shards, and dirt crunching under their feet. My heart quickened as they headed straight for me. Well, where else could they be headed? Not my grandma’s house. Cause she’s kind of six feet under.

As the bag was ripped off my head, my eyes were blinded by the only source of light in the room—a light bulb hanging from the ceiling right above me. It dangled from a cord, squeaking as it swung like a pendulum.

The room was empty of any furnisher, save for the chair I sat on. Whatever was left of the once grey walls, was now marred with layers upon layers of graffiti. The floor didn’t go unscathed, it was covered with beer bottles and filth. My heart pounded as I looked down at my feet. Bloodstains coated the ground right where my chair sat. Some were dry, and some were in the process of drying.

My head snapped up as three men entered the room, all looking over my body. I felt repulsed and naked under their calculating eyes. As if they already measured my worth. I wanted to throw up, preferably into their mouths.

One man had a well-groomed beard, on a less than groomed body. His bald head shining under the light, as if freshly waxed. His dark eyes looked me up and down as if I were a piece of meat, and he was a starving rabid dog. A bandage was wrapped around the left side of his head, the skin of his face sprouting fresh looking bruises.

The second guy had more hair than the first, but he looked like an alcoholic and a drug addict in a one package deal for sale after Christmas. Eyes rimmed with red, watched with amusement as I squirmed, trying to get free. As he walked, I noticed a slight limp in his left leg.

I wonder who gave these men a beating.

The third guy seemed to be the leader. The others cleared the way for him as if they were parting the damn sea. Honestly, he didn’t look like much of a leader, all skinny and riddled with badly done tattoos. But he probably thought he was the shit, with a family-sized ego.

“Posmotri na suku,” The bearded man said, his voice rougher than my cooking. {Take a look at the bitch}

Russians.

God damn Russians.

I had no idea as to why they kidnapped me. Since I’ve been back in the city, I mostly kept to myself. I had no memory of making friends with any Russians. Especially not the kind who will kidnap you. Put a bag over your head, and then take you to an abandoned-looking apartment.

Usually, when you meet others who come from the same country as you, you get excited and maybe strike up a conversation with them. However, these guys haven’t done much talking, with me at least. They were more about the actions rather than words. I understood what they were saying as this was my mother tongue, but the way they spoke freely talked of how little they actually knew about me. Or maybe they just didn’t care.

“Etot prineset deystvitel’no khoroshuyu summu. Yeye telo khorosheye,” Said the alcoholic-drugie. {This one will fetch a really nice price. Her body is good}

I froze as he uttered those words, my heart almost stopping. Mentally I decided on what type of casket I wanted to be buried in. I wanted it white, rimmed with gold, and the padding covered with satin. It isn’t like my broke bottom could ever afford that, let alone get the chance to look at one.

Those bastards will not whore me around on the streets to get murdered by psychos. I will get out.

“Hey! Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t sell me. I am not a piece of property,” I yelled, only for them to act as if no sound left my lips. I hated how they treated me like an inanimate object. As if I wasn’t trying to escape. As if I didn’t have a voice. As if felt no fear. As if they already owned me, a product to sell.

As the leader approached me, his filthy fingers slide over my cheek. I recoiled as the stench of his hands wafted into my nose. I almost gagged when the grime underneath his nails came close to my eye.

Ever heard of handwashing? Nail clippers? I guess not.

These men were total creeps, setting a bad reputation for all Russian men. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve have assumed, but I know there were great Russian men out there. The greatest one of them all being my dad. He was the kindest man on the planet during his days. However, that didn’t serve him well in the end. I stopped my train of thoughts before it drifted to that painful place all over again. Now was not the time. I had to get the hell out of here. Alive. Unsold. Untouched. Still myself.

As his filthy fingers reached my mouth, they pinched my bottom lip. Disgusted, I gathered all the saliva in my mouth and spat right into his eye. I faintly heard the other two men take a sharp breath as if I had committed the worst imaginable crime in history. Justice.

“You asshole, did your parents ever teach you to wash your hands before touching a woman?” I said, glaring at his fuming body.

Before I could pat myself on the back for the incredible aim, my head whipped to the side as he backhanded me. I saw stars and flying little piggies before my vision focused again.

“You need to be taught a lesson, Shlyukha.” The bearded guy hissed, moving towards us. He didn’t seem to like me spitting on his boss. {Whore}

“You need to be taught basic hygiene,” I said in the same tone as him.

The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth, and I wanted to spit it out but didn’t want to risk another hit to the face. My face was precious, and I didn’t think Vasili would let me work with a bruised face. I could already hear him say, ‘Your face must be as appealing as the food you bring to the customer.’

“Let me go!” I hissed, giving him my best death stare while fighting the ropes. It didn’t seem to work because he threw his head back and laughed like a maniac.

As I was preparing another response, he leaned forward before grabbing a fistful of my hair. I winced in pain, forced to move my head closer to his hand to lessen the pain.

One look into his eyes and real fear forced my heart to beat faster than ever before. His eyes were cold and heartless. He looked like the kind of man who would inflict pain just for the sheer joy. The look in his eyes told of the dark promises he had stored just for me.

Playtime was over.

“First, we are going to rape you. Just to try out the goods before we make the sale. My boys didn’t go through all that trouble to bring you here for nothing, they need a reward. They deserve to at least come inside of you once.” Their boss said, bringing his obvious bulge closer to my face. I couldn’t move back because of his hold on my hair. I wish all workplaces gave bonuses to their employees like he does. Instead they hog almost all your tips and take away your sick days.

“Please just let me go, I swear I won’t tell anyone about this. I swear,” I begged, hoping to look pathetic enough to melt their cold dead hearts. Also, I was getting desperate, and my pride kind of went for a walk, leaving me here to rot.

“Stop begging Shlyukha, I’ve already thought of a price for you.” The boss said, his eyes the same heartless shade of evil. {Whore}

I was insulted that he thought he could put a price tag on me. I was god dame priceless, no one can afford me!

“Wait! I-I have Chlamydia. Oh, and gonorrhea. My boyfriend slept around a lot and never used protection.” I said, trying to come up with excuses not to have their disgusting hands all over me.

“Really? Me too. What a small world.” He said, giving me a smile full of golden grillz. Some people floss, some brush their teeth, some do both. Then, there are those who let things die in their mouth. Can you guess which option he chose? The stench from his open mouth left me, wishing for death—a quick one. Replacing your teeth with gold doesn’t mean golden breath. Just saying.

It bothered me to no end how this guy proudly admitted to having all these STDs. I couldn’t tell if he was lying. If anything, I wished I hadn’t opened my mouth, because now my lie will be the truth.

I heard a belt unbuckling, and then a zipper slid open. I knew I was in deep shit if I stayed here anymore than I have. Some guests wear out their welcome, but what do you do when it’s the host who wears out their welcome? Throw them out of their own home?

As the alcoholic-druggy approached me, all I could do was turn my eyes away from the monstrosity he had hidden in his pants. My hair was still aggressively held by the boss, and he gave an encouraging gesture to his men. ‘As if to say, you go first. This is my treat.’

A hand slid up my skirt, rotting my flesh as it went. As the boss pushed my head towards the STD infested rocket ship, loud bangs echoed, shaking the room’s thin walls. I could hear the cries and shouts of several men all around us.

“Blyad’! Nas atakuyut!” the bearded man shouted, pulling out a gun I hadn’t seen earlier. {Fuck! We are under attack!}

“Boss, a yesli oni uznayut, chto my sdelali?” The bearded man whispered, fear lacing his words. {Boss, what if they found out what we did?}

“No way, I was careful.” Their boss said, his voice anything but confident. Serves them right, these bastards deserve what coming.

Karma hits like a bitch, a bitch with a gun.

With wary faces, all three men moved quick, rushing out the door. The alcoholic-druggy dude quickly jammed his now limp noodle back into his pants while running after the others. In any other situation, I would’ve laughed except that they tried to rape me seconds ago.

The noises from earlier seemed to be gunfire. I was grateful to whoever had attacked these men. I just hoped they wouldn’t be people I would have to worry about even more.

Not wasting the chance I was granted, I pushed with my feet and tipped back. The chair came apart as it crashed on its back. The screws were too loose, and the legs had suffered from too much use. Removing the ropes was a piece of cake after that.

I was running on pure luck at this point, and I didn’t know how much more my lucky potion would last. I need to move quickly.

Rubbing my sore arms, I flinched as more gunshots rang out. I searched the room for something to use as a weapon. All I saw was the broken chair and the empty beer bottles scattered around the floor. Picking up a broken beer bottle by the mouthpiece, I cautiously left the room. The door was still open because of the haste the men left in.

Luck was still treating me good.

Through the thin walls, I managed to hear snippets of the men talking.

“You stole from me,” I heard a man say, his voice so commanding that I felt actual guilt for a crime I never committed. Some people had a natural talent to make you feel like shit.

“Boss, pozhaluysta, poshchadite menya, u menya yest’ sem’ya!” The boss said, begging. They all must use the family card, don’t they? What woman would ever settle down with this inked up shrimp? {Boss, please spare me, I have a family!}

“A father who acts like a child, cheats, and lies. You set a great example for the children.” A different, unfamiliar voice said. Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“Neposlushnyye deti dolzhny pereyti v ugol taym-auta. Idi i polozhi ruki na stenu.” The one who spoke at first said. {The Naughty children must go to the timeout corner. Go and put your hands up on the wall.}

Running down a long corridor, I caught sight of the empty rooms on either side of me. It was clear that no one lived here. It was a place to conduct certain business. My heart skipped a beat as I saw it.

It was the exit.

The way out was, but meters away from me. All I had to do was walk twenty feet. The sound of gunfire had long fallen silent, but I didn’t care because now I was ten feet from freedom.

Five feet.

Two feet.

"Stop,” A voice said behind me, so commanding that my entire body froze in mid-step. The voice was followed by the click of a gun right behind my head.

I hit the bottom of the luck potion. Not a drop was left.