Page 9 of Forced Bratva Kidnapped Virgin
But I wasn’t going to quit. No. Not now. Not ever.
That evening, I finished my work like every other day, grabbed my bag, and headed out. The stairwell door closed behind me as I made my way to the underground parking lot.
The air was cool, carrying the scent of oil and damp concrete. Above, the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed, casting a pale glow over the rows of cars.
My shoes scuffed against the cement, the sound echoing off the walls as I moved. The parking lot seemed quieter this evening, and even the entire building was silent like a cemetery.
I didn’t want to think much of it at first until I saw something that made my heart skip a beat. I caught a reflection in a nearby glass: a tall, manly figure dressed in black.
They were behind me, slowly catching up.
Their shoes were silent on the concrete, and their outfit blended into the eerie shadows in the corners. My pulse raced as I felt the foreboding presence closing in.
I stopped in my tracks for a split second and turned around without warning. But to my shock, there was no one behind me. My eyes squinted, knowing full well I wasn’t seeing things in that glass.
There was a man following me.
Where was he?
I paused, quietly scanning the underground parking lot. “Hello?” My voice echoed.
Silence.
“Jake?”
Still no answer.
I waited a couple of seconds before turning around and picking up my pace. I was halfway to my car when I sensed the presence again. This time, the footsteps were loud and fast-paced.
That’s when I knew shit was about to get real.
I reached into my bag, grabbed my pepper spray, and the second I turned, I went for his eyes. The huge man let out only a quiet groan before knocking the spray from my hand. I didn’t geta good look at his face under that hood; I just needed to get away from him.
Without hesitation, I pulled the oldest trick in the book—I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. As expected, his grip on my wrist loosened, and he bent over, hands on his groin, groaning like a wounded beast.
I made a run for it, sprinting through the rows of cars on both sides.
“Get over here!” a deep voice growled in accented English as a pair of hands snatched me by the waist from behind.
This was another attacker.
The other one was struggling to stand, still groaning in pain.
“Let go of me!” I screamed, legs flailing in the air.
Another man appeared in front of me, and as soon as he drew close enough, I kicked him in the face.
“Fuckin’ bitch!” He stumbled backward.
I threw my hands behind, scratching wildly, hoping to gouge out the eyes of the man holding me from behind.
He hid his face from my attacks, muttering in Russian—curses, I assumed.
So far, there were three men, and none of them had a weapon. My guess was that whoever they were working for must’ve instructed them to bring me alive.
That meant they weren’t going to kill me. That was a relief.
“Hold still!” the man behind me grumbled.
