CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Mikhail Volkov was walking toward me.

For one foolish moment, I actually believed he was going to help. The entire cafeteria had gone quiet, and even Briggs seemed uncertain about what to do with me. His fingers were still twisted into my shirt, but his attention had shifted to the approaching man.

Mikhail was even more intimidating up close. He was exceptionally tall, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders and a muscular build that filled out his black shirt. Intricate tattoos covered both forearms, disappearing beneath his sleeves, with dark ink extending toward his neck. His face was almost ridiculously handsome, with a strong jaw, sharp features, dark eyes, and full pink lips that contrasted strangely with his otherwise intimidating appearance.

Two men followed closely behind him. They were both large, heavily built, and carried themselves with the confidence of men who had never needed to ask permission before doing anything.

Nobody dared interrupt their passage.

I waited for Mikhail to say something, perhaps order Briggs to release me or ask what was happening. Instead, he walked past our table without even acknowledging me.

He didn't slow down. He didn't look back.

He simply continued toward the opposite side of the cafeteria, his men following him as though the entire incident had never happened.

I felt something inside me sink.

Briggs watched him disappear before looking back at me. Then he burst into laughter.

“Did you seriously think Volkov was going to save you?”

His companions joined in, laughing so loudly that several prisoners turned to look.

I tried to pull away. “Let go of me.”

Briggs slapped me across the face.

My head turned with the force of it, and before I could recover, Vince grabbed the back of my shirt while Tommy seized my arm.

“Where are you going?” Briggs demanded. “We're not finished with you.”

“Get off me!”

“Didn't you hear what I said earlier? You're going to learn how things work around here.”

They dragged me away from the table, ignoring my attempts to break free. I struggled against their grips, but Vince was holding me from behind while Tommy kept twisting my arm. Briggs stood in front of me, enjoying every second of my helplessness.

“Take his shirt off,” he ordered.

My stomach dropped.

“No. Don't you fucking touch me!”

I kicked backward, catching Vince somewhere around his knee, but he barely loosened his hold. Tommy struck me in the stomach, forcing the air from my lungs, and Briggs grabbed my collar.

“Stop making this difficult.”

I fought harder when they started pulling at my clothes. The cafeteria was full of people, yet nobody came forward. Some watched with interest, others looked away, and a few laughed along with the men holding me down. I couldn't understand how anyone could sit there and watch three men assault another prisoner without doing anything.

“Help me!” I shouted.

Nobody answered.

Briggs laughed. “You were begging Volkov a minute ago. Why don't you call him again?”

I tried to twist away, but he struck me across the mouth. My lip split, and I tasted blood. Vince held my arms while Tommy pulled at my shirt until the fabric tore. I struggled desperately, but every movement seemed to give them another opportunity to hurt me.

“Look at him,” Tommy said, laughing. “Still pretending he's innocent.”

“Please,” I said, my voice strained. “Just leave me alone.”

Briggs grabbed the back of my trousers.

“Let's see what all this attitude is hiding.”

I kicked and twisted, but they forced me down. My palms struck the floor, and one of them pressed a hand between my shoulder blades, keeping me bent over. My face was close to the dirty tiles, my clothes being pulled out of place while the men laughed above me.

I couldn't stop shaking.

This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not after everything I'd already survived.

“Hold him properly,” Briggs ordered.

Someone grabbed my waist, and I heard another burst of laughter.

“Well, this is the best thing I've seen in this fucking prison.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted to disappear. I wanted somebody to open the doors and make all of this stop, but the cafeteria remained filled with people who seemed perfectly content to watch.

Then a heavy impact sounded behind us.

A man screamed.

The pressure on my back disappeared so suddenly that I almost collapsed completely. Before I could understand what had happened, somebody shouted, and the men holding me began moving away.

I struggled to straighten, pulling my torn shirt against my chest as I turned toward the noise.

Vince was on the floor.

A large boot was planted against the side of his head, keeping him pinned to the tiles. Blood had begun spreading beneath his face, and he was screaming, trying desperately to move away from the person standing over him.

It was Mikhail.

The same man who'd walked past me without offering a single word was now standing over Vince, his expression so cold that I barely recognized him. One of his tattooed hands was tucked into his pocket, while the other rested loosely beside him. There was blood on the toe of his boot.

“Get your fucking foot off me!” Vince cried.

Mikhail pressed down harder.

The scream that followed silenced the entire cafeteria.

I looked down in horror, he would stomp this man to death. There was so much blood.