Give Me More

E
VERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2016 Jenika Snow

ISBN: 978-1-77233-939-0

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Karyn White

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

GIVE ME MORE

Jenika Snow

Copyright © 2016

Chapter One

Russia, present day

Sergei pulled the cigar from his lips, held the smoke in his mouth, and finally exhaled after a few seconds. He dropped the cigar and snubbed it out with his shoes. He had a firm grip with his Beretta in his other hand, rubbing his finger over the trigger, his body calm, his thoughts clear.

The man on his knees in front of him started coughing, blood spewing out of his mouth. Sergei stared at his busted face, but he felt no emotion for the woman beater.

“You want me to do it?” Yosef said in Russian.

Sergei looked at his associate and shook his head.

He looked back at the man that had gone behind the Bratva’s back and made deals with their enemies. He stared in the swollen, black and purple eyes of the man he’d once thought of as a friend.

“To say it’s a shame things have to go down like this is an understatement, Boyra.”

Boyra just shook his head.

This was their life, their world. They lived and died by the gun, and weren’t afraid to take a life to make sure the ones they held close were taken care of above all else. They were feared, powerful, and anyone that crossed them knew their wrath firsthand.

“You fucked up by putting your hands on Natasha.” The stripper at one of the clubs they owned was still in the hospital because of Boyra’s drunken actions.

“It doesn’t have to be this way. You know things can get crazy when the liquor is flowing,” Boyra said, blood dripping from his mouth and nose.

“This was direct orders from Aleczander,” Yosef said.

“But even if he hadn’t ordered this, you knew this was the way things went when you put a hand on one of our girls.”

They may have their hands in a lot of illegal shit, but hurting women was not something their organization did.

Sergei lifted his arm and pointed the gun at Boyra’s head, right between his eyes. Without anything else being said, Sergei pulled the trigger and put a bullet right in the center of Boyra’s skull. The man fell to the ground, blood pooling around him from the hole in the back of his head.

“Call Dima to clean this up,” Sergei said to Yosef, and turned to leave the warehouse. “And get everything and everyone ready. We’re going to America.”

****

America, present day

Zoey had never seen herself as the type of woman to allow herself to be hurt, to stay with a man that would lay his hands on her, make her feel less than what she was. But when escaping was harder than just walking out the front door, it was like being in a dream and running, but not going anywhere. The pain, the self-hatred, and the despair that filled a person after each blow brought them further down, making them feel like there was no end in sight. It wasn’t because they were weak that they stayed in the toxicity, but because their hope was gone.

Zoey was at the precipice of that junction, and she was at the point in her life where she’d rather die than spend one more minute as the prisoner of violence.

She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath in. The floor was soft beneath her, the carpet tickling the bare flesh of her arms. She focused on that feeling, knowing she needed to get up, that she needed to move. She hurt all over, this instance with Rick—the man that used her as his personal punching bag far too many times—far worse than any other time before.

Staring at the ceiling, she focused on the hairline cracks, common sense and reality telling her staring at the damned ceiling was the last thing she should be doing. But she felt hazy, like she couldn’t focus, couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Was she in shock? Maybe. Did she need to get the fuck out of here? Absolutely.

The feeling of blood trickling from her nose snapped her back to reality, but she didn’t bother wiping it away. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Her body was battered and bruised, and although it was a familiar feeling, one she wanted to break away from, it was a vicious circle that wouldn’t let her free.

In reality only minutes had moved by since Rick laid his hands on her, but it felt far longer, like she was trapped in this loop and couldn’t get away. Lying on the ground and just letting the world fade away seemed like the perfect thing to do at the moment, but she forced herself into a sitting position. Clenching her teeth past the pain, she forced her tears to subside. Zoey wanted to be strong, wanted to
appear
like she was in this moment, at least.

You can’t stay here. You have to go, move. He’ll be back and go another round on you.

That inner voice that always spoke to her in the most fucked up times had what she lacked during this situation, it seemed … a grasp on what she really needed to do in this moment.

Gritting her teeth and holding her head as pain pounded through her skull, she forced herself to stand, the tears finally breaking free and rolling down her cheeks as the pain was just too much. But it wasn’t just the physical pain that made her cry, but the fact she hated herself for allowing this to go on as long as it had. Six months might not be that long in the grand scheme of life, but when she couldn’t break away from an abuser it was a lifetime.

And then she heard his voice in the doorway, and her heart plummeted to her stomach.

“If you take one more step I’ll lay you flat on your ass again.” Rick’s heavily slurred words came through like fingers wrapping around her throat and squeezing the life from her.

Zoey turned around and stared at the man she’d once cared for, the one that had changed so swiftly it was like whiplash. Now she was just his captive emotionally and physically, and the thought of death was more appealing than anything else.

But is it my death or his?

Rick stumbled a couple of steps into the room, the scent of alcohol slamming into her nose instantly. He’d obviously been “taking a break” and had gone to fetch more liquor if the scent emanating from him was anything to go by.

He’d seemed to be the perfect man at first, so sweet and caring, kind and considerate. But the truth was he was a master manipulator, a sociopath, and he’d played her from the very beginning. Only a month into the relationship everything had changed. A small incident had the true Rick coming forth like a tsunami swallowing the ground.

He’d seen her laughing at a joke a barista at the local coffee shop had told her.

It had only taken that one small catalyst to bring everything down, to have her whole world change in the blink of an eye.

Now she was latched onto the very devil himself.

His behavior became erratic toward her, his jealousy off the charts. She’d tried to leave. God, how she tried to break away from him. But the threats toward her only living family—her sister Alexa—had that fear being so rooted in her she couldn’t even think straight. The things he’d said he’d do to Alexa if Zoey left… God, she still felt that icy chill race up her spine.

That first hit had been when he’d come over unannounced and he’d seen her bag packed. She’d planned on leaving town for a week, just getting away from everything, especially Rick.

He’d given her a black eye and broken one of her ribs.

She’d had enough, and the whole reason for
this
outburst? He’d found out she’d called her sister Alexa, told her everything, and he had gone ballistic. But she was tired of the threats, of the fears. Zoey was leaving, and unless Rick killed her there was no stopping her.

“You actually think you’re going to just leave, walk away from me and what we have?” He stepped in further, brought the bottle of alcohol to his mouth, and took a long drink. “You and I are meant to be together, Zoey. There’s no breaking away.”

Like hell there wasn’t.

So here she was now, battered and bruised, but not broken. She would no longer allow this man to control her with threats, to have her life in a strangulating hold.

He looked at her with a red, glassy stare, and although her stomach clenched and her heart raced, she held her head high.

“I’m done with this, with you. I won’t let you control me anymore.” She had her hands clenched at her sides, because if she hadn’t they would have shaken uncontrollably.

He moved a step closer. “All I’ve ever done was love you.” He shook his head, disgust covering his face. “You think it’ll be that easy to leave me? You think I’ll just
let
you leave?”

She felt the blood from her nose continue to slip down her face and fall onto her shirt. But she didn’t care. Zoey felt strength move through her the longer she stood there, the longer she forced herself to not show her fear.

“I’m leaving, Rick,” she said, her voice threatening to crack, but she was proud of herself for keeping her cool. She just needed to get around him and to the front door.

He narrowed his eyes, flared his nostrils, and before he did it she saw it coming. He reared his arm back and threw the liquor bottle at the wall a few feet from her. The glass shattered, alcohol spewing along the wallpaper, but still she stayed still, not moving, not even breathing.

“If I can’t have you, no one can have you,” he said in a voice so low, so calm, that she gasped for a lungful of air at that moment.

Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest as she watched Rick come toward her. His hands were fists at his side, his eyes narrowed, and he had this crazy look on his face. He stood a foot from her, lifted his hand, and as much as she hated herself for doing it, she flinched, expecting a blow. But he didn’t hit her, and instead cupped her cheek. She felt bile rise in her throat from that acidic touch.

“I love you so much, it hurts.” He leaned in another inch. “And I’ll say it again.” He looked at her mouth, and moved his hand down to curl around her throat. “If I can’t have you no one will.”

The instant she felt him start to squeeze she reacted. Zoey pushed him back with all her strength, brought her foot up, and kicked him right between the legs. He stumbled back, cupping himself, and she looked around. Her gaze landed on the fire poker on the mantle. Reaching for it, she didn’t think, just reacted. She swung out, connecting the iron with the side of his head. The sound of something cracking had this sickening, yet pleasurable feeling moving through her. Rick fell to the ground, blood instantly covering the ground around him. Zoey didn’t stay to see if she’d killed him. Instead she ran past him and out the front door, leaving behind everything she’d worked for in her life to ensure she survived.