Claimed by Shadows (The Shadowmen #2)

Chapter 1

ROWAN

I watch him across the street, the tattoos on his knuckles telling me he’s one of them, one of the ones who stole my Little Lamb and refuses to give her back. He’s laughing as he speaks into his phone, unaware that death is watching.

My hand wraps around the syringe in my pocket, something I’ve taken to carrying around with me because these Bratva are like fucking cockroaches. You squash one and another pops up. That’s okay though, because I thrive at extermination.

My heart beats faster when he hangs up, and I scoff when he doesn’t even look around before he walks down the road towards the park. These Russians are arrogant, but it works in my favour. I follow, stalking several feet away as he enters the gates, still completely unaware that death follows in his wake. It’ll make it so sweet when he finds out, but by then it’ll be too late.

I don’t know his name or what he does for Sergi, and I don’t give a shit. He’s part of the problem, and just like the ones who have come before him in the past several weeks, he will soon sing a song of pain and suffering.

My teeth grind at the knowledge that the agony I’ve caused those others is probably nothing compared to what my Lamb is going through. We’ve heard fucking nothing, not seen her for three weeks, and each day I descend more into the darkness that promises oblivion from the hurt that having her taken from us caused. At not being able to stop them.

Before I realise it, I’m right behind him, the needle jabbed into the side of his neck with so much force that it breaks off as he slumps, the sedative taking immediate effect. The pre-dawn means there’s no one around at this late hour, which is lucky for me because this loss of time keeps happening. I’ll be in one place, and then suddenly I’m in another, often covered in blood.

Grunting, I dip down and throw him over my shoulder, heading back to the car I drove when I’d identified my mark. I’ve been following him for a few days, waiting for my chance, and anticipation makes my blood hum in my veins as I shove him into the boot. His head cracks against the side, and my head tilts as I watch the blood seep from the cut, turning his blond hair ruby red. Beautiful.

My pocket vibrates, breaking the spell I’m under, and I slam the boot shut as I pull my phone out, seeing Hunter’s name flashing on the screen.

I swipe to answer but don’t say a word. I haven’t said a word since they took her, as if the words dried up the moment that cunt dragged her away like a dog on a leash. Even the thought of that collar he placed around her neck has my hand clenching around the device, and I’m only vaguely aware of Hunt’s voice calling my name.

“Rowan?” Blinking, I tune back in as I round the car and get into the driver’s side. “Fuck, Rowan. You’ve got another one, haven’t you?” He sighs, but I don’t answer, just grunt as I start up the engine, letting the phone connect to the Bluetooth and placing it in the holder on the dash as I don’t bother with my seat belt and pull out onto the road. “You can’t keep doing this, Rowan. You’ll piss them off and Sergi could take it out on her.” My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. He doesn’t get it, not even Roman does. I have to do this, I have to make them hurt. Doing this is the only way to satisfy the demon inside of me. He heaves another sigh. “I’ll meet you at the warehouse.” The line goes dead.

London passes by in a blur of lights and traffic, a city as big as this rarely sleeps fully. I scoff. We have that in common. I don’t think I’ve slept more than a couple of hours at a time since she left.

I lose time again, and then I’m pulling into the warehouse we usually use to store product. It has a soundproof room, one that was used infrequently but has seen almost daily action since that night.

Another car is already there, and as I kill the ignition, the doors open and Hunt and Roman step out of the vehicle. Taking an inhale, I open my door and get out, the cool night air barely touching me even though I’m only in a T-shirt. It’s like the world has become dulled, the colours all seeped from it, all feeling smothered in a fog that refuses to lift.

“Hey, bro,” Roman greets, his voice soft and lacking the cheer that used to be there. He’s suffering from her absence too. We all are.

My brother used to be the epitome of joy, the light in our dark world, but someone snuffed out that sunshine, covering its rays with a cloud until all that’s left is a bleak sky. Hunt hasn’t stopped looking for a way to get her back, sleeping less than I am, but it’s futile. She’s locked away in that fucking mansion like a bird in a cage, and no one has seen her since that night.

I nod at him, going back to the boot and opening it, finding my guy still out of it. He should rouse just in time for the fun to start, and Roman doesn’t say another word, just helps me lift him out of the trunk and drag him into the building.

The tang of bleach with an underlying note of copper hits our noses as we enter. I’ve had a clean-up crew scrub the place, but my demon enjoys the fact that the place smells like death, that we will be able to hear the screams bouncing off the walls as we drag our man to the backroom.

Hunt follows behind us, not saying anything as we enter the space, my torture room. My beast purrs in my chest, something inside me easing as Roman and I wrap the manacles around the guy’s wrists so that he’s dangling from the ceiling, a drain below his feet.

Turning my back on him, I walk towards my bench, picking up a large knife. This will do to shred him of his clothes and dignity. It’s amazing how vulnerable people feel when they’re naked. Plus, it means it’s easier to get to his vital parts and the places that cause the most pain.

“Rowan.” Hunt’s voice is unyielding as I pass him, and I pause, the knife gripped in my steady hand. “Look at me.” Slowly, I tilt my head upwards, staring into his green eyes. They’re full of anguish, and the place where my heart used to be twinges. His shoulders rise and fall with his exhale, and he just nods, the muscles in his jaw working as his fists flex by his sides. “Okay.”

I break eye contact, unable to take his pain because I’m drowning in my own. My brother, the other half of me, is waiting, ready to have my back no matter what. He knows I need this, knows that breaking this cunt is the only way I’ll feel anything.

I don’t need answers, though I’m sure Roman will ask questions like he has every other time, torturing himself with what our girl is going through.

All I want is this man’s screams as I imagine it’s Sergi whose flesh parts underneath my knife, whose blood drips onto the concrete floor at our feet. I need them to drown out the more feminine screams that haunt me at night. Ones that I’ve never heard but can imagine all too easily as my Lamb faces a den of wolves alone.

“ARCADE - ACOUSTIC VERSION” BY DUNCAN LAURENCE

IRIS

The day outside my barred window is sunny, a perfect spring day. I’ve watched countless birds flitting through the trees of the Petrov London Estate over the past few weeks as we moved from winter to spring. How I envy their freedom, their ability to soar.

The bedroom Sergi gave me is luxurious with silk wallpaper in a deep burgundy lining the walls and an enormous four-poster bed covered in matching silk bedding and gold throw cushions, but it’s a place of horror, a gilded cage where I have no control over anything. What I wear, what I eat, and where I go is all proscribed by Sergi himself.

And he’s the monster of my nightmares. I finger the leather collar that has stayed on my neck since that night, a lock holding it in place so that I cannot remove his claim. My body aches with his physical claiming of me, something that happens almost daily and I’ve learned to tune out of it in order to survive.

All my tears have dried up. What’s the point in them if this is to be my life from now on?

The lock on my door clinks, but I don’t move, just continue to stare at the white clouds that roll across the sky outside my window.

“You’re required for breakfast, Kukolka ,” one of Sergi’s men commands from the doorway, and I shiver. I hate that nickname. It means little doll, which is exactly how Sergi treats me. Dressing me up to his liking, never once asking what I might like, but forcing things upon me like I’m not really alive at all.

With a small, pained sigh, I get up from the window seat, the black, floor-length silk negligee falling to the floor in a whisper. I hate the softness against my skin, caressing all the bruises my owner leaves there, but it’s something that is beyond my control. I wear what he tells me to or nothing. Just another choice that is no choice at all.

Keeping my gaze lowered, unwilling to see the perverted lust that I know will be in his eyes, I walk out of the room, heading along the hallway and down the stairs towards the direction of the dining room like I do for every meal.

“ Kukolka ,” Sergi greets, his voice the kiss of a graveyard wind. All my muscles tighten, but I keep my face impassive, my gaze still lowered as I head towards my seat on his right. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Sergi,” I answer, the emptiness in my tone the only rebellion I have. I tried not speaking, but the beatings were not pleasant.

I sit down as someone tucks my chair in with my breakfast of smashed avocado on sourdough sitting on a plate in front of me. I fucking hate avocado, but refusal to eat earns another of Sergi’s harsh punishments, and it only took a week to break me and show me it wasn’t worth it.

Picking up my silver knife and fork, I cut a small piece off, drowning out the talk Sergi is having in Russian with one of his guys. He often has what I assume are business meetings at the table. I guess the Bratva never sleeps and is kind of a twenty-four-hour gig.

“Oh, Kukolka , I almost forgot. Nikolai will be home in a week, and although he’s a busy man, I’m sure he’ll be able to spare some time so you’re not alone every day. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To have some company your own age?” His voice is cajoling, and it takes a gargantuan effort not to show the relief on my face that Nik will be here soon.

“Yes, Sergi. Thank you,” I reply, my voice only trembling slightly. Inside, I am a maelstrom of emotions, a swirling vortex of hope and despair, desperate to see one of my soulmates, yet terrified of what he’ll find when he looks at me.

“You’re welcome, Kukolka ,” he says, his hand landing on mine, which is resting beside my plate, my knife gripped tightly. “Now finish your breakfast and then I’ll have one of the men take you for a walk.”

My jaw barely clenches at his words, knowing that not only do the words make me sound like a fucking dog, but whichever man he chooses will hold a leash attached to my collar and literally walk me like a canine.

His hand releases mine, and I resume eating my breakfast like a perfect pet. Going outside, even with a leash, is worth obeying. Getting fresh air, feeling the breeze on my cheeks, and hearing the birds reminds me that there is a world out there. One where my soulmates, my Shadows, are safe, which makes all of this worth it.

I survive so they can live. I obey so they can go about their lives and be part of a world outside of these walls. There is no world if they are not part of it, so this way, I may not be free, but at least they are alive.

And I will endure anything to ensure their safety.