A Baby for the Bratva
“Turn around,” he said pronouncing every word in Russian.
Starla had run out of things to say and think and so she did the only thing she was capable of doing. She stuck her tongue out at him. Like really hard.
“Do that one more time.” He dared.
And so she did.
And he, this massive hulking form of a man, maybe twice and half her size, moved with the lightning speed of a cheetah and clamped his teeth down on her tongue stuck out between her lips.
He stunned her into utter silence, shocked her to her core, and destroyed her mind. If she was lost for thought before, now every cognitive facility she had curled up and died.