Free Demyan & Ana by Bethany-Kris

out.”
    “Not until I’m done here. Did he know you were involved with me months ago when you brought him to my parents’ home?”
    “No, not until that day. What’s wrong, Demyan?”
    “How many other girls has he raped when they didn’t give him what he wanted?”
    Freddie’s tense body slumped against the wall. “He raped Ana?”
    “How many, Freddie?”
    “I heard rumors about Detroit, but … I thought that’s just what they were.”
    “Where does he live?”
    Freddie rattled off an address.
    Demyan let him go, taking a step back to fix his jacket. “We didn’t have this goddamn conversation. Got it?”
    “Yeah, man. I got it.”
     
    • • •
     
    Demyan spun the tip of the knife on the pad of his thumb. A tiny drop of blood gathered at and he wiped it away on the arm of his jacket. Coldness settled in his gut while rage burned white-hot through the rest of his body.
    Silence stilled his mind.
    Tilting his head back against the wall, Demyan overlooked the view the tall glass windows of Cavan Dolan’s loft offered. The windowsill bench had been Demyan’s seat for three hours. Minimal movement, no thoughts, and his soundlessness kept him in control.
    Keys jingled at the lock on the loft door twenty feet across the room. Demyan didn’t leave his spot or look away from the windows when the door opened. The darkness of the loft would do nothing to hide his silhouette sitting on the sill, though.
    And he wanted Cavan to be afraid.
    So terrified. Helpless like he made Ana. Without a choice or voice. Overpowered. Forced into pain and confusion.
    The only difference between the two would come down to worth. Ana’s was far more than Cavan Dolan’s. Demyan would make damn sure the man knew it by the time he was done. Cavan would bleed, beg, and cry.
    The door closed with a soft click. Demyan listened as feet shuffled and two thumps hit the wall. Shoes, likely. A light turned on, illuminating the apartment. Demyan still didn’t turn from his position when he heard Cavan stumble and ask, “What the fuck?”
    “I thought I made myself clear, Cavan,” Demyan said coolly.
    “How in the hell did you get in my—”
    “Deadbolts on doors are useless when a fire escape leads straight to an unlocked window. Not that it would have made a difference, mind you. I was getting in, one way or the other.”
    Cavan sucked in a hard breath. “Get the fuck out, Demyan.”
    “No, see, I can’t do that. Not after what you did to my sister.”
    “Oh, I think you can.”
    A gun clicked, the hammer drawing back. Demyan barked a bitter laugh, turning to stare straight at Cavan holding a handgun. “That’s pointless.”
    “Really? Because right now, I’m the only one holding a weapon worth using.”
    “Wrong,” Koldan said, stepping out from the shadows of the small hallway. His own gun was cocked and loaded, pointing at Cavan with no shake. A silencer was attached to the end. “Toss it to the couch, now.”
    Cavan’s gaze narrowed in Demyan’s direction. “Couldn’t do this alone?”
    “I could, but I figured I owed him since he’s looking out for her and all.”
    “Toss the goddamn gun,” Koldan ordered.
    Cavan’s handgun flew to the couch cushion, forgotten.
    “Don’t bother jumping for any other weapons, either,” Koldan added. “We cleared them out hours ago.”
    “You’re not going to get away with this, Demyan. My family—”
    “Means shit to me.” Demyan swiveled his form around on the windowsill before dropping both feet to the floor. He stood, his stare never leaving Cavan. “In our world, we have a lot of rules. We stay in our own territories. We keep the peace between rival families. We do our business and stay out of others. But, most of all, we hand out respect. Not that any other girl you’ve attacked is worth any less than my sister, but Ana’s got some clout behind her, Cavan. She’s an Avdonin—a Bratva princess. You knew better. You knew this was coming.”
    “She wanted