As she turned to close the door, a massive hand clamped over her mouth and she was pulled back against a massive wall of muscle. She clawed at the hand only to have another hand pinch her nose closed, cutting off her air. Before she had time to panic from the lack of air, her attacker pressed his thumb against her carotid and then…blackness.
When she awoke, she was kneeling precariously on a stool, her wrists restrained above her head. She was nude, her wrists shackled to a heavy chain that was fastened to the basement ceiling—the same basement Glazov used as a fully functional dungeon, complete with iron shackles bolted to the walls, a long table with cuffs dangling from each corner — and, last but not least, the enormous meat hook in the center of the ceiling, which was the source of her current predicament.
She grunted as her captor kicked the small stool from beneath her. Her arms were pulled tightly above her head and the tips of her toes barely touched the floor, leaving her to swing as she tried to regain her footing.
This was not the lavishly furnished playroom next door. No, as Kathleen spun slowly from her chains, she was getting a nice 360 of the dungeon that was usually reserved for high-level interrogations…and, apparently, recalcitrant spouses.
Every Glazov wife could expect to visit this dank, sparsely furnished room at some point in her relationship with her Glazov man, even if only on rare occasions. And it looked like it was her turn.
An excerpt from Diamond Days (Born Bratva 6) available on Amazon: