Chosen By A Sinner (The Sinners Series)

The fuckers bandage the gunshot wound to my leg so I won’t bleed out on them while they torture me.

Just fucking great.

No matter how I brace myself, I’m not ready to lose any body parts.

My mind is flooded with panic and pain, making it hard to try and come up with an escape plan.

You just need to find a way to buy time until your family comes for you. They’ll check the tracking device and see where you are.

The only thing I have going for me is that they once again didn’t restrain me. They probably think I can’t do anything, because of the wound to my left leg.

The fucker in charge gestures to two other men who joined us while I was unconscious, and they come to haul me to my feet. My body screams with agony, but all I can do is groan.

I’m dragged to a chair and shoved into it, then a wooden table is pushed in front of me. I almost slump over it, but manage to keep myself sitting in the chair.

A drilling sound makes every inch of my skin go numb with pins and needles.

My eyes lock on the fucker in charge as he grins at me, holding a cordless drill in his hand.

I’m not going to walk out of here alive.

I don’t get time to process the devastating thought as my arms are grabbed by the two men. They force my hands onto the tabletop, but I fight with the meager strength I’ve managed to regain.

No matter how I struggle against them, I can’t do shit as the fucker grabs my wrist and digs the drillbit into the back of my hand.

“No,” I scream, my eyes wide, my blood on fire in my veins.

The sound is sickening, the smell of burning flesh hitting my nostrils. Then excruciating pain rips through my hand, tearing through flesh and bone.

Something deep inside me cracks right down the middle, and a darkness I’ve never felt creeps through my soul.

Everything slows down.

Time.

My heartbeat.

My breaths.

The drillbit being pulled out of my hand.

The drops of blood falling from the metal tip.

In slow motion, I blink. I breathe. I watch as my left hand is splayed open over the dirty wood.

Just as he presses the drill bit to the back of my hand, I yank free, shoot up, grab the drill from him and shove it into his eye.

I don’t hear anything.

I don’t feel the pain.

I steal his gun from behind his back and take out a man before an arm comes around my neck, yanking me backward.

I go with the motion, then grab hold of the arm, and when the third man is close enough, I kick up and climb him, flipping over the man behind me.

The moment my feet touch the ground, I run for the door.

I lack speed, and I’m tackled. I fall down a short set of steps, and it jars me out of the trance I was in, but I still manage to turn and shoot the man before he can get to his feet.

The adrenaline fades, leaving me drained of the will to live.

Only one thing keeps me from giving up – my love for my family. Luca. My father.

I somehow manage to struggle to my feet, but this time pain tears through me, and I have to drag my left leg as I try to make my way to the side of a building.

I have no idea where I am or how long it will take for my family to come for me.

My breaths sound strangled, and my vision grows spotty as I keep dragging my leg so I can get away from the room where I was held captive.

The Koslov and Terrero blood in my veins refuse to surrender, and I keep pushing forward.

I take another strangled breath as I use a propane tank next to the building to keep my balance, but the pain in my leg has me falling onto my hands and knees in an open area. I start to crawl, stones digging into my palms.

Keep going.

Just keep going.

Koslovs don’t give up until our last breaths.

I hear howling and maniacal laughter behind me. Easily ten men.

Pushing myself back to my feet, I struggle with the clip of the gun, my eyes still going in and out of focus.

One bullet. Shit.

One of the men lets out a sharp whistle to taunt me.

Go fuck yourself, asshole.

I stumble to the side, push the clip back in and train the gun on the propane tank.

At least I got the past couple of days with Luca. It’s more than I could’ve hoped for.

As the men creep closer, slapping baseball bats against their palms and aiming their weapons at me, a broken sob escapes me.

I’m not ready to die. Jesus. There was still so much I wanted to do.

Another sob bursts over my lips.

I love you, Luca. So much.

Daddy, I hope I’ve made you proud today.

My finger curls around the trigger as I stumble a step backward, and then I pull the trigger.