Vitaly (Las Vegas Petrov Bratva #3)

28. Vitaly

28

VITALY

I can hear their voices.

Many of them. Nikita must’ve been true to his word and invited the Italians along with all of Las Vegas for how loud it sounds outside this storage closet they’re keeping me in. Then again, it could be hallucinations.

I slump forward in the chains pinning me to the wooden cross on rollers Nikita must’ve had made for this occasion. Sweat seeps from every pore in my body, but I’m not so sure it’s actually hot in here. They gave me something to make me complacent enough to get up the stairs and into this room. That feels like a long time ago.

My eyelids droop, the blurry carpeted floor coming in and out of view. The voices grow louder as the closet door opens, and when I try to look at the person who enters, for a moment, I think I see the man with half his face missing.

But it isn’t him. It’s Alik.

He stands directly in front of me now, like he teleported here. If I blinked, I don’t remember it. The voices outside are quieter now that the door is shut.

“You look like shit,” Alik comments, shoving a stool beneath my knees. It balances on the cross’s platform and eases the tension from the chains. I doubt it’s out of kindness.

Blinking, I try to watch his movements as he pulls a key from his pocket to unlock the chain, but all I see are blurred movements. He could stab me right now, and I wouldn’t flinch to stop him.

When one of my wrists is free, I try to tug it toward me, but he holds it steady at one arm of the cross. Something pointed presses into the center of my palm, making me squint at it. I don’t see the hammer in Alik’s hand until it’s too late.

I’m only able to suck in a breath before the nail rips through my palm, lighting up my pain receptors and pulling a bellow from my lungs. My brain instantly sharpens, the blur clearing as I try to yank my hand, but Alik is quick with the hammer. He taps the nail into the board with a straight look on his face while I buck in pain.

He gets up close to it, inspecting his work, while I close my eyes and tilt my head up to the ceiling. When he goes to the other hand, he has the sense to leave the chain on my wrist while he hammers the nail through my palm.

I grunt and tense but don’t move. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

I’ve felt worse.

I’ve dealt worse.

I remind myself of this again and again, chanting it like a mantra until the pain is no longer unwanted. I welcome it, let it wake me up, clear my mind, and remind me that I still have a pulse.

As Alik removes the second chain, I glare. “Do you feel better now, brother ?”

With one swift pull, he unwinds the chain then lets it drop to the ground. The stool supports most of my weight, otherwise, I imagine my hands would be ripped open by now instead of throbbing and trembling around the nails.

He faces me, his red eye showing nothing of what he’s feeling. “They found Mila. She used a tree to get over the gate… Clever girl.”

My glare falls at his words. Pain radiates through my hands as I slouch against the nails, my chest aching. “Is she…”

“She’s in the ballroom.”

My sigh comes out as a tremor as pins prick my fingertips. I lower my eyes and try to think of a way out of this, a way to Mila, but Alik stops my train of thoughts by gripping my jaw and forcing me upright.

“It isn’t good news,” he continues, his eyes wider now. Intense . “She’ll be dead soon, and her death is not going to be quick, Vitaly.”

I rip my head to the side, my teeth clashing against each other. “Get your hands off me.”

He puts his hands over mine and steps close, our noses nearly touching. I try to jerk but only end up wincing at the pain it brings to my hands. Blood dribbles onto the floor, two puddles forming on either side of me.

“Grip the nails,” he seethes, curling my fingers in.

My glare twists into an uncertain squint as he squeezes my hands over the metal. “ Do it .”

Breaths seesawing through my flared nostrils, I tighten my hold over both nails. He keeps his hands over my fists.

“The nails are dug into that wood by a centimeter, and they’re thin . They’ve barely damaged your nerves. All it’ll take is one forceful pull to free yourself. When you do, you shove that nail into the closest guard and pray whatever men you’ve turned are ready. And are stupid enough to die for you.”

He looks around the closet while I try to digest what he’s telling me, and when he finds what he’s looking for, he disappears behind me. He reappears with a black, folded up tarp, whose original purpose I can only guess had something to do with corpse clean up.

I just watch him while he studies the stool with a furrowed brow, carefully considering something. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of saying anything else. Of telling me more of a plan. Of telling me his plan.

Or why he’s doing this.

But then again, I know why.

He removes the stool while steadying me then stuffs the tarp on the platform so I can stand instead of hang by my palms. Slowly, he lowers my feet, ensuring I can support myself before pulling his hands away.

I’m amazed by the whole thing. Mainly because I know he’ll be killed if Nikita finds out he’s doing this. He’s got one foot on either side of the fence, the only one capable of fooling both Nikita and me.

“Power feels good, doesn’t it, Alik?”

He tenses, his head dipped looking at the tarp. Slowly he straightens to look at me, showing nothing.

“I’m amazed at what you’re capable of doing just to keep the power my uncle gives you.”

His lips lift into a crooked grin. “Not all of us were born with the luxury of having the last name Petrov. Some of us have to do things just to survive.”

“I’m nailed to a cross right now.”

Alik’s grin widens as he tips his head to the side. “Touché.”

“Why won’t you fight with me?” I ask, my lips drawing together. “You know Nikita is a maniac. How can you choose him over me? Over your people ?”

“My people,” he huffs under his breath, looking up at the ceiling while he runs a hand over his mouth. “A week ago, I would’ve crowned Nikita king of the underworld as long as he promised to send you to hell.” He peers at me as he sighs. “Now…”

He doesn’t say the words. I don’t think he can.

But his eyes flicker with a vulnerability that a man like Alik doesn’t show. His throat contracts as he swallows. Then he cracks his neck as if the emotion that just overtook him is too uncomfortable.

He forgives me.

That’s what this is, what all of this is. Forgiveness. Loyalty. Half of it, at least.

He clears his throat. “If you somehow manage to make it out of this alive, I’ll accept whatever fate you have for me. And because you’re a fair man, I know you’ll spare my wife… Nikita will not. And unfortunately, I think he’s got you beat.”

He takes a step back from me, his mask reforming on his face. “Good luck,” he says with a nod.

As he leaves, I close my eyes and start to visualize the scenario in which I get to fight, a technique I learned long ago.

Not having Alik is a setback. Nikita’s torturous punishments will keep many from even thinking of turning against him.

But Alik is forgetting something. The same thing that motivates him to take a knife to a man’s face while he thrashes and screams is what motivates me to stand taller now, making fists around the nails.

I’m not just fighting for my survival. I’m fighting for the love of my life’s.

And as long as I can get my arms free…

I will not lose.