Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
P ain. That’s the first thing I feel. Physical, mental, emotional; it’s all there. Fear, regret, bone-deep, electric agony. It radiates from my ribs, my shoulder, my jaw—hell, there isn’t any part of my body that isn’t succumbing to the torture. Every nerve ending is alight, screaming silently.
“Still breathing, traitor?” The voice is low and calm, the thick Russian accent bleeding into my ears.
I grit my teeth, my vision blurry through one swollen eye. A rough hand grabs my chin, forcing my head up. Artur, one of Federov’s soldier’s, comes into view.
“Hard to kill,” I rasp. My mouth tastes like copper and filth, a static film clinging to the insides of my cheeks. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Though I know it’ll only rile up this man more, I can’t help myself. It distracts me from the real pain, the agony Konstantin promised me. He doesn’t plan on killing me; what would be the point in that? Sometimes, if you’re worth the time, they’ll prolong your life because torturing is more fun than the simple promise of death. For me, death can’t come quick enough—at least it’ll take away the pain of what I did.
Alvaro.
Artur chuckles. “That mouth of yours is going to get you killed.”
I part my lips to speak, but he doesn’t wait for a reply. He just twists the dial up on the battery I’m hooked to, electricity zapping through my body. Every muscle spasms, like a lightning bolt detonating inside my chest. My teeth slam together, my back arching against the restraints. My limbs lock up so hard that it feels like my bones might shatter.
Then it stops, and that’s when the real pain begins.
“Again,” Vadim orders coolly, as if he’s ordering another drink and not torturing a man to the brink of death. This is his wheelhouse though, and the guy is in his element. He knows exactly what to do and how to do it.
I gasp for air, chest heaving as I anticipate the next burst of voltage. The metal clamps bite into the skin on my wrists, the copper wire coiled like a serpent around my forearms. My legs twitch uncontrollably, beads of sweat trickling down my forehead and mixing with the blood from Artur’s earlier assault.
Artur’s hand is on the dial again, turning up a fraction more than before.
The current floods my veins, this time stronger. My body jerks again, so violently that I probably resemble an unrestrained puppet. My scream is stifled, restrained behind my clenched teeth. My vision whites out for a moment, the room spinning.
Then it stops.
My muscles fall limp. I barely have the energy to shake. My heart stutters an unfamiliar rhythm, too fried to keep up with the demand.
Vadim steps closer, his boots echoing across the cement floor. He crouches to my level, tilting his head to study my face. “At this point, we’re just having fun.”
“Yeah?” I pant, spitting a glob of blood at his boots. “I’d have more fun in a cemetery.”
He sighs in response, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the spit from his shoe. “Maybe so. But I don’t think Malakai can say the same.”
My blood runs cold, like someone’s drip-fed ice into my veins. “Where is he?” My voice comes out cracked and dry.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Vadim grins. “The Sokolovs are well taken care of.” His face darkens, but before I can ask, he’s nodding at Artur.
Another jolt sends my body into a vicious spasm. This time, it’s slower, more controlled. It’s like they’re dialing it in to make the pain last longer. It feels like my insides are boiling—like my nerves are unraveling one by one.
My hands curl into claws, my back convulsing. I can’t breathe. I can’t scream. I can’t think.
All I see is him .
Alvaro.
The moment before I pulled the trigger. The acceptance in his eyes. The smile that hoped to reassure me.
I deserve this.
But Malakai doesn’t.
Another blast of electricity invades my body and I let it in. Any pain is welcomed right now.
* * *
I ’ve lost track of time, lost all sense of cognitive function—almost.
The smell of singed skin clings to the air. My shirt is damp with blood and sweat, sticking to me like a second skin. My hands are trembling. Restricted, but still trembling.
I’m here, but not really. My mind is floating between the here and there, my body wanting to fight, but unable to. Thoughts trickle through; of my friend—the one who saved me—to the man that I saved—or tried to.
My body aches, but that’s the only sensation I feel. Numbness seeps into my extremities. Even my brain is trying to shut down, I feel it. Every breath I take sends me deeper into the darkness. Is this where I’ll find Alvaro? I hope so.
Then I hear it.
Gunfire. It’s loud, but not close enough. There’s shouting coming from all directions, but it’s muffled by the sound of boots, of screams, of bullets ripping through the air. I try to lift my head to pinpoint what exactly is going on, but my body is unwilling to cooperate.
Then a door slams, and air whips at my body as light spills into the room.
“Shit!” I hear a familiar voice, though without seeing who it is, I couldn’t tell you exactly who it belongs to. “You’re one lucky motherfucker.”
Am I? I don’t feel so lucky right now. Or maybe I am and I just can’t tell because my body doesn’t know the difference between pain and relief anymore. Everything is so numb that you could probably send a bullet into me and I wouldn’t feel it.
Arms wrap around my waist and I suddenly feel weightless. Maybe that’s what relief feels like? Nothing but an empty void to carry me to the unknown.
“One day, you’re both gonna owe me,” the voice says.
“Sure thing.” I don’t know who I’m responding to, but if they’re helping me out of this, I’ll be indebted to them for life.
A chuckle follows my response before the weightlessness disappears and I’m swallowed up by warmth and the scent of pine. “Are we in the woods?” I croak out.
“No, Milo. You’re out of the woods.”
* * *
T he first thing I register is the smell—disinfectant and stale coffee. Then the beeping of machines, sharp and repetitive, like a metronome in my ears. I crack my one good eye open, squinting at the too-white ceiling.
Everything hurts. Not in the searing, electrified way like before. This is duller, an annoying ache that’s rooted in my bones. I’m sore and stiff, but I’m also… alive .
“Fuck,” I whisper hoarsely, dragging in a breath that tastes like oxygen tubes and regret.
A shadow moves from the corner of my eye. I try to turn my head, but I’m too fast, a sharp spike of pain reminding me of why I am where I am.
But then I see him. All wrapped in darkness and desire, green eyes pinning me in place from beneath a hood. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me, waiting. He’s wearing a hoodie that looks awfully like the one he lent me at some point, and a look of irritation blended with relief.
The tight line of his mouth softens just a fraction when I smile weakly.
“You look like shit,” he mutters, voice rough with exhaustion.
“I missed you, too,” I rasp, wincing as I try to move.
Varo makes his way towards me, pressing a palm to my chest. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he grumbles before reaching for the water pitcher on the table beside my bed. Holding a cup to my lip, he silently urges me to drink.
I take a sip, relishing the way it coats my tongue and throat. It feels like I’ve been out in the Sahara Desert for days—weeks, in fact— and this is my first taste of water. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” I admit.
A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “You almost didn’t.” He offers me the cup again and I take another sip before sinking back against the pillows.
It’s then that I remember Vadim’s words, and they send a chill up my spine. “What happened?”
“Roman and Haldon got you out,” he explains, folding his arms across his chest. “And my dad.”
“The Federovs?”
Varo shakes his head. “Konstantin is dead. Cillian killed him, but Vadim got away. Slippery fucker.”
Konstantin’s dead.
Which means Vadim will not only take his brother’s place, but he’ll be out for blood, too. He’ll go into hiding, but he’ll be back. He craves power too much, and if his brother is out of the way, this is his chance to reign.
“He’ll resurface,” I say as I try to sit up. “People like him can’t resist power.”
“That shit can wait,” he bites out, climbing onto the bed. He holds an arm out for me to slide up against him and I do so, relishing the comforting heat his body provides.
“We’re not done.”
“We?” he questions.
“You promised you’d help me save those girls.”
Varo huffs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “You can’t do shit from here right now.”
“But Gracie can,” I state hopefully.
Alvaro pulls away, frustration piercing his gaze. “She’s already on it, and she’ll update us when she has something.”
I go to argue, but he pulls me against his chest and I can’t find it in me to fight him anymore. Relief has healed the emptiness I felt when I pulled the trigger on Varo. I still feel guilty, but seeing him here, as if nothing ever happened, it mends a piece of my heart that was broken. Bit by bit, it’s repairing itself. Every minute I spend in Varo’s arms feels like the glue I need to fix myself inside.
My eyes close, and for the first time in so long, I feel at peace. I feel safe and happy and… in love.
“I’m sorry for shooting you,” I murmur.
“You should be,” he mumbles. “Hurt like a motherfucker.”
A smile plays on my lips and I lift my head to see Alvaro sharing the same shit-eating grin.
“Worth it, though,” he whispers, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to hear those words come from his mouth.
It might not be a declaration of love, but it’s him. The hidden meaning beneath those words means a lot more than any others would. The look in his eyes promises me just as much. It’s the promise of so much more to come.