17. DARIA
Chapter seventeen
P ain.
It was the first thing I registered—a slow, creeping agony clawing its way up from the depths of unconsciousness, spreading through my body like a fire that had already burned everything to the ground but refused to go out.
My skull throbbed like it had been split open, pain radiating from the base of my neck where I’d been struck. My face was smashed up against something solid, warm, and clothed. The unmistakable scent of sweat and cigarettes filled my nose. I peeled my eyes open to find a massive arm covered in dark gray fatigues.
I tried to move, to shift away from the man I’d been leaning against, but my muscles screamed in protest.
My hand moved sluggishly as I reached up to rub the back of my neck where I’d been pistol-whipped. A slow exhale sent a fresh sting through my lip, the bitter metallic taste of blood coating my tongue as the wound oozed.
I groaned.
The man beside me barely hesitated before punching me in the jaw.
White-hot pain detonated through my skull.
Everything went black.
Cold.
So cold it burned.
Before I even fully surfaced from unconsciousness, I felt it—the ice-cold water biting into my skin, sinking into my bones, forcing violent shivers through my body.
I was naked.
That realization cut through the fog in my mind like a blade.
My eyes snapped open.
A man stood over me, fastening a strap around my wrist, securing it to the top edge of a metal tub. My ears rang, and my thoughts were sluggish, but I knew— I knew —this wasn’t just any tub.
My muscles jerked as violent tremors wracked my body.
Before I could even think—much less react—a massive hand was clamped over my face.
And then—
Water.
Crashing over me. Filling my ears. My mouth. My nose.
No, no, no!
I thrashed against the restraints, twisting, struggling, every nerve in my body screaming in protest. But it was useless. I was being held under with brute strength.
The cold, the lack of air, the crushing pressure on my face—it sent my body into overdrive, and instinct took over.
Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe!
My lungs burned, the unbearable ache growing as every second ticked by. I knew this kind of torture—I’d seen it done before, had even facilitated it. But nothing prepared you for experiencing it yourself.
The body betrayed itself. It always did.
A fresh surge of panic ripped through me. My muscles locked, my throat tightened, and my body demanded air. But I fought the instinct to inhale, clamping my lips shut. I shook uncontrollably as the cold burrowed deeper, turning my veins into ice.
Black dots danced behind my eyelids.
My chest convulsed.
And then—
My mouth opened.
Water surged in, filling my throat, drowning me.
Just as I started choking—just as my body gave in to death—I was yanked from the water.
A desperate gasp ripped through me, my lungs convulsing as they drank in the stinging air. Savage coughs tore through my throat like acid after each violent inhale, rattling through my battered body.
Through the haze of pain and suffocation, I lifted my eyes from the tub and darted my gaze around the room.
Two men.
A machine— fuck —with electrodes leading into the water.
My mind spun.
They were going to light me up with currents of torment.
“What do you want?!” My voice was raw, desperate.
The men laughed, and I recognized a familiar guttural sound.
No. It couldn’t possibly be—
A shadow moved, stepping into the harsh overhead light.
I knew that face. The thick, square jaw. The nose that was crooked from too many fights. The cold, soulless eyes.
Fedorov .
My stomach plummeted.
My pulse pounded, hard and fast, my body vibrating from something far worse than the cold—fear.
I was back in Krestovskaya Prison.
Oh, shit!
It didn’t get worse than this.
Fedorov smirked, apparently noticing the moment I put it all together. “There she is,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Wasn’t sure if we’d have to wake you up again.”
I clenched my jaw. My breathing was still erratic, and my heart was hammering so hard it thundered in my ears.
Fedorov turned to the other man, the one still standing by the control panel. “We may have been given strict orders not to cause any more visible injuries on her pretty little body…” He trailed his fingers down my cheek and over my breast, grinning when I jerked away. “But there are other ways to make her talk.”
He removed his hand from the water and leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a tone that was almost intimate.
“Lucky for us, I have plenty of favorite methods.”
He flipped the switch.
Agony!
It was instant, like a thousand knives being driven into my skin all at once.
The ice water conducted the current perfectly, amplifying the pain. Lightning tore through my veins, and every muscle in my body spasmed.
My back arched violently, my teeth grinding together. A strangled, inhuman sound ripped from my throat as electricity surged through me in relentless waves.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I was being burned from the inside out.
Then it stopped.
My body collapsed into the water, gasping, twitching. My heart slammed against my ribs—a heavy, erratic thud-thud-thud that barely kept rhythm.
Fedorov crouched beside the tub, waiting for my eyes to focus.
“Tell me, Lieutenant Colonel,” he said, letting the words roll off his tongue, slowly and deliberately, a predator toying with its prey. “Who are you really working for?”
I panted, blinking up at him. Every part of me hurt.
He grabbed my jaw, forcing my head up. “Talk.”
I spat right in his fucking face.
His eyes flashed.
And then he reached for the switch again.
Some time later, I scowled at Fedorov as the pain ebbed and my ability to think returned.
He leaned in. “Tell me, little whore, why did you help the American escape? Did his dick taste that good?”
I swallowed past the raw, aching burn in my throat. Think.
I blinked slowly, letting my head loll to the side as if the last shock had drained me. They wanted weakness? Fine. Let them believe I was broken.
I let out a ragged breath. “I pitied him.”
Fedorov’s grin faltered, but he didn’t respond.
“He wasn’t a soldier, wasn’t a spy,” I rasped. “He was a paramedic. A fucking aid worker. Delivering meals to starving civilians.” I coughed, my entire body trembling. “Just another dumb American who thought he could do some good in a place he didn’t understand.”
Fedorov scoffed, but I pushed on.
“I thought I could use him,” I continued, forcing my voice to be steady. “A goodwill gesture. A way to gain the Ukrainians’ trust. I’ve been working to infiltrate their local networks, and—”
His hand smacked my face so hard my head snapped sideways.
Blood filled my mouth.
“Lies.”
I clenched my teeth, forcing myself not to react, but my ears were still ringing when he grabbed my jaw and yanked my face toward his.
“That American wasn’t some innocent aid worker,” he sneered, his eyes burning with annoyance. “He’s a close associate of Nikolai Volkov.”
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head.
Fedorov chuckled darkly. “Oh, yes.”
I stared at him, my pulse pounding. It wasn’t possible. Braxton was…uncomplicated. He wasn’t—
Fedorov tilted his head, studying me as I processed this. He was clearly enjoying the doubt creeping across my face. “Who do you think arranged the trade two days ago? Nikolai Volkov. He’s been tracking your little adventure over the border this whole time.”
“No,” I said again, more forcefully. “That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?” Fedorov leaned in. “You think I’d pull something like that out of my ass? How do you think we pinned you in at the perfect spot inside Ukrainian territory? You know Volkov has a special skill set.”
I ground my teeth, struggling to process what I’d just been told.
Braxton had been apprehended, beaten, and almost tortured by the very men of this prison. The ambush of the aid workers’ van was all over the news. He had let me take charge and followed my lead. The fear in his eyes when I’d barged into that house was real, as was the concern he’d shown for Zelenko. He couldn’t possibly have been faking his emotions and intentions that well under those circumstances—could he? The way he had touched me was real . He’d kissed me like I mattered .
Fedorov let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, I love this. You really didn’t know?”
I forced myself to keep my face blank.
He grinned. “Your American paramedic isn’t just some do-gooder. He and his brothers aided Volkov in orchestrating the Red Wedding in Manhattan—Nikolai Volkov’s grand little massacre.”
The words crashed into me, stealing the air from my lungs.
I froze.
Fedorov noticed.
His grin widened. “Ah, so you do know about it. Guess that means you also know Volkov personally saw to it that his own mother and father, as well as his aunt, were offed that day.”
No. Braxton didn’t have that sort of violence in him. That was not the MO of a longtime paramedic—a man who liked to hold hands and please a woman without expectation.
I searched Fedorov’s face for a crack, for any hint of deception, but there was none. He was telling the truth.
Braxton… Braxton ?
Not possible.
Fedorov clapped his hands, apparently delighted by my silence. “I gotta say, little whore, you fucked up big time.”
I sucked in a slow breath. My mind seemed detached from my body; I was still trying to grasp the significance of what I’d just learned.
Braxton had lied to me.
From the beginning .
I barked out a laugh, sharp and bitter.
Fedorov’s smile dropped. “What’s so funny?”
I shook my head, unable to stop myself. “You,” I breathed. “Thinking I’d fall for your pathetic attempts at mindfucking me.”
His nostrils flared.
“I know the tricks,” I sneered. “The manipulation. The tactics. You’re not half as good as you think you are.”
Fedorov’s eyes darkened, a dangerous flicker sparking behind them. He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a low, humorless chuckle.
“You’re gonna regret that.”
He turned to the control panel, twisted the knob, and flipped the switch.
Oh, fuck—
The pain was instant.
My entire body arched, my muscles seizing so violently I thought my spine would snap.
The electricity owned me. It burned through every nerve, crawling into my bones, setting my veins on fire. My body convulsed, locked in agony, my teeth clamping together so hard that I expected them to crack any moment.
A scream ripped from my throat, but it barely sounded human. I couldn’t breathe. Every muscle contracted, coiling tighter, tighter—
My heart.
It skipped.
Then slammed back to life with an explosive force.
The pain was everything.
And then, just as the darkness began to creep in—
It stopped.
I collapsed, sucking in air, my body trembling, my heartbeat a wild, erratic stutter beneath my skin.
Before I could gather a single thought—
Water.
Ice-cold.
I barely had time to gasp before I was dragged under.
I gasped violently as I was yanked from the water, my teeth clattering loudly inside my skull. I coughed and choked, drawing in deep, ragged breaths between violent shivers.
Fedorov’s voice sliced through the haze.
“Tell me why you were helping the American!”
I tried to focus, but my head was spinning. I was losing track, losing the sense of where I was. Losing myself.
I blinked at him. “I—I was just trying to help…” My voice was barely a whisper. “He was an innocent.”
The truth was the easiest thing to tell under interrogation. “I had no fucking idea who he was.”
Fedorov’s face twisted into a scowl, his smirk vanishing.
“You expect me to believe,” he snarled, leaning close to my face, “that an American just fell out of the sky, right into your lap, and you never once questioned what the fuck he was doing there?”
I pressed my lips together, biting back a sarcastic remark and earning another jolt.
“I know you’re not that stupid!” he bellowed, spit flying, his fury vibrating in the air between us. “What information did you give him?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I gave him nothing.”
His fist crashed into my cheek. My head snapped sideways, my vision exploding in a white-hot burst, and for a moment, I was weightless, floating in the nothingness of pain.
Fedorov shouted something, but it was muffled, distant.
I couldn’t feel my toes.
Or my fingers.
The ice water seeped deeper, threading into my bones, turning my blood to slush.
Then—
Red-hot pain.
A current ripped through my body again like a bolt of lightning.
My mind fractured.
Time was no longer linear. There was only suffering.
Electricity.
Ice.
How long had it been?
Seconds. Hours. Days.
Another shock.
Another plunge.
The pain twisted reality, turned it inside out, made it impossible to separate the now from the before.
I was breaking.
They would leave me brain-dead at this rate.
A garbled plea left my lips before I could stop it.
“Just—just kill me.”
Laughter.
A shadow moved over me.
Fedorov’s voice slithered through my ears, but I couldn’t process the words anymore. Couldn’t process anything.
Suddenly, I was in the river.
The water was warm. Soft. It curled around me as I swam, weightless and free, the sun sinking behind the trees, casting everything in gold.
I turned, and there he was.
Braxton.
With a crooked smile, his hair wet. The sun caught the golden flecks in his eyes as he watched me.
I was kissing him.
Rivulets of water cascaded over my heated skin as his lips devoured mine, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me onto him.
His body was fire and strength, his mouth trailing down my throat, my skin tingling in the wake of it.
I felt alive.
I gasped.
He was inside me.
His arms, his rhythm, his warmth surrounded me as I clung to him, breathless, lost in ecstasy.
His mouth was kissing, sucking, nipping.
He whispered praise against my lips.
Tucking me against his chest afterward like I was something precious.
He held my hand.
He trusted me.
He listened to me.
He never judged.
I fell asleep in his arms.
For the first time in my life, I let go.
I let someone in.
And then—
It was all a lie.
The memories snapped apart like glass, shattering into nothing.
A scream tore through me, but this time, it wasn’t from the pain.
Darkness rushed in, cold and merciful.
And I let it take me.
Cold.
Deep, bone-deep cold.
I gasped awake. My breathing was jagged, like my lungs had forgotten how to function. Panic reared its head, but I slammed it back down, forcing control into my trembling limbs.
I had been trained for this.
I knew how to compartmentalize.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus on one thing at a time.
A cot beneath me. An almost dark room with a small window near the ceiling.
My head throbbed like a motherfucker, the pain sharp and persistent, but my thoughts—thank God—were still intact. They hadn’t scrambled my brain. Not yet.
I flexed my fingers, one by one. All there.
I wiggled my toes. Still attached.
I rolled my shoulders, flinching. Pain radiated down my arms, as if fire had crawled through my veins. But nothing felt broken.
And…
A shuddering breath left my lips when I realized they hadn’t raped me.
I bit down hard as nausea twisted in my gut. Fedorov and his men had gotten their sick pleasure torturing me, but they hadn’t gone further.
I’d take the small mercies.
I exhaled, slow and steady, curling into myself. The fetal position offered the only warmth I had. I was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.
For now, it was over. But my mind wouldn’t stop.
All things Braxton played on a loop in my mind.
I squeezed my eyes shut as Fedorov’s revelation slammed back into me like a hammer to my skull.
Braxton wasn’t an innocent aid worker.
Braxton was working with Nikolai Volkov.
Braxton had been part of the fucking Red Wedding in Manhattan.
How could I have been such a fool?
I prided myself on never being deceived. I could read people, sense a lie before it was even spoken. Yet Braxton—Braxton—had played me like a master manipulator.
And I hadn’t suspected a damn thing.
I chewed on my bottom lip.
Think, Daria. Focus.
I forced myself to start from the beginning, from the moment I met him.
Carefully, I considered the way he’d watched me. The way he had always seemed so calm. How he had let me lead. Let me talk. Let me open up.
There was always a tell. Always.
I shivered, but this time, it wasn’t from the cold. Braxton had asked about the Volkovi Notchi. At the time, I’d thought nothing of it, assuming it was just his American curiosity.
But then —
His face had paled.
When I’d spoken about Nikolai killing his own parents, Braxton’s whole body had gone still. And when I’d talked about my father going after the Volkovi Notchi, he’d flinched. I’d thought he was shocked by the brutality of it all. But he hadn’t been.
No, he’d been worried.
Worried about his fucking buddy, Nikolai Volkov.
Shit!
A sharp, broken sound tore from my throat as I curled tighter into myself, digging my nails into my arms. I had told him everything.
About my father’s plans.
About the moles he’d placed inside the Volkovi Notchi.
About my past.
About my failures.
I’d trusted him.
Those big, kind brown eyes.
Those understanding silences.
That was the tell—he was calm when an ordinary person, outside of the Bratva, would have reacted.
I hadn’t been spilling my secrets to a friend.
I’d been feeding information to a fucking enemy.
Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, and I let it take me under, drowning in the bitter, unforgivable truth.
When I woke again, I immediately hated myself. I’d been such a fucking fool.
I had fallen for his act—his charm, his Boy Scout bullshit, his too-good-to-be-true innocence.
Braxton had played me. Me!
I had been trained for exactly this. I knew better. And yet, I’d let down my guard, ignored my instincts, and now it was I who would pay the price.
My blood.
My suffering.
Who knew what tortures awaited me next?
The ice bath, the excruciating pain delivered by the electric current—that had just been the warm-up.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it did nothing to quiet the noise in my head. My body was shutting down. My brain rattled from the abuse; my muscles were screaming from the shocks. I was exhausted. Starving. Every part of me was failing, unraveling. It was the perfect scenario for breaking a person down.
I was fading.
And the worst part? A part of me wanted to let go.
Wouldn’t it be easier to just…die?
The thought whispered to me, dark and insidious.
I blinked into the darkness of my cell, my gaze sweeping over every inch.
No weapons. No sheets. No clothes.
Nothing to tie myself to, even if I’d had the means.
A dry, humorless chuckle scraped my throat.
Maybe I’ll freeze to death in my sleep.
I doubted I’d get so lucky.
I let out a slow breath, my entire body trembling from something far worse than the cold.
Rage.
White-hot, soul-burning rage.
It curled inside me, dangerous and all-consuming. The kind of anger that shattered restraint. The kind that erased reason. The kind that sought destruction.
If I ever got the chance—if I ever laid eyes on that man again—I would take pleasure in ending him.
And I wouldn’t do it quickly.
No, I’d take my time.
I’d make sure he felt every fucking second of it.
My hands curled into fists, my nails biting into my palms as my body rocked forward and back. Self-soothing. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it.
Count, Daria.
See the numbers in your mind .
One. Two. Three.
Focus on them .
Four. Five. Six.
Let them pull you away .
Escape.
Just escape .