Chapter Eighteen
S omething hard pressed against Saint’s back and a cool dampness permeated his nose. When he tried to move his hands, they didn’t budge, but he heard a clinking sound. What the hell? Opening his eyes, he realized his wrists were cuffed to a rocky wall which pressed into his back. His surroundings were grim and, if he had to guess, he was locked up in some kind of underground bunker.
Struggling to remember what happened, fighting through the lingering grogginess making his mind foggy, his gaze moved over the small room. A desk, a chair and a table covered with a dirty sheet. Dread moved through him and he wasn’t in any hurry to see what lay hidden beneath that sheet.
“Finally,” a man said, stepping out of the shadows. Saint’s head snapped over to see a tall, gaunt-looking figure move closer. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses over watery, light brown eyes and his hollowed out cheeks reminded Saint of a corpse. “I was beginning to think I’d have to wake you up with one of my devices.”
He didn’t like the emphasis Skeletor put on the word devices , but he was only concerned about one thing at that moment. “Where’s Mia?”
The mere mention of her name brought everything rushing back at once. The team of men breaking into the cabin. Getting stabbed in the neck with a sedative. Mia screaming.
He had no idea how they’d found them, but that information would have to come later. Now he only needed one answer. “Where is she?” he growled out when the man in front of him didn’t reply right away.
“She’s with her father,” he stated with a small, tight smile. “I’m sure they’re having quite the family reunion right about now.”
His answer confused Nik. Was Mia a part of this? Had she led them to the cabin? Or was she now locked up somewhere? His gut churned and he clenched his hands into fists, pulling at the manacles. “Who are you?”
“Dr. Grendel.” He moved closer, the look of anticipation on his face making Saint’s skin crawl.
Dr. Malcolm Grendel. He recognized the name instantly.
“Tell me, Nikolai, what sort of torture devices are you familiar with? Being associated with the Bratva and then locked up in a Russian prison must’ve exposed you to some interesting tools. Some we might even have here.”
Grendel patted the covered table with a bony hand and Saint swallowed back the bile rising up his throat. Malcolm Grendel was one of the ten names on The Agency list. Out of all the assholes in that organization, why did he have to deal with this creepy-looking psycho with a penchant for torturing? Why couldn’t he have gone to the sex resort like Ryland?
Because you’re fucking cursed and have been ever since your own mother abandoned you, a little voice taunted.
Grendel yanked the cloth cover off the table to reveal an assortment of torture devices—pliers, a drill, a hammer and several wickedly sharp blades stuck out the most. He didn’t like the looks of the gas mask with a tube attached to a pouch that could hold liquid, either. He didn’t feel like drowning today.
Fuck. Saint had been tortured enough in his life. Going through it again…
He wasn’t sure if he could survive it.
“What shall we try first?” Grendel rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Any preference?”
“Yeah, go fuck yourself.”
“No? That’s okay. I’ll be more than happy to choose.” He ran his skeletal-looking hand lovingly over the dirty tools. When he lifted the hammer, Saint tried not to grimace. “We could start breaking bones.”
Don’t show fear, he told himself. Be fucking defiant to the end.
“Give it your best shot,” Saint growled, straining against the restraints and glaring at the doctor. If he weren’t manacled, he’d beat the other man to a bloody pulp with every object on that goddamn table.
Despite his bravado, flashes of Anton Petrov’s torture room filled his head, followed by the hole in the Russian prison where he’d been locked up for days. And the closet at the orphanage. No matter how much he’d been through, that goddamn closet still gave him nightmares and made him break out in a cold sweat.
At least this sadistic bastard didn’t know about his claustrophobia. He could rip off Saint’s fingernails and yank out his teeth with the pliers, but the moment he locked him up in a small, dark, confined place, Saint knew he’d lose his shit.
With a disappointed frown, Grendel laid the hammer back down on the table. If Saint refused to show trepidation, it ruined the other man’s sick fun. Saint was tough as nails and, from experience, he knew it took a lot to break him. As long as Grendel didn’t discover his biggest fear, he could suffer for days on end.
Or, at least until his team arrived.
◆◆◆
The cold, damp, rocky tunnel looked like it had been abandoned a long time ago and Mia guessed it was an old Soviet bunker. The entire place had been carved into a mountainside and the eerie vibes it gave off filled her with dread.
Her father held her arm in a firm grip as he roughly escorted her down the dimly-lit tunnel with Benedict Salinger, his lapdog, following closely behind. She snuck a glance at the man who bore no resemblance to the one she’d spoken to earlier on the phone. Chadwick Carlisle had no interest in having dinner with her. He just kept asking for intel on Saint and Ex Nihilo. But Mia refused to tell him anything. And the more she held out, the more her father’s face twisted in an angry rage until he was almost unrecognizable.
“Let me go,” she ordered, twisting free of his too-tight hold.
Chadwick abruptly turned and slapped her across the face. With a shocked cry, Mia pressed a hand to her stinging cheek. Words fled her. Not once had he ever lifted a hand against her. Not until now. Even Salinger had the decency to look surprised.
At that moment, any sliver of hope she’d harbored about salvaging their relationship disappeared. The little girl who’d wanted it so desperately now knew it was impossible. If she was being honest with herself, there was nothing between them to save. And she was done trying.
“I don’t know when you became so belligerent,” he seethed, looking her over as though she disgusted him. “But you’ll do exactly as you’re told, Mia Grace Carlisle .”
He practically spit the final word out, pinning her with a glare full of loathing, but Mia refused to cower. For the first time in her life, she was going to stand up to Chadwick Carlisle.
“Don’t call me that. I don’t want your name or your money or anything to do with you ever again!”
An evil smirk curved his mouth. “Consider yourself disinherited. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to say that.” The pure resentment lacing his voice startled her. They’d never had a good relationship, but he was looking at her like shit stuck on the bottom of his Gucci loafer.
But his next words truly stunned her.
“I never wanted a daughter, as I’m sure you’re well aware. But when I married your mother, you were a package deal.”
What?
Mia reeled. “What are you talking about?”
“You are not my blood. Just an ungrateful stepchild. Your mother and I married because everyone expected it. We both came from the same elite background and ran in all the same circles. But before we walked down the aisle, that whore wanted to change her mind. She claimed she’d fallen in love with some dock worker.”
He said the last two words as though they were filthy. Suddenly, everything made sense—why he never came around or showed her any love, why he never seemed to miss her mother, and why she’d sometimes caught him looking at her like she was the Devil’s spawn.
Chadwick Carlisle, evil personified, was not her father.
Thank God.
She resisted the overpowering urge to let out a cry of gratitude and it felt like the heaviest of weights had fallen off her shoulders.
“I was on the verge of leaving her because I had my suspicions,” he continued bitterly, “but our parents pressured us into the marriage. Her parents even threatened to cut her off. And your poor, dear mother had never worked a day in her privileged life. She was too fragile and the idea of having to get a job terrified her. The woman might’ve been in love with a blue-collar worker, but she wasn’t cut out to be a poor man’s wife. Plus, there was the very inconvenient fact that the whore got knocked up and didn’t tell me until we’d already exchanged our vows.
“Despite my better judgment, we agreed to pretend you were ours, but the bitter truth was always right there in front of my face. You’re not mine, I never wanted you, and then your mother died and left me to deal with her unfaithfulness. What was I supposed to do with you? Everyone believed you were mine since we’d perpetuated the lie, so I couldn’t just cut and run. You were merely a constant and uncomfortable reminder of her infidelity.”
Shock pummeled through Mia and she couldn’t find the words to properly express her relief and delight in Chadwick’s revelation. Beside them, Salinger shifted awkwardly.
“Do you know what happened to my real father?” she asked, head spinning. She didn’t care if he didn’t have two pennies to rub together. If her real dad was out there somewhere, she was going to find him.
“Do you think I’d let that trash get away with fucking my fiancée?”
Mia’s heart sank. No, no, no. “What did you do?” she whispered, but deep down, she already knew the answer.
“I had him taken care of,” he stated without emotion. “Then cancer took care of your mother. It all worked out.”
The cold-blooded, dispassionate tone in his voice rocked her to the core.
“Except for you, of course. But, you’ll finally be taken care of soon enough.”
God. The man was a cold-hearted bastard. Worse than she ever thought possible.
“Where’s Nik?” she asked, desperate to make sure he was okay and that Chadwick hadn’t disposed of him, too. Losing Nik would scar her for life. Because she couldn’t lose the man she was falling in love with.
At some point on their adventure, Nik had grown to mean more to her than she ever imagined possible. He saw her for who she really was and he’d cared for her when she felt like no one else in the world did. Sure, it all started out a little unorthodox, but he’d protected her over and over. She could still see the fierce look in his eyes when her father’s men had raided the cabin. Right before they took him down, he’d been on the verge of leaping into action and trying to shield her from danger again.
God, her stupid childish yearning to please her father had screwed everything up. If Nik was—
“He’s secure,” Chadwick assured her, interrupting her thoughts. His mouth curved up again in a sickening grin. “In fact, if you stop fighting me, I’ll take you to him.”
Chadwick and Salinger began walking again and she jogged to keep up. After several turns, she realized the place was pretty much empty. Other than five or so guards and them, it was quiet.
At least, it was until she heard a shout of pain.
She immediately recognized Nik’s agonized voice. “Where is he?” she hissed.
“Don’t worry, I have a front row seat waiting for you,” he confirmed, and Salinger laughed.
Front row seat? To what? Mia dreaded finding out.
At the end of a hallway, Chadwick pushed a door open. They stepped into a small room lit by a bare bulb hanging from the low ceiling, Mia’s gaze traveled straight to Nik and she gasped, hand fluttering up to cover her mouth.
He was shirtless, his hands cuffed to the wall and his head hanging between his shoulders. There were some kind of patches on his chest with wires that led to a machine that Malcolm Grendel controlled. Ice-cold fear froze her in place. She’d met The Surgeon, as he was nicknamed, once before and he’d scared the living crap out of her with his soft, eerie voice and skeletal appearance. He reminded her a little of a demented Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas.
“Nik,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision. He lifted his dark head and opened his mouth to say something, but Grendel hit the switch and volts of electricity zapped him through the electrodes. “Stop! Leave him alone!”
But Grendel only turned the machine’s control up a notch and Mia watched in horror as Nik’s big body twitched and contorted in pain.
“Turn it off!” she yelled.
The moment Grendel cut the juice, Nik sagged forward. Mia ran over, cupped his stubbled jaw and lifted his face. “I’m sorry. So so sorry,” she whispered raggedly.
“Not your fault,” he forced out.
But it was and she blamed herself thoroughly. If she’d only listened to her heart over her head, they wouldn’t be there. None of this would be happening.
“Irony at its best,” Chadwick murmured. “You thought you could use my daughter against me, but it looks like the tables have turned. It’s going to be so easy now, it’s almost funny.”
“I’ll tell you whatever you want,” Mia snapped over her shoulder. “Just don’t hurt him anymore.”
“Don’t say a word, Mia,” Nik warned in a low voice.
She turned her attention back to Nik. He had a mask in place, not letting Grendel or the others see how much pain he had to be in, and her heart twisted behind her ribs. “I’m going to get you out of here. No matter what it takes.”
The table of torture devices didn’t escape her attention. No way in hell would she allow her man to be tortured any further by Grendel. Absolutely no fucking way.
Spinning around to confront Chadwick, she snarled, “Tell me what you want.”
“I want Dr. Zaitsev back,” he stated simply.
“The Bratva took your chemist,” Saint said, exchanging a look with Mia, warning her to remain quiet.
They had no reason to believe otherwise, so Mia nodded, playing along. Besides, it was true. The part about Zaitsev already having been rescued from Petrov’s compound and that he was currently with Nadia was something they wouldn’t know, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell them. But sending them to Moscow on a wild goose chase would buy them time.
However, Chadwick didn’t look entirely convinced and he nodded to Grendel who immediately spun the dial. Voltage cranked through Nik’s body and Mia screamed in frustration.
“Stop!” she cried, unable to bear Nik’s thrashing. Jesus, it looked like smoke was rising off his skin in places.
After letting Nik fry a moment too long, Grendel turned the dial back down again. The bastard was enjoying it far too much and who knew what other awful ways he planned to inflict pain next.
Mia’s heart ripped apart as she wrapped her arms around Nik’s waist.
“Where is Zaitsev, Mia?” Chadwick asked.
“Near Moscow,” she lied, hoping it would buy them time. “At Petrov’s compound.”
Chadwick considered the intel then seemed to accept it.
“That’s what Cross heard,” Salinger said, backing her statement up.
Apparently Cross—whoever he was— hadn’t gotten the message that Nik had already been in and out, killed Petrov and most of his men, and temporarily handed Zaitsev off to Nadia.
“Let’s make contact with Petrov.”
Nik choked out a laugh. “We’re talking about the Bratva. They won’t just hand the scientist over because you say. He’s too valuable.”
“Maybe they’d be interested in a trade,” Chadwick said thoughtfully.
“They don’t want me,” Nik said.
“I certainly don’t blame them. No, I meant Mia.”
And there it was—the final betrayal that lit her soul with rancor.
“You’d hand your only daughter over to the Russian mafia?” Nik’s nostrils flared. “So they could sell her to traffickers?”
The absolute rage and disbelief in Nik’s voice sent a chill through Mia. Her protector. Always looking out for her. “Nik,” she whispered, looking up at him. “He isn’t my real father. My mother had an affair right before they got married. He admitted it before he brought me to you.”
What looked like a combination of surprise and relief flooded his dark eyes.
“Returning Zaitsev to The Agency is my number one priority,” Chadwick stated coldly. “Mia is no longer my problem.”
She turned her undivided attention to the monster and sent him her most frigid look. “Eat a bag of dicks, Chadwick.”
◆◆◆
Despite seeing the hurt in her pretty blue eyes moments earlier, Mia’s unlady-like retort made Saint snort out a laugh. God, she was fucking marvelous. Maybe he was rubbing off on her. Or, maybe his kitten had just come into her own. Either way, he was so damn proud of her and it was a goddamn relief to find out Chadwick Carlisle’s blood didn’t run through her veins. Because he was claiming her for good and she would never be put in the terrible position of having to choose sides.
Grendel was reaching for the pliers when Carlisle raised a hand. “Wait. If you want to make this beast break, that isn’t the way.”
The way he said the words, so self-assured, had Saint’s heartbeat picking up. If The Agency had intel about his past, if they had any idea how he’d react in an enclosed space, he was in big fucking trouble.
Or, if they dared to lay one finger on Mia, he’d go berserk.
Mia sent a panicked look his way, probably blaming herself for pushing the other man too far. But it didn’t matter what she’d said. These men had every intention of breaking him. Mia had nothing to do with it. She was merely a means to an end, collateral damage.
The Agency wanted to destroy Ex Nihilo. They weren’t going to let anyone stop them.
Carlisle pointed to something on the other side of the room, but Saint couldn’t really tell what was over there. The corner was dark and his damn vision was still blurry from all the shocks. The moment Mia gasped, he knew he wasn’t going to like whatever it was.
“Help me drag it over here,” Carlisle ordered Grendel and Salinger. The three men worked together to move a heavy, wooden box. They dropped it in front of Saint with an ominous thunk.
Fuck me. He’d rather deal with getting his junk electrocuted than be put in that coffin. The idea of being trapped in there sent his pulse racing, his hands sweating and a palpable terror skittering down his spine.
“Please, don’t,” Mia begged, but they ignored her.
“Money can get you anything you want,” Carlisle stated with a smirk, “including intel on a Russian orphan turned Bratva turned Vory turned FSS turned assassin. Of all the things we could do to you, Nikolai , I find it rather interesting that putting you in this box would be the worst.”
A tremor tore through Saint’s body as Grendel ripped the patches off his chest. Keep it together, he ordered himself. For Mia’s sake. Goddammit, he didn’t want her to see him break. For that to be her last memory of him.
“Are you going to scream once I shut the lid?” Carlisle taunted, pulling a gun from inside his jacket. “How about after we nail it shut and leave you to die a slow death? Desperate, trapped and alone…”
Nik didn’t give a shit about the gun aimed at him. The moment Grendel removed the manacles, he was going to grab Carlisle and smash him against that fucking wooden box until it broke apart. And, if he got shot in the process, he didn’t give a shit. Anything was better than being sealed in that godforsaken coffin.
Carlisle must’ve guessed his intentions, though, because right before the cuffs came off, he grabbed Mia and shoved the end of the gun against her temple. “Get in the box. Or I will blow her head off.”
Mia’s eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from beneath her lids, and Saint knew he was momentarily out of options. He had no doubts Carlisle would do it.
Doing his best to keep his shit together, Saint’s arms dropped after Grendel unlocked the cuffs. Slowly, he approached the wooden box. His team was on their way to Russia, but what if they didn’t have their current location? They’d had the previous location because Salinger and Carlisle had been messaging. And now, they weren’t texting.
Fuck. C’mon, guys. He needed his team now more than ever before, but he had no fucking idea what was going to happen.
He glared at the coffin. If he could zone out and shut down his mind from what was happening, maybe he would be okay. The good news was Mia would never fall into Petrov’s greasy hands because he was dead. The bad news was once Carlisle found that out, he’d have no reason to keep Mia alive. There’d be no trade happening and she’d be worthless to him. Just a loose end to be eliminated.
At the edge of the open coffin, Saint hesitated. He looked up, meeting Mia’s distressed expression, and communicated to her with what he hoped was a confident look that everything would be alright.
“You’re okay, kotyonok ,” he murmured, taking a moment to memorize her. Soft blonde locks framed her distraught face and those bright blue eyes shone with tears, but he would always remember when they’d been filled with ecstasy.
Grendel and Salinger each grabbed an arm, forcing Saint to step inside and then shoved him down onto his back, while Mia struggled against Carlisle’s firm grip.
“Put the lid on!” Carlisle ordered, and Mia cried out as he dug the metal barrel deeper into her skin.
“Leave her alone,” Saint growled.
“Nik!” she cried.
The flat wooden lid slammed down above him and all the air rushed from Saint’s lungs. The overwhelming and horrific feeling of being trapped, of knowing he was going to linger in this box until he died, sent a wave of panic through him.
A hammer started to pound nails along the edges, securing the lid which was barely two inches in front of his face. Breathing hard, losing himself to the anxiety attacking his body, Saint roared like a wounded animal in the tight, dark confines of what would turn out to be his tomb.