Chapter 28
Aurelia
It’s been at least a full day since they dumped me in this prison, and I know my window for escape has already passed. The first few hours are always the best chance—when they’re still moving you, still sloppy, still adjusting to the shift. That chance is gone.
Now my only option is to use the people around me. Watch. Listen. Wait for a slip.
Adrian is the only possibility I’ve got right now. Everyone else has been useless: guards who come in only to sneer, toss insults, and jot down notes about me like I’m livestock being cataloged.
And then there’s the one in the suit. His visits don’t feel like monitoring—they feel like stalking. He studies me the way a lion studies a gazelle right before the pounce. My skin still crawls with the weight of it.
I force myself to breathe through the thought, slow and shallow. The drugs in my system have dulled, I think.
I can’t tell when I’m sleeping; my head still feels stuffed with cotton. But I can feel my fingers now, so that has to count for something.
Deprivation breaks people faster than bruises. I’ve seen it used before; hell, I’ve trained against it. Still, knowing the tactic doesn’t make it easier to endure.
Adrian’s been abnormally talkative since the doctor left, but he also watches in a way that makes me unsure if he’s assessing me as an ally or calculating how much he can take from me. He’s dangerous. But at least danger is something I understand.
I can’t afford to hate him, not yet. He’s the only breathing option I have in this room, and that makes him useful.
I know Enzo and Elijah are looking for me. They have to be. The second I went dark, I’m sure alarms went off in their heads. I can only assume they’ve been moving pieces since the moment I was taken, maybe even negotiating already.
Hell, even my father should know by now. I can picture him, expression carved in stone, already preparing to strike some kind of deal. Everything comes with a price. And for once, I hope I’m worth paying it.
And yet… the longer I sit here, the less certain I feel. Time stretches differently in cages. A minute feels like an hour, and a day feels like a week. Twenty-four hours could mean they’re already on their way. Or it could mean nothing at all.
I can’t let myself spiral. Hope is misleading. Too much of it and I’ll get sloppy. Too little and I’ll break.
I have to walk that razor edge in between—believe that they’re out there, without letting it dull the survival instinct screaming at me to stay aware.
So I breathe. I listen. I watch Adrian shift his weight, the flicker of the light, the drip in the corner that’s been steady for hours. And—
“Are you still alive?”
His harsh voice yanks me out of the fog. My head is heavy, brain fuzzed, but the anger still burns beneath it.
I rasp, trying to focus. “What?”
“You look like shit,” he continues, the words cutting through the haze. “And that’s saying something, because you were very hot when they got you all tied up.”
I squint at him, trying to make sense of the words. I can’t really understand what he’s saying, something about hot shits… fuck, that doesn’t make sense, why would he say that?
My mouth moves slowly, my thoughts lagging behind my words.
“When they tried to feed you, you bit a chunk of the guy’s hand off. So the doc gave you something to calm you down.”
I feel the memory hit—the rush of fury, the sick satisfaction of seeing him recoil, the taste of blood, the sting of the chains, the drugs shooting through my veins afterward. Vengeance. Proof that I would not sit quietly while they tried to control me.
I rasp out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. “Ah, yes… it’s coming back to me now.”
He smirks, entertained by my defiance despite the fog clouding my mind.
“Lucky you didn’t get shot,” he says casually.
I close my eyes, but I hear him shuffling in his chains, pulling my attention back.
He’s standing with a cup in his hands when he gently grabs my face, searching for my eyes, which keep trying to find the glass.
Then, before I can, moisture rushes to my tongue. I tilt back, trying to get as much water as I can.
It’s incredible, the best water I’ve ever tasted. After finishing his glass, I look up at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, you little psycho.”
I give a fake smile.
“For the record, I find it very hard to believe that owing a couple thousand dollars was reason enough for you to end up chained in a Bratva basement cage.” My voice scratches out rough as I get it back.
He smiles. “I like that you’re not dumb. It makes you more interesting.”
“So, why are you an Orlov prisoner?”
He shrugs. “I think we should work up to that level of honesty, Ace.” He takes a couple of steps back and sits, looking up, almost admiring me. “You look very uncomfortable.”
I thrust my arm, testing the strength of the cuff on my wrist. But of course it doesn’t budge.
I look at him for a moment, judging just how I can play him to my advantage.
He seems to like me, to think I’m pretty—or at least, was—before I started looking like a drug addict.
But I don’t see how seduction could help me here.
Could I get some more information? Possibly.
Could it save my life? Doubtful. I try a different approach, something a bit more honest, a bit more… nice.
I glare at him now, feeling fully conscious. “Can you tell me about them?”
He keeps my gaze and runs his finger across his lips, but quickly retorts, “I’d rather not get my balls chopped off, so no.”
“Aw, you’re scared for your balls. That’s cute.” It came out with a bit more bite than I expected, not exactly keeping to my plan, but I’ve been quite easily irritated since being kidnapped.
Shocker.
He smiles. “Well, I’m glad that water seemed to snap you back into your unpleasant self.”
I give a sarcastic smile and tilt my head, trying to restart that honest, nice approach I had planned. But he’s already on his feet, walking away from me.
I don’t know if it was designed to be this way, but it seems as though we have designated spaces. His chains are rooted in the corner of our small room, but because of the distance, he can still get enough slack to meet me at the lovely posts they have me chained to.
He twists his head to look back at me. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Well, maybe I can make this nice thing work after all.
My mind flashes to Elijah, his body, his eyes, and then him thrusting into some blonde on my kitchen counter, and the response couldn’t come quick enough, “No, I don’t,” and before he can respond I continue, “but I have countless men who would rip your micro balls off and feed them to my dog if they found out you hurt me.”
This charade is harder than expected. It’s become impossible to control my irritation.
“Yep, you’re psychotic.” He laughs, running a hand down his face.
I smile, but inside, my frustration rises with this meaningless conversation, and I try to steer us back on track.
“Tell me their names and rank.”
I pause, noticing how his eyes aren’t on mine—they’re fixed on my restrained body.
“Please.” I soften my expression, brows curving as I try a face I’m hoping he won’t be able to resist. “I promise I’ll never tell a soul.”
He shakes his head, but I can see he’s caving.
“Okay, Ace.” He comes back over to me, keeping me at arm’s reach. “Tell me something vulnerable about you, and then I’ll give you the safety of my balls.”
I let out a small grin. “Okay, um…” I think for a second, trying to come up with something that wouldn’t be detrimental to my safety.
“My name isn’t Ace,” I say with a smile.
“Hm, and I’m assuming they don’t know that.” I try to shrug my shoulders, but I don’t have much room in my restraints.
“Okay.” He pauses, his smirk doesn’t falter, but there’s a spark in his eyes.
He takes another step closer, but before I can react, his hand comes up, trailing from my wrist down my arm, moving way too slowly, causing my pulse to spike and send heat to my cheeks. I hate it, hate how my body reacts, hate that my brain is still too foggy to process the full danger.
He cracks his neck, the sound unnerving, intimate. “I like knowing who my allies are. So I’ll test you out.”
I squint at him. “Hands-on education now? What’s next, do I have to get naked to earn your trust, too?”
He brushes my question off with a smile and drops his hand.
But why do I miss it when it goes?
“The man who brought you in is named Alexei. He used to be primarily in drug trading but has switched over to handling more… complex packages.” He looks me up and down.
“Often related to sex trafficking. The doctor who came in yesterday is Ivan. He isn’t someone to mess with, but he doesn’t like me very much, and I’m still alive.
” He winks, then continues, “The man who came to deliver food is Maksim. He is likely harmless and gets treated like their pet because he’s new. ”
“Okay, what about the tattooed man in the suit?”
He looks down, and I don’t think he wants to tell me, but gets it out anyway. “Nikolai.”
“And he is?”
But I know.
I knew the Orlov family would come for me. I just expected it would be Viktor, and that he wouldn’t be interested in me personally.
“Nikolai Orlov, the devil himself.”
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I am so screwed.