Chapter 26 - Dani
Consciousness comes back in fragments, cold before the subtle pain slips through the cracks and burns through me as my awareness slowly registers.
Then the sharp chemical smell of antiseptic sears the fog in my head, and my eyes gradually open.
I try to move instinctively, realizing immediately that I can’t, and panic sets in so fast it steals the air from my lungs.
My wrists are strapped down, causing immediate resistance when I try to pull away. Yanking my legs, they don’t move either. My ankles are just as stuck, leaving me with no choice but to stay in place.
The realization hits with brutal clarity as my vision finally steadies enough to make out the room around me.
The metal table feels like ice beneath my back, and the harsh fluorescent lights hum overhead. Medical equipment sits arranged nearby, all perfectly lined up in a haunting row.
No.
No, no, no.
A terrified sound catches in my throat as memories slam back all at once…the crash, hands dragging me from the SUV, and Nikolai reaching for me despite his wounds before everything went black.
My breathing turns ragged immediately as I struggle harder against the restraints, and the leather bites painfully into my skin. Regardless of how I move and squirm, I don’t go anywhere.
“Awake already?”
The voice makes my stomach drop, and I go perfectly still the moment my gaze lands on him.
The man stands several feet away near a rolling metal tray with his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. He looks composed in a way that feels deeply wrong considering the situation, eyes hard yet disturbingly calm beneath the bright lights.
Dr. Volodin stands beside him, and the sight of him nearly makes me sick.
He won’t look at me fully, and his expression is tense in a way I don’t remember from before. His movements are clipped as he organizes supplies with visibly unsteady hands.
But it’s the sight of him that makes me connect the dots about the other man. Despite never seeing him before, I already know it must be Grigori Malenkov.
“You…” I mumble, my voice cracking as I look at the doctor again. “Why are you doing this?”
Neither of them answers immediately, and that silence only makes the terror crawl higher up my throat as I pull uselessly against the restraints again.
“Please,” I say, hating how weak the panic in my voice makes me sound. “Please don’t do this.”
Volodin flinches almost imperceptibly, but Malenkov doesn’t.
Instead, he steps closer to the table and studies me with detached calculation that makes my skin crawl.
“You’re here because you’re valuable,” he says simply, looking at me with a specific kind of disinterest, like I’m nothing more than a thing to be taken. “And you signed a contract. One you didn’t fulfill.”
The words hit harder than yelling would have, making me feel like I’m not even a person anymore. To him, I’m just inventory.
“Your organs alone are worth a fortune,” he continues evenly, reaching over to pull at the strap around my closest ankle. “You’re healthy, young, and you have more than enough to give. Besides, after a Lukov interrupted our operations…he’s cost us a great deal of money.”
Nikolai.
My stomach twists, and the thought hits painfully through the terror already consuming me. I can see him so clearly in my mind, reaching out for me and trying so hard to free himself just to get to me.
This is because of him.
Not because Nikolai did something wrong, but because he tried to stop these monsters in the first place. He’s the one who meddled, and now they want to use me as reparations.
Malenkov notices the shift in my expression immediately, eyes sharp enough to catch everything. “This is very much about him, too.”
Fear spikes sharper through my chest, unaware of his current state or what happened to him after the fact. “Where is he?”
“Probably bleeding out somewhere,” Malenkov says dismissively, waving his hand vaguely. “Though knowing the Lukovs, he’s likely already trying to come for you.”
Despite everything, the thought sparks a flicker of hope in me. While small and fragile, it exists, and I try to hold on to it.
Nikolai will come. I know he will.
The certainty settles strangely deep in my bones despite the horror of the situation, and I pull in a shaky breath to calm my racing heart, but it’s no use.
“Which is why we need to get this over with,” Malenkov murmurs, gesturing for the other to get to it.
Volodin steps closer then, syringe in hand, and I already know what’s coming.
Immediate panic tears through me all over again, and I struggle harder against the restraints. “No…no, please—”
But something stops him. It isn’t from me fighting or because of my pleading. Instead, he hesitates on his own, looking down at the syringe and not moving it yet. Even through my daze, I can see something warring in his eyes.
His hand visibly tightens around the syringe as his eyes flick briefly toward Malenkov, and his lips press into a thin line.
“She was unconscious recently already,” Volodin says carefully, like he’s trying to be clinical. “Another heavy sedative this soon could be unstable and cause adverse effects.”
The words sound rehearsed in a way, and it clicks. He’s stalling, but why?
Malenkov’s brows pinch together, and he gives him a questioning look. “And?”
Volodin swallows. “The stress could be hard on the organs.”
A long silence stretches through the room, only broken when Malenkov exhales slowly through his nose. He looks visibly irritated now, as every minute wasted risks everything.
“It doesn’t matter. They’ll be out of her soon enough, and she’s dying anyway.”
The casualness of the way he says it nearly breaks something inside me, reminded that their focus is on one thing, and it isn’t about my well-being.
Still, Volodin doesn’t move. Instead, his face has gone pale beneath the fluorescent lighting, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor instead of me. He’s debating with himself, regardless of the position it puts him in.
Fear shifts through me again, this time tangled with confusion.
He’s scared, just not of me. Of Malenkov, maybe. Or potentially the reality of what this makes him, and the hand he has had in such a horrific scheme. Regardless of why, he doesn’t do it.
Malenkov watches him for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. “We’re waiting on you, Volodin.”
Finally, he looks at him fully then and pulls in a deep breath like he’s building the courage to speak his mind. “This has gone too far. The Lukovs are involved now, and they’re bound to be here any minute now. We should leave Vegas before—”
A gunshot explodes through the room, loud and terrifying, and I’m screaming before I realize it.
Without any lead-up, Volodin drops instantly from the impact.
One moment, he’s standing there, pale and shaking beneath the lights. Next, he’s hitting the ground hard as blood spreads rapidly beneath him.
For a second, I can’t process what I’m seeing while the room goes painfully quiet. I blink, staring at how the red puddle crawls across the floor like it’s trying to leave the room.
Malenkov lowers the pistol calmly as if he didn’t just murder someone without hesitation, as if it meant absolutely nothing.
The room spins sickeningly around me as horror crashes through my body in violent waves, and my ears continue to ring even after the echo has long gone.
This man will do anything with no regard for human life. He’s the most rotten part of this whole organization.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, voice shaking as the image replays in my mind on repeat.
Malenkov looks down at Volodin’s body with visible annoyance rather than remorse, as if he removed an obstacle rather than eliminating the very doctor he needed for the operation. “Don’t look at me like that. He was becoming a liability, and weak men create more problems than they fix.”
I stare at him in shock. “He was your partner.”
“He was a means to getting what I wanted, then he became a loose end. I don’t like loose ends.”
The words settle over me like ice water, and I try so hard to keep it together, but that feels more impossible the longer this goes on.
Then his attention shifts back toward me, slipping into a more detached state again. He nudges Volodin’s arm out of the way with his shoe before he glances over at the various medical instruments nearby.
My entire body locks with terror as he approaches the table once more, realizing now that the man standing between me and death is gone.
“Fortunately,” he says calmly, reaching for the syringe, “removing organs isn’t especially complicated.”
Even as I squirm, he gestures toward two armed men near the door. “Congrats, you’re my assistants now. Get over here…we’re not delaying any longer.”
The men step forward immediately, forcing another wave of panic through me so violently I nearly choke on it.
I thrash harder against the restraints despite knowing it’s useless, all the while tears burn down the sides of my face as my survival instinct completely takes over.
“Please,” I gasp out. “Please don’t—”
Of course, nobody listens. One of the men reaches for my arm to hold me still, and that contact is enough to drain the color from my skin.
“Stay still or I’ll miss,” Malenkov utters as he brings the syringe closer. Then he huffs with sadistic amusement. “Or, I can just cut while you’re awake. Take your pick.”
Neither option settles anything in me, and I keep fighting as my heart threatens to burst through my chest.
Irritated now, he barks orders for them to keep me in place, but before anyone can begin, shouting erupts somewhere outside. Gunfire follows, and Malenkov freezes.
Another burst of rounds cracks through the building, closer this time, and the men around the table immediately grab weapons. Fear flashes across several faces at once, even if they’re supposed to be trained.
Then a voice roars somewhere beyond the room, commanding and full of authority. “Nikolai!”
Recognition registers in me instantly. I heard that voice at dinner only hours ago, and relief crashes through me so hard it’s almost painful.
It’s Roman.
Malenkov hears it too, and for the first time since I’ve seen him with my own eyes, he looks genuinely furious instead of composed.
“Move,” he snaps at his men, face red with tension.
One of the guards near the doorway stops and jerks backward before collapsing hard into the frame, blood spraying across the concrete beside him before he drops.
The remaining men scramble immediately, and chaos explodes through the room all at once. Somewhere beyond the violence and shouting, I hear him. Nikolai.
“Nobody touches her!”
The sheer fury in his voice sends chills through me, but not because of fear. I’ve never heard someone sound so absolutely murderous before in my life, and not over me.
Footsteps thunder closer and closer toward the room, and before Malenkov can move, the door bursts open fully.
Nikolai appears with blood still streaking one side of his face from the crash earlier, expression savage enough to barely look human anymore. Roman and Sergey are behind him with weapons drawn, but Nikolai’s attention locks onto me instantly.
Pure panic flashes across his face the second he sees the restraints. “Dani.”
The sound of my name in his voice nearly undoes me completely, and relief hits so hard that tears spill faster down my face. “Nikolai—”
His gaze shifts toward Volodin’s body on the floor, toward the blood, then to Malenkov, and something terrifying settles over his expression. Something lethal emanates from him, showing me a side of him I’ve never seen before.
Then Nikolai raises his weapon and goes after Grigori Malenkov himself.