CHAPTER 14
ANDREI P.O.V.
The air in this fucking shaft is thick with decades of dead skin and rat shit and the metallic tang of the building's industrial HVAC trying to pump oxygen into a concrete grave. I press my forehead against the cold metal slats of the vent, watching the sweep of tactical flashlights disappear around the far corner of the corridor. The heavy vibration of the building's industrial fans hums right through my bones. I wait for the count of twenty after the last heavy footstep fades before shifting my weight. We are trapped in a dead-end duct unless we move right fucking now, but the hallway out there is a designated kill zone. Two guards remain stationary at the junction, their blacked-out silhouettes visible through the grate. I have to decide right this second if Ruby is ready to be a participant in this bloodbath rather than just a passenger I’m dragging by the wrist. I use the back of my hand to wipe a smudge of black grease off Ruby’s cheek, my thumb lingering on the sharp line of her jaw.
I can feel the gritty texture of dust on her skin.
She hasn't trembled once since I shoved her into this shaft.
Her resilience is becoming a fucking drug to me.
"The patrol is gone. We have a window," I murmur, my voice dropping to a gravelly deadpan. "Stay still. Don't even breathe until I tell you."
I rotate my massive frame in the cramped space, my chest brushing hard against hers.
I lean in until my lips are brushing the shell of her ear, my voice a low vibration I know she can feel in her spine more than hear.
I lay out the gambit fast and dirty. She is the lure.
I am the trap. She has to walk out into that blinding fluorescent light and convince those heavily armed men she’s just a broken victim begging for mercy.
I’m asking her to stand in the open, totally unarmed and completely vulnerable against men carrying automatic rifles.
It is the ultimate fucking test of her trust in me as a protector and my absolute skill as a predator.
Ruby’s fingers curl into the fabric of my ruined custom suit jacket, bunching the expensive wool tight in her fists.
The heat radiating between our bodies is suffocating, mixing with the faint scent of her sweat and the raw adrenaline spiking in my blood.
I want her to say no. I want to see if she actually has a breaking point, yet I'm terrified of what I'll do if she finally shows me fear.
"I need you to be the bait, Malenkaya," I tell her, the Russian slipping out smooth and dark. "If you miss a beat, they’ll shoot you before I hit the floor. Do you trust me to catch them?"
I pull back just enough to see her eyes in the slivers of pale light slicing through the vent.
Her hazel gaze is steady. It’s dark with an intensity that matches my own twisted sickness.
She doesn't blink. She doesn't ask for a gun or a knife or a way out. She simply nods once—a sharp, clinical, unbothered movement that seals the bloody pact between us. It’s almost insulting to my sense of dominance.
I expected a plea for safety, some pathetic tearful begging, and instead I find a partner in crime staring back at me.
It completely rewires my brain, challenging my entire perception of her as just some property to be guarded.
Ruby exhales a slow, controlled breath, her chest rising to meet my solid chest one last time before we go to war.
"Just tell me where to stand," she whispers, her voice flat and cold. "I'm not afraid of them, Andrei."
The rhythmic clicking of the vent expansion masks the heavy thud of my heart. I stare at the glint of light in her hyper-focused pupils. She’s either the bravest fucking woman I’ve ever met or she’s already dead inside from whatever miserable life she had before tonight. Either way, she's mine.
I slide the grate back with silent precision, hooking my fingers deeply into the metal slats to prevent it from clattering against the frame.
I drop first, landing like a cat on the soft high-end executive carpet, then reach up into the dark shaft to catch her.
I grip her waist tight, feeling the lean, hard muscle of her core as I lower her down.
Her bare feet make no sound, but I feel the sudden slight wince ripple through her body as she steps directly on a shard of broken glass.
The hallway is bright as a hospital, clinical, and totally silent.
Every second we spend standing in the open is a massive gamble against security cameras and wandering tactical patrols.
The sudden chill of the hallway air hits my damp skin, smelling like industrial cleaning fluid and impending death.
I pause, going down on one knee to pick a small piece of sharp debris off the sole of her foot before letting her go.
My hands linger on her hips longer than necessary.
I’m marking her even now, right in the shadow of a kill.
"Watch your step. Glass," I tell her, rising back to my full towering height. "Don't look up. Not until they're dead."
I point a thick finger to a pool of bright halogen light forty feet down the corridor, right under the heavy-duty ceiling pipes.
I tell her to look shattered, to look exactly like the terrified girl they kidnapped and tossed into this slaughterhouse.
I then melt backward into the deep shadows of a recessed doorway, disappearing into the dark before she can even turn around to check if I'm still there. She is now entirely alone in the light. The psychological weight of playing the prey is a heavy fucking burden, and I am forcing her to carry it while I wait comfortably in the dark. I check the tension on my combat knife sheath, the click of the kydex muffled perfectly by my wide palm. The hum of the overhead fluorescent lights drones on. I’m using her.
I should feel a flicker of guilt, some microscopic shred of human decency, but all I feel is the violent itch in my palms to see her succeed.
"Make them believe you're broken," I hiss from the void. "Go. Now."
Ruby immediately limps out into the stark light, her shoulders hunched inward, the ragged white slip she’s wearing appearing ghostly and incredibly fragile against the corporate starkness.
While she pulls their eyes, I use a series of heavy data-cabling brackets bolted to the wall to hoist myself up with silent, terrifying strength.
I hook my thick legs over the thick, insulated ceiling pipes, hanging upside down like a fucking gargoyle directly above the designated kill zone.
I’m operating at a massive height with no harness, relying entirely on brute grip strength and balance.
If a single pipe rattles or a bracket gives way, those guards will look up and turn me into a bloody sieve.
I wipe the sweat from my palms onto my tailored trousers before locking my iron grip back onto the pipe.
The heat of the pipes sears through my clothes, smelling heavily of hot rubber and baked dust. I look down at the top of Ruby's head.
She looks so goddamn small from up here.
Fragile. It makes the urge to destroy anyone who even thinks about touching her grow into a deafening roar in my skull.
I keep my mouth shut. Silence is mandatory.
Ruby lets out a sob. It’s a jagged, ugly, broken sound that echoes perfectly off the hard, sterile surfaces of the hallway.
She calls out for help, her voice cracking in a way that sounds so genuinely desperate it makes my own chest tight.
Down the hall, the two guards instantly snap to attention, their heavy rifles rising as they exchange a quick, greedy, filthy glance.
They are professional but clearly bored out of their fucking minds.
Ruby's performance has to be convincing enough to make them completely abandon their defensive posture and rush in like dogs to claim a prize.
If they stay back and shoot, she's dead.
I watch one guard adjust his tactical vest, a clear sign of rising nervous energy and predatory excitement.
"Please... help me..." Ruby cries out, dropping to one knee. "I can't... my leg..."
"Hey! We got a stray over here!" the lead guard barks, his voice echoing off the walls.
The echoing clack of their tactical boots on the floor matches the sharp intake of Ruby's breath.
Her voice... blyad, if I didn't know better, I'd drop down right now to save her myself. She's a terrifyingly good liar.
The guards begin a heavy trot toward her, all their tactical discipline slipping right into the gutter in the face of an easy, vulnerable piece of meat.
From my perch in the ceiling, I watch them through the narrow gap between two hot pipes.
I can clearly see the sheen of sweat on the back of the lead guard's neck.
I wait, my massive muscles coiled tight like high-tension springs.
The timing is fucking everything. If I drop a second too early, the second guard will blast me out of the air.
If I drop too late, that first guard is going to put his filthy hands on Ruby.
The margin for error is measured in milliseconds.
My eyes narrow to slits, my breathing becoming incredibly shallow and rhythmic to maintain total, deathly stillness.
Keep coming, you bastards, I think, my jaw locked so tight my teeth grind. Stay where you are, sweetheart. Don't move.
The smell of the guards' cheap, offensive cologne drifts upward, mixing with the hot dust. I hear the distinct metallic snick of a safety being flicked off a rifle. The way they look at her as they approach... they're already dead. They just don't know it yet.