Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Leah & Roman
Leah
I forced my eyes open. A few dim yellow lights swam into view. Gritting my teeth, I tried to lift my heavy head, only to realize I couldn't move. Both my hands were chained to the chair's armrests with rough iron shackles, my ankles bound to the chair legs.
Shit.
What the hell is this place?
The briny sea breeze mixed with rust stung my nose. I struggled to turn my head and finally made out where I was—a massive abandoned warehouse. The ceiling soared high above, metal beams strung with old industrial lights. Most had burned out, leaving only two casting their feeble, flickering glow.
The kind of place Hollywood could use as-is for a zombie flick.
Or, more to the point, the perfect dumping ground for a body.
I sucked in a breath, trying to untangle the mess in my head, scanning for anything useful.
The walls were exposed brick and rusted sheet metal, corroded through in places. Light leaked through the holes, revealing the ocean in the distance.
The water glowed red beneath a sinking sun.
Evening already.
I did the math in my head. From when I lost consciousness to now.
At least ten hours since I was taken.
I tested my restraints. No give. The damn chair was bolted to the concrete floor.
I almost laughed. The irony was too perfect.
All that planning, all that effort to escape—the hunger strike, playing obedient, using Mira, using the parent day—and what did it get me? Not freedom. Just a different cage.
At least the last one had silk sheets and climate control. This one came with rust and dead fish.
Leah Carter, you're a goddamn genius.
And this time, I had no cards left to play.
I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath. Mira's face filled my mind.
Mira.
Was she safe? Was she scared, hiding alone in that closet? Had Roman gotten my text? Had they found her?
No answers. I knew nothing.
I forced myself to believe she'd escaped. That she was safe now. Without that lie, I couldn't survive this cold, hopeless warehouse.
Then Roman's face shoved its way into my thoughts.
What was he doing right now?
Had he noticed I was gone? Did he know I'd been taken? If he learned I was dead, how would he react?
He'd be sad, wouldn't he?
A sharp pain twisted through my chest. A massive, indescribable regret washed over me.
If I'd known it would end like this, I should have walked over to him that last morning and wrapped my arms around him, pressed my face to his chest and listened to his heartbeat.
This kind of goodbye—no warning, no last words—was too cruel for both of us.
Slumped in the iron chair, I ran through everyone I couldn't let go.
Roman. Mira.
Harper—God, I hoped she and Nick worked out. Nick was a good man. I really wanted to see them get married.
Finally, my parents. Even if they didn't care about me, I couldn't help thinking of them.
I painted each face in my memory one last time.
Prayed silently for every one of them.
It was the only thing this body, locked in chains, could still do.
Footsteps cut through my prayer.
They came from the darkness at the far end of the warehouse, heading my way.
My eyes snapped open. I lifted my head.
Trent emerged from the shadows, grinning.
It was him?
He'd lost weight. His jaw bristled with scraggly stubble, his eyes sunken. The whole package screamed both wasted and wired.
He looked nothing like the guy I'd started dating three years ago. But it wasn't just his appearance.
It was like he'd become someone else entirely.
The old Trent had been a smooth-talking hustler, sure—not always honest or hardworking, but he'd never really done anything bad.
He'd even moved me sometimes. But somewhere along the line, he'd fallen in with the wrong crowd and started believing his own hype. That's when he'd turned cruel.
"Awake?" Trent leaned over me, hands braced on the chair's armrests, and patted my face with mock affection.
I had zero interest in talking to him. I turned my head and closed my eyes.
Trent grabbed my jaw and wrenched my face toward him.
"How's it feel, sweetheart? Fight all you want—you still ended up right back in my hands."
His voice was slurred. Probably freshly drunk, still half-gone.
I stared into his eyes. Said nothing.
My silence pissed him off. He tightened his grip, forcing me to look at him.
"You know what's really funny? Roman, the most arrogant bastard in New York, picked up my leftovers and actually enjoyed them."
I didn't understand how someone could change so fast.
How could he have the nerve to bring up the past?
"Trent, get this through your thick skull—I dumped you. You're the one I didn't want. And you remember how pathetic you looked begging me to stay."
His face twitched. His eye narrowed dangerously. That was always his tell when someone hit a nerve.
"You're really comparing yourself to Roman Volkov? What exactly do you have that can compare to him? His wealth? His appearance? His body? Or what he can do in bed? Trent, you don't measure up to him in any way. Not even close."
I didn't understand myself. Things with Roman hadn't ended well, but I still couldn't stand Trent disrespecting him.
I finished speaking and tilted my head, smirking.
Trent's expression twisted completely.
"You bitch! Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you're in?"
He raised his right hand high. I flinched, closing my eyes.
The blow never came.
I opened my eyes. Another hand had caught Trent's wrist mid-swing.
"Enough."
I knew that voice. I followed the hand up to a familiar face.
Dmitri.
He always dressed impeccably, and today was no exception. Hair slicked back perfectly, jaw clean-shaven, completely out of place in this dump.
If he weren't standing in an abandoned shipyard next to a pregnant hostage, you'd think he'd just stepped out of some Upper East Side private club.
I should've known it was him. That master of disguise.
Dmitri released Trent's wrist with a gentle push.
Trent stumbled back two steps. The anger hadn't left his face, but he kept his head down, eyes on the floor, not daring to argue.
The hierarchy was crystal clear.
Dmitri approached me, looking down. His eyes were pale blue with a gray tint—similar to Mira's, but without her innocence.
This man's gaze held only cold calculation.
"What an unexpected bonus." Dmitri adjusted his cuffs. "You weren't in my original plan. Roman protected you too well. I couldn't get near you."
"Aha." I laughed coldly, meeting his stare head-on. "Enjoying this surprise I delivered to your door?"
"Absolutely. Even I don't particularly enjoy targeting Mira. You've solved a minor moral dilemma for me."
Ha! Morals! Laughable.
I snorted.
Dmitri ignored my mockery, tilting his head.
"But here's the problem—I'm not sure you're a useful bargaining chip. According to my sources, Roman probably won't come for you."
I looked up, glaring at both these revolting men.
"Sergei's pinned everything on you. In Roman's eyes, you're complicit with his enemies. You're the traitor who leaked Mira's location. And everyone in the underworld knows how Roman Volkov feels about traitors." Dmitri spoke slowly, deliberately.
My lips trembled with rage.
Sergei? He was the mole?
That suit-wearing, perpetually stone-faced secretary who stood behind Roman. The man Roman trusted completely had been the spy in our midst all along?
Son of a bitch.
Dmitri watched my reaction with interest.
"So you see, your situation is awkward. You'd better pray you and that little passenger are valuable enough that he'll risk coming for a traitor like you. Don't force me to become the kind of man who kills pregnant women."
Roman
The text came through as I was running toward the helicopter pad.
Leah's face wouldn't leave my mind.
"Mira's preschool. Gunfire. Two shooters. All bodyguards dead. Mira in first-floor storage area. Get here now."
I could picture her shaking hands typing those words in absolute terror. Even so, she'd been brave enough to save my Mira, then become the goddamn target herself and vanished.
My mind went completely blank for a moment. Then every emotion hit at once—rage, fear, guilt, bloodlust—all churning together into a burning mass lodged in my chest.
The feeling was so intense I could barely breathe.
If ordinary gangsters had taken her, or kidnappers after ransom money, we could negotiate. I could trade money, territory, anything to get her back.
But the person who took her was Dmitri.
That old bastard didn't want my money. He didn't even care about territory or status.
He wanted to torture me. He wanted to watch me suffer, watch me lose everything.
What would happen to Leah in his hands? I couldn't let myself think about it.
Only now did I understand how much I loved Leah. This love exceeded my own estimates. I couldn't lose her—even more than I'd realized.
As long as she could come back to me, I'd trade everything I had.
"The necklace chip is still transmitting. South Brooklyn, abandoned shipyard." Nick looked up from his phone.
"How long until the strike team's in position?"
"Fifteen minutes. Two helicopters plus two ground teams. We can converge from three directions simultaneously."
I didn't answer right away.
My mind was racing, but every option ended in despair.
I'd never felt so lost. I had no way to guarantee Leah's safety.
I didn't even know if she was still alive.
A frontal assault was the stupidest choice. But I couldn't think of any way to confirm she was safe without exposing our position.
Just as that helplessness was about to drive me insane, my phone rang. Unknown number.
I answered.
"Roman, you here yet?" Dmitri's voice came through the speaker, slow and steady, dripping with smug confidence.
My jaw clenched so hard my molars ground together. My temple throbbed. Every word from this man made me want to blow his head into fragments.