Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
JUDE GRAVES
The needle shakes between my fingers. I can’t walk into a room with Alexei, Nolan, and Adriana with even a whisper of clarity in my head. Clarity makes me think. Thinking makes me hesitate. I just need to be high enough to deal with whatever they have to say.
I left Emma’s bright and early this morning so she could get to work.
She caught me texting Adriana back in the middle of the night when she told me to meet them today.
I’m not entirely sure she bought it, but whatever.
Now, I sit on the closed toilet lid at my place, elbows on my knees.
My skin is clammy from the shower I took an hour ago, and my hair is still a little damp against my temples.
My ribs ache with the stress, anxiety, and withdrawal every time I breathe.
I draw the syringe up, watching the liquid swirl that promises oblivion. A few hours of not giving a shit. Meth is different from heroin in that way. To me, anyway. My breath shortens, but it’s not out of nerves. It’s out of sheer fucking need.
I slide the needle into the familiar patch of ruined skin on the inside of my elbow. The pinch barely registers anymore. I depress the plunger. The chemical fire hits my bloodstream instantly, a hot rush flooding every vein, blooming behind my eyes.
For a moment, just long enough to breathe, I feel nothing. Then the high crashes over me. Relief, electricity, a punch of invincibility that spreads down my spine like molten fucking metal.
My jaw unclenches. My lungs open. The world sharpens. I shut my eyes and exhale, tipping my head back toward the cold bathroom tile. My heart thunders too fast, but I welcome it. It means I can make it through this meeting without losing my shit.
No. That’s a lie. I just won’t lose it in a way they’ll punish. My phone buzzes on the counter.
MICAH
You okay in there?
I ignore it. Another buzz seconds later.
MICAH
Jude, please be careful.
That one makes me frown. Guilt. Annoyance. Love. All of it tangled in an infuriating knot. The audacity to worry about me when he just used an hour ago. I close my hand around the phone until my knuckles go white, then drop it face-down and stand.
Time to go.
The warehouse Alexei picked tonight is near the docks. It’s a long concrete building that smells like rust and the Willamette River. The second I step inside, the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
A lion’s den.
Alexei stands near a folding table, as if it’s a conference room rather than a dimly lit industrial gutter. He’s in a tailored coat, gloves still on. With him, of course, are Nolan and Adriana.
Nolan looks smug, and Adriana looks agitated as per usual.
Alexei’s eyes land on me, and the corner of his mouth curves. “Little rockstar,” he says. “Right on time.”
My pulse kicks harder from the meth, but my face stays blank. Controlled. At least on the surface.
Nolan steps forward, hands in the pockets of his expensive coat. “You look strung out,” he says with a laugh. “Fuck, Jude. Couldn’t even stay clean for one meeting, huh?”
My jaw ticks. “Couldn’t stay sober in a room with you? No,” I say. “I couldn’t.”
Nolan’s smile widens. Adriana’s gaze lifts sharply to mine, a quick warning flashing in her eyes. Alexei clicks his tongue once. “Play nice,” he murmurs. He nods toward me. “Besides, you’re probably exhausted from fucking those girls at your house the other night.”
My stomach drops. Ice replaces the heat of the meth.
Adriana goes still, her possession of me tensing every one of her muscles.
Alexei’s smile widens. “Pretty thing. Doe eyes. Sweet voice.” He tilts his head. “Interesting atmosphere you’ve created in that little house of yours, Jude.”
I don’t even think. The words pour out of me. “That bitch was Micah’s.” It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever said. I know it. I feel it. And I hate myself immediately for it.
Alexei studies me like I’m an insect pinned under glass. “Mm,” he hums. “Is that so?”
Nolan barks a laugh. Adriana’s jaw clenches.
Alexei turns away from me, leisurely removing his gloves finger by finger. “Let’s get to business,” he says. “I have a man who has become…” He gestures vaguely. “A problem. For both Mr. Marshall...” He nods at Nolan. “And myself.”
Nolan steps closer, grinning like he has no fucking idea he’s on this man’s leash just as much as I am. “You’re going to take care of it,” he says.
“Tonight,” Alexei adds. “With some of my men.”
My stomach knots.
Alexei’s gaze sharpens. “Understand?”
My fists curl. The meth screams behind my eyes. “Just tell me when and where,” I say.
Alexei smiles. “Good boy. Let’s get to it, shall we?”
And just like that, I feel the leash tighten around my throat.
The night swallows me whole the second I turn into the alley. The air is cool, the pavement still wet from an earlier rainstorm. I pull the mask from my jacket and stare at it. Even now, just holding it makes my pulse erratic.
That elegant, cruel smile mocks me. I slide it on. It settles against my skin like it was molded perfectly for me, and my breathing immediately sounds inhuman. I’m not Jude Graves in this thing. I’m whatever monster Alexei wants walking his streets tonight.
My blood has finally calmed down enough to think somewhat clearly. That motherfucker mentioned my girl in front of the two last people I wanted to know about her. I can’t do this.
I don’t think I can do this anymore, Em.
I’m sorry. He’s made it crystal fucking clear, and I can’t risk you.
A shadow moves ahead of me. My target. The idiot who thought he could skim off Nolan and Alexei’s shipments and sell the product out from under them.
I follow, sticking to the edges like Alexei’s men taught me.
They trail behind, watching me and offering backup—but also making sure I follow orders.
Funny, I’ve never been tailed before. I wonder why this job is suddenly different.
Perhaps it’s the next step of ownership.
The guy pauses at a metal door behind the club, glancing back once. He doesn’t see me. People never look up. They never look into the darker corners, because they never expect that the creature is already stalking them.
He slips inside.
I wait three seconds, then ease the door open with the slow, creeping patience of death itself. The boiler room is a maze of rattling pipes and wheezing machinery.
He’s muttering to himself, walking toward a workbench.
I take one silent step. Then another.
He hears the second, turning. “Who the hell—” He freezes.
The mask does its job. I don’t speak. I just let the shape of me do the talking—tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, wearing a bloody nightmare for a face.
He backs up fast, palms raised. “Wait—wait, please, I didn’t— I was gonna pay him back, I swear, I just needed more time. I secured another route by doing what I did. He’s going to thank me.”
He thinks this is about money. It never was. Alexei doesn’t give warnings. No, the fucker makes examples. Especially out of men who believe they have a chance at winning against him. I haven’t known the man long, but he does not take kindly to anyone threatening his empire’s reach.
And as much as I don’t give a shit about Alexei or this man standing before me, I know I have to kill him. I draw the knife from my jacket so confidently that my grip doesn’t even tremble.
The man sees it and breaks. “Don’t do this, man. Come on. This new route is good. It could bring us an extra three hundred thousand just by the end of the month. More after that.”
The begging pisses me off more than it should. I tilt my head slowly, a wolf studying prey. The mask exaggerates the movement.
“Don’t what?” My voice filters through, sounding entirely demonic.
I don’t sound like me. I sound like something hell spat out. But perhaps that is who I’m becoming now.
“I have kids—” he murmurs.
No, he doesn’t. Alexei already told me that. People always lie at the end. He bolts for the door, but I catch him by the jacket and slam him into the workbench hard enough to scatter tools across the floor. He hits the concrete and groans, scrambling.
I plant my boot between his shoulder blades, pinning him easily.
“Please, please—”
His voice turns high-pitched and panicked.
My skin prickles. Nausea claws up my throat.
The drugs warp everything, like I’m watching myself from outside my own body, hands moving on pure instinct.
I crouch beside him. The mask is just above his ear, and even I can hear how monstrous my breathing sounds.
He cries harder.
I slide the knife under his jaw, lifting his head by the throat. Then I drag the blade across.
Blood splatters in a wide arc, soaking into the cracks of the concrete. His body jerks a few times before it finally stills. I always wait a few seconds. Long enough for the last bit of life to drain out. Only then do I rise, wiping the blade clean on his shirt. My breath steadies behind the mask.
The air suddenly smells like copper. I look down at my hands to see that they’re barely shaking. That should scare me. But it doesn’t.
I step back into the alley, letting the door fall shut behind me. The cold darkness welcomes me, and Alexei’s men linger there in their black masks. I don’t take mine off. It feels too right for what I’ve just done. As fucked up as it is, this face feels more like me than the one I was born with.
Emma would hate that thought. She would hate me if she knew what I really was.
Their heads turn toward me in perfect unison, like predators circling the weakest animal in the pack. One whistles.
“Look at him. Alexei’s pet wolf tasting blood.”
Another laughs. “Wolf? Not yet. He’s like a dog. Sit, Graves. Heel.”
My jaw tightens under the mask. Something snaps inside me. It’s white-hot, yet colder than rage. I step into the closest guy’s space. He doesn’t move.
Mistake, bitch.
I swing. My fist cracks into his jaw, pain bursting across my knuckles.
He stumbles back, grabbing his face. “What the f—”
He doesn’t finish. Two others lunge at me. One catches me in the ribs with a gloved fist. The other drives an elbow into my stomach. Pain flares, but I welcome it like a goddamn runner’s high.
I hit one across the cheek, but he slams me into the brick wall. Breath bursts from my lungs. The first guy recovers, grabs my hood, and yanks me close, his masked face inches from mine.
“Alexei’s dog has teeth, huh?”
He punches me once. Twice. A third time into my ribs. Hot pain detonates under my skin. Another shove. A fist to my side. A knee into my thigh that sends my muscles seizing.
I’m outnumbered. It doesn’t matter.
I swing again, catching one in the throat. He staggers, choking. “Fuck—get him down!”
Someone slams me onto the wet pavement. My shoulder hits hard, stars exploding across my vision. Boots strike my sides—three sharp, controlled kicks. Punishment, not meant to truly injure me.
I laugh. And through the mask, it doesn’t sound human. They freeze for half a second, seemingly unnerved by the sound.
Is it the mask or is it me?
I twist, grabbing an ankle. Someone yells, stumbling. I roll, ribs shrieking, get halfway up—but they’re on me again. A punch to the kidney. Another to the ribs. Pain blinds me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I finally go still.
They step back, panting. The first one I punched wipes blood from his mouth. “Should’ve stayed down, Graves. You have no idea what you’re up against.”
I push myself upright slowly, every breath hurting. I stare them down through the black slashes of the mask. None step closer now. Not after watching me go feral. I’ll fight until they knock me unconscious.
Part of me wants that.
Part of me wants to never wake up.
One mutters, “Alexei’s not gonna like this.”
I shrug. Pain radiates through my ribs at the movement, but I don’t let it show. “Alexei told me to be useful,” I rasp, voice twisted by the mask. “Not fucking obedient.”
Silence.
A car engine purrs at the mouth of the alley, and the men all look to see Alexei’s SUV roll to a stop. I straighten, ignoring the hot ache crawling up my torso, like a toxic flower blooming.
The passenger door opens, and Alexei steps out. His eyes move from me to his men, then back again, as if he already knows exactly what happened.
One of the men behind me clears his throat. “Your doggie needs a muzzle.”
Another nods. “He went at us like he was rabid.”
I keep my breathing steady, even though every inhale feels like a blade sliding between my ribs.
Alexei studies me, his gaze sweeping from my head to my boots. Then he looks at his men as though they’ve just said something mildly amusing. “A muzzle?” he repeats with a wicked grin. He steps closer, boots quiet on the pavement, stopping in front of me.
I’m still wearing the white mask. I don’t reach for it.
His mouth lifts, barely. “No. I like his fire. Look at him. Oh...I love this.”
His men don’t speak.
His gaze lingers on the blood on my mask and the slight tremor I’m trying to hide. “It has potential,” he adds, voice smooth and almost warm. “But he should remember something important.”
Rage flares.
It.
“Lessons in the future,” he continues softly, “won’t end in minor bruises like this.”
A shiver runs down my spine, but I don’t react. Won’t give him that.
Alexei’s attention shifts back to his men. “Get in the car.” Before I can move, he adds, almost casually, “And soon, Jude, we won’t have to worry about the public eye anymore.”
My head lifts slightly. Confusion breaks through the pain. “What does that mean?”
He smiles, but it’s the kind that feels like a hand closing around the back of my neck. “Get in. The fucking. Car,” he repeats.
That’s all I get. His men move first, opening the back door of the limo-style SUV.
The interior glows with soft, dim lighting.
I force my body to follow. Every step jolts my ribs, but I bite it back.
I climb in and slide into the leather seat.
The moment I sit, pain flares across my torso.
I hide the wince behind the mask, turning my head toward the tinted window.
The door shuts behind me with a heavy thud. Alexei gets in last. The locks click, and the car begins to move.