33. Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
EMMA EASTON
My shoulders are killing me from the position Alexei forced us into before he left us again. Our wrists are restrained high enough that every movement hurts. I’m so tired that I’ve sagged against them, my feet aching from standing on this hard concrete for hours.
Heather is to my left, the restraints keeping her pinned against the wall.
She’s pale, but holding herself together remarkably well.
Every now and then, her breathing catches sharply before she consciously slows it again, grounding herself the same way she probably grounds frightened patients in hospital rooms.
Adela, meanwhile, still looks ready to gut someone. “I swear to god,” she mutters for what feels like the tenth time in the last hour, “I did not survive being held captive once already just to end up chained in another fucking basement.”
Despite everything, a small breath escapes me. My head is still spinning from whatever they injected into us earlier. The room feels weird…like not exactly clear, if that makes sense. It’s almost like I’m drunk and can’t focus on anything, even if I keep trying to.
Concrete floor. Cold air.
Heather breathing beside me.
Adela cursing under her breath in Russian.
Stay present. Stay here.
My gaze shifts again toward Adriana. She hasn’t spoken since Erik returned her three hours ago.
She’s against the wall on the left side of the room, beneath the weak fluorescent light.
Bite marks disappear beneath the collar of her shirt.
There are scratches on her shoulders. Her split lip has started bleeding again, a thin streak trailing toward her chin that she hasn’t even noticed.
I swallow hard before speaking carefully. “Adriana.”
No response. Her eyes remain fixed somewhere across the room, unfocused and distant enough that my chest tightens.
“Adriana,” I repeat, firmer this time.
Finally, her gaze flicks toward me, reflecting something to me that breaks my heart. I can hate the woman and still feel rage for what happened to her.
“You with us?” I ask quietly.
One corner of her mouth twitches faintly. “Unfortunately.”
Adela exhales sharply through her nose, yanking on the chains even though she knows it won’t do anything.
But Adriana barely reacts.
I study her for another second before speaking again. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“No.”
Heather shifts beside me, concern flashing across her face. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.”
“I’m not fucking pretending anything.” Her voice stays detached and emotionless. She finally lowers her head, dark strands of hair falling across her face as she laughs bitterly under her breath. “This is probably where I was always going to end up anyway.”
“No,” I say immediately.
Her eyes lift slowly toward mine. “Emma, fuck off. I fucked up your entire life. Don’t be nice to me.”
“No,” I repeat. “You do not deserve this.” I pause, analyzing my feelings toward the woman.
She looks away again. Then says quietly, “You know the difference between you and me? You still think people can come back from things,” she says softly. “I stopped believing that a long time ago.”
My throat constricts painfully, because I suppose I understand why she believes it.
Maybe part of me even understands the temptation to agree.
But then I think about Jude, and the way he’s fighting every second against what Alexei did to him, and the fact that healing doesn’t erase damage.
It just means that the damage doesn’t win.
“You’re wrong,” I tell her gently.
Her expression flickers for the first time. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
She stares at me for a long moment after that, a fragility moving behind her eyes before she quickly buries it again.
And then Heather suddenly stiffens beside me, hearing the deadbolt. Every muscle in my body tightens, and then the handle turns.
Alexei steps inside with an infuriating confidence, and Erik follows a step behind, his gaze already drifting toward Adriana.
My stomach turns, but I don’t let it reach my face. I straighten against the cold concrete wall, the chain at my wrist dragging softly as I shift.
Alexei’s gaze moves over all of us before zeroing in on me. He crosses the space between us, each step quiet but heavy, until he’s standing directly in front of me. The bastard is close enough that I can see the faint dark stubble along his jaw, and smell his disgusting cologne.
His fingers come up, gripping my chin as he tilts my face upward. “Not what I expected,” he murmurs, studying me. “You’re quieter than I imagined. I thought you’d be begging by now.”
I hold his gaze and let him see exactly what he wants to provoke but won’t get. “I don’t think begging does much for you,” I say softly. “You don’t actually want submission. You want reaction. You’re someone who confuses attention with power.”
There’s a small pause, and he tightens his grip. But I don’t stop.
“You escalate when you’re bored or lonely,” I continue, my voice steady, like I’m walking him through a case study instead of standing in front of a man who could kill me right now.
“Not because you need control, per se, but because you need to feel something when people give it to you. It’s sad, really.
Men like you aren’t born like this. Someone failed you…
and now you make it everyone else’s problem.
Who was it? Mom? Dad? Who neglected you?
” I narrow my gaze. “Who hated you, Alexei Morozov?”
Behind him, Adela shifts, and Heather goes very still.
Alexei tilts his head, studying me more carefully now. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s not what I think,” I reply. “It’s what you’re showing.
It’s a fucking pattern. You’re actually a coward who hides behind his money and men.
You scare them not because you’re inherently scary, but because of what your money can do.
Without it, you are nothing. They would never have chosen to follow you or listen to you in the first place.
And you probably would have killed yourself or ended up in prison by now because of how fucking damaged you are. ”
Rage flares across his face for a moment, so fast that it could have been imagined. But it wasn’t, because I’ve hit a nerve. He’s more predictable than he thinks.
His hand drops from my chin, only to come back harder. The slap cracks across my face, snapping my head to the side as pain erupts instantly, my ears ringing while the room spins.
Heather gasps, Adela swears, and I taste blood.
Slowly, I turn my head back toward him, meeting his eyes again without lowering mine.
His hand slides from my jaw to my throat, fingers tightening just enough to restrict air without taking it completely, a controlled pressure meant to dominate without destroying.
“You think you understand me,” he says quietly, his voice colder now. “You do not, girl. And it is a dangerous mistake to provoke me.”
My lungs burn, but I don’t claw at him or panic. “Look at you,” I manage, my voice rough but steady. “I see why you like this. I just prompted a reaction out of you. Not control. You’re a basic, sad little man at your core.”
Air rushes back into my lungs as Alexei releases me, and I drag in a breath, coughing once as I steady myself.
Adela’s voice slices through the tension. “Get the fuck away from her, you sack of actual shit—”
Behind him, Erik has already moved. The punch lands before she can finish, knocking her sideways with the force of it, blood already spilling from her lip.
Heather gasps again, and I lurch forward instinctively, the chain biting into my wrist.
“Adela—”
But she’s already laughing, the sound rough and edged with blood as she lifts her head and spits red onto the concrete toward Erik, grinning like a feral animal. “You have no fucking idea who my husband is,” she rasps, her laugh fading out. “You’re all gonna fucking die.”
Erik wipes his knuckles with a faint smirk as his gaze drifts, and when it lands on Adriana, he winks at her.
Adriana’s head lifts as her eyes lock onto him, fury finally cutting through the fog she’s been trapped in.
“Enough.” Alexei’s attention shifts, irritation flickering across his expression. “I told you not to damage them,” he says sharply.
Erik shrugs, unconcerned. “If I bought her, it doesn’t matter what I do to her. She’s my little plaything, now.”
Silence fills the room, rage coiling tight in my chest. But none of us says anything this time. Then a sound interrupts us from upstairs.
Alexei’s head tilts slightly as he listens, a small, satisfied smile curving his mouth. “That will be Vlad,” he says, pleased. “Right on time.”
My stomach drops.
No. Not yet.
Alexei glances toward Erik. “Go get him.”
Erik pushes off the wall and turns toward the stairs, rolling his shoulders as he disappears through the door, which opens and shuts behind him with a hollow click.
My heart is racing, and Heather looks over at me with terror in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Heather.”
The strength she’s been holding onto finally cracks, and a tear slips down her cheek.
Alexei grins like he’s taking pleasure from our pain. “I will have you know that Vlad really likes blondes. He’ll likely take his turn with you first.”
Heather whimpers at that, and I lunge against the restraints.
Oh, god. Where will he take us? Will I ever see my parents again? Jude?
Alexei turns toward the door, still completely unbothered.
The door opens, and Erik comes back in. Except he doesn’t walk. He’s thrown.
His body hits the floor hard, sliding across the concrete in a smear of blood, a knife buried deep in his side as a broken sound gurgles from his throat.
The entire room goes rigid, Alexei’s gaze snapping upward.
And then Jude steps through the doorway.