Chapter 10
Chapter ten
JUDE GRAVES
I wake up in pieces. A pulse in my jaw, fire in my ribs, and cold iron digging into my wrists. I don’t open my eyes right away. I can’t. The effort feels expensive, like I won’t have enough left to survive it.
Chains rattle when I breathe too deeply, so all of my breaths have been shallow and unsatisfying. I know I'm not free anymore, not really. Memories flash, leaking back in glitches. Black boots and hands on my arms. The smell of shitty cologne and gun oil. Alexei’s men appearing suddenly.
I didn’t fight them.
That’s the part that makes my stomach turn now.
I didn’t fight or run. I just stood there while they closed in.
Nolan hesitated. I remember that clearly.
He stood off to the side, jaw tight, eyes darting anywhere but my face.
He knew. He fucking knew what Alexei would do to me.
I saw it written all over him—self-preservation wrapped up in a shitty thousand-dollar suit.
He could’ve said something. He didn’t.
But Adriana did. “No,” she said. “Don’t take him. Alexei doesn’t need to do this. This is unnecessary. He’ll do whatever he wants without this.”
One of the men laughed so loudly that it was insulting. “It’s not your call, baby.”
She moved toward me then, hand reaching out like she might actually grab me and pull me back. For a second, I thought she might try. And why did it make me feel even fucking worse? Knowing my own abuser didn’t want to watch me go through this?
Alexei’s amused voice came through the phone. “Bring him to me.” That was it. No discussion or mercy. They dragged me out, fingers iron-tight around my arms, my feet barely touching the floor as they shoved me into a black SUV. The door slammed, and darkness swallowed me whole.
I don’t remember much of the drive, but I remember the arrival. I remember being hauled out, down stairs, through a door that locked behind us. I remember Alexei standing there, calmly looking at me. I remember the first punch. Then the second. Then losing count.
Pain comes back before vision. My body reminds me where I am long before my mind catches up. Every breath hurts. My wrists burn where the chains dig in, skin raw.
I open my eyes.
Concrete ceiling with flickering fluorescents.
There are no windows or clocks. No sound except my breathing and the distant drip of something that’s pissing me the fuck off.
I don’t know if it’s night or day. I don’t know how long I’ve been here.
I only know that time doesn’t work right in places like this.
It stops meaning anything. So I don’t let myself think. I go somewhere else instead.
I float just above my body, watching it from a distance like it belongs to someone I used to know. The pain dulls when I do that. This isn’t happening to me. It’s happening to a version of me I’ve already lost.
Time only exists when they let it. That’s how I know it’s been more than a day.
It’s so dark in here that I can’t see anything at all.
Not even my own fucking nose. They’ve given me heroin twice.
Not enough to satisfy me completely—just enough to make the ache sharper when it’s gone.
Just enough to keep me alive and pliable.
The first time, my hands were still chained.
One of Alexei’s men knelt in front of me, tying off my arm.
I didn’t look at him. I stared at the wall and waited for the burn, the rush, and the quiet.
The second time came later. This time, his men threw my heroin at me like I was some sad, despicable fucking creature.
I only know the third time doesn’t come. Instead, footsteps echo down the stairs. As much as I hate it, my body tightens, muscles screaming in warning. My heart starts to race, fast and stupid, like it still thinks escape is an option.
Run away, the damn thing whispers.
I can't, you stupid shit, my brain snaps back.
The door opens, and blinding light floods in. I hiss and squeeze my eyes shut, chains clanking as I instinctively pull back. Rough hands grab my shoulders, forcing me upright.
Alexei walks in, smug as hell. “You’re still breathing,” he says mildly, like he’s commenting something as trivial as the weather. “Good.”
I don’t answer. My mouth is dry, and my tongue feels heavy and useless. Blood crusts at the corner of my lips. I don’t remember when that happened either.
He circles me slowly, his boots scuffing is the only sound. “You know,” he continues, “most men don’t last this long without begging.” He stops in front of me, tilting his head to study my face. “I was worried you’d disappoint me.”
One of his men steps forward. The punch comes fast and hard enough to snap my head to the side. White explodes behind my eyes. Pain blooms immediately, radiating through my jaw, my skull, and my neck.
I taste blood.
Another hit lands before I can recover. Then another. Then a knee slams into my ribs, knocking the air from my lungs in a strangled wheeze. I sag, gasping, vision tunneling.
Alexei sighs. “Stand him up.”
They haul me upright, fingers digging into bruises and tender flesh. I’m barely standing when the next blow lands. Pain lances through my abdomen. I fold forward instinctively, but someone yanks my shoulders back until something in my body tears.
I scream then. I can’t stop it.
Alexei smiles. “There it is,” he says softly. “That lovely sound.”
Another punch. Another. A fist to my kidney that makes my legs buckle completely. My vision fractures, black creeping in at the edges. I welcome it. I try to let go.
But they won’t fucking let me.
Cold water slams into my face, shocking me back. I choke, coughing violently.
“Stay with us, little rockstar,” Alexei says. “This part matters.”
I lift my head just enough to look at him. That’s a mistake.
He nods once, and the next blow cracks across my cheekbone. Something pops. Pain detonates so bright it makes me dizzy. I feel myself slipping again—mind drifting, body screaming. I go somewhere else. I think of warmth. Of hands that never hurt me.
Alexei grips my chin, forcing my head up. His thumb presses into a sore spot until stars burst behind my eyes. “You see,” he murmurs, close now, breath warm against my ear, “I need to break you.” He pauses. “To use you.” He steps back. “Again.”
And they do. Until my body is nothing but pain and instinct and the thin, fragile thread of consciousness I cling to with everything I have left.
I don’t know how long it lasts. I only know that when they finally leave, when the door slams shut and the light disappears, I’m left in the dark—shaking, bleeding, breathing in shallow, broken pulls. I don’t cry or beg.
I dissociate so hard I barely know my own name anymore.
My body betrays me before they even come back.
It starts with the shaking, a deep, bone-level tremor that rattles my teeth and makes my muscles clench and unclench without permission.
Sweat slicks my skin even though the room is cold.
My stomach cramps sharply, like it’s trying to fucking eat itself.
Withdrawal.
I know the signs too well. My heart kicks fast and hard, mimicking a full-blown anxiety attack. My skin crawls, as if something is alive beneath it, desperate to get out. I gag, dry-heaving until my throat burns. Nothing comes up. There’s nothing in me.
That’s the point.
I lose time again until I hear the door. I don’t lift my head this time, because I don’t have the strength.
Alexei clicks his tongue when he sees me shaking. “Already?” he says, mildly impressed. “You’re worse than I expected.” He crouches in front of me, eye level now. I can feel him there without looking. “Do you know why I let you have it?” he asks.
I don’t answer. My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. My whole body feels like it’s screaming for something I refuse to ask this fucking asshole for.
He chuckles. “Not kindness. Not mercy.” He leans closer. “It’s conditioning.”
He nods for one of his men to step forward.
I flinch when I see the needle. And hate myself for it.
One man grips my arm hard while the other slides the needle in. The burn hits first. Then the rush.
God.
It’s instant. Warmth unfurls through my veins, quieting the rioting nerves. The shaking eases, and the pain dulls. My thoughts slow, syrup-thick and heavy as hell. Relief crashes into me so hard it almost makes me cry.
Alexei watches my face like he’s studying a reaction in a lab rat. “There,” he says softly. “Better.”
I hate him.
I hate myself more for how badly I needed that.
They leave me like that—half-floating, half-aware. Long enough for the high to peak and for my body to remember exactly what it’s missing.
Then they come back. This time, they don’t give me time to brace.
Someone lifts me to my feet so fast I feel fucking disoriented.
Then a fist slams into my ribs. Another into my gut.
Pain explodes through me, sharper now that my nerves are waking back up.
The high fractures instantly, ripped away like a rug from under my feet.
I scream again, even though I don’t want to.
Another hit. My head snaps back. Stars burst throughout my vision. My legs give out, chains biting into my wrists as my weight drops.
He crouches again, calm as ever. “I need you strong,” he says. “Focused. Useful.” He straightens. “You can’t be that if you’re soft.”
The next blow knocks the breath out of me. I choke, gasping, lungs burning. My stomach twists violently, nausea surging. Withdrawal crashes back in full force—sweats, chills, cramps, the unbearable itch under my skin. My body is a war zone, and I’m losing on every goddamn front.
They don’t stop when I vomit.
They don’t stop when I’m crying.
They stop when Alexei decides they’re done.