Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
JUDE GRAVES
I’m not chained this time. My wrists are free. My ankles, too. No cuffs, chair, or straps. Just concrete beneath my boots and the smell of sweat and blood.
Training.
I don’t get time to think about it before the first hit comes.
A fist clips my jaw, sharp and fast, snapping my head to the side.
My vision flashes white, but my body reacts before the pain fully registers.
I stagger back, plant my foot, and bring my arms up like they drilled into me yesterday. Elbows in. Chin down.
I pivot just in time to avoid a knee aimed at my ribs. My shoulder slams into someone’s chest instead, knocking the air out of him. He stumbles. I follow through on instinct, driving my fist into his gut.
He grunts, amused.
“Again,” another one of them says with a grin, his Russian accent thick as hell.
Another comes at me from the side. I duck too late—his forearm crashes into my back, sending me sprawling. My palms scrape against the concrete as I catch myself. Pain flares familiar enough now that it barely slows me down.
“Don’t stay down,” someone snaps.
I don’t.
Alexei stands off to the side, immaculate as always, hands clasped behind his back.
Nolan is near him, voice low, talking fast. “…routes are clean through Miami now,” he says. “But his next event needs tighter security. If your client—”
“—is my concern,” Alexei replies calmly.
I can’t hear everything. I’m not meant to.
A blow lands hard enough to knock the breath out of me. I gasp, chest burning, and barely manage to roll before a boot comes down where my head was a second ago. I scramble up, dizzy.
My fist connects with teeth. There’s a crack and a filthy curse, pride sparking in my chest for one moment.
Well, bad idea.
They swarm me for that. Hands grab my arms, shove me forward, and force me upright when my knees buckle. A punch slams into my side where fresh bruises stain my skin. Pain explodes through me. I cry out, and laughter fucking follows.
“Can’t be a soft boy,” one of them says.
“Again,” another repeats.
I glimpse Adriana for half a second as they drag me back into position. She’s standing near the wall, arms crossed tight over her chest, knuckles white. Her face is pale. She’s uncomfortable.
The next hit caves into my ribs and sends me to the floor.
I don’t get to stay there, because someone hauls me up by the back of my shirt and jerks me forward hard enough that my teeth click together.
My legs shake. Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging.
My lungs feel shredded, like I’ve been breathing glass.
“Straighten your fucking feet,” a voice growls near my ear.
I sway, then steady myself, raising my hands again.
Violence comes in waves after that. I block.
I miss. I get hit. I hit back. They correct me when I’m sloppy.
Twist my arm when my angle’s wrong. Drive a knee into my thigh to remind me to keep my stance grounded.
When I react too slowly, I pay for it. When I react fast enough, they nod.
I don’t know how long it goes on. Time melts into impact, breath, and pain. My body moves even when my head feels like there’s nothing left inside but muscle memory and instinct. I’m an animal fighting and defending itself.
This is all I’m going to be soon.
I take a hit to the gut that finally drops me for real. I curl inward instinctively, bile burning the back of my throat. My hands slip on the concrete. My vision swims.
“Get up,” someone says, bored now.
When I don’t move fast enough, a boot nudges my ribs, testing me. I force myself onto my hands and knees before they kick me. I can’t take any more on my sides. It fucking hurts. I glance sideways without thinking.
Adriana’s gaze is locked on me. Her lips are pressed tight together, and her eyes look…wet. That’s something I’m not entirely used to yet.
A hand grips my arm and yanks me upright again.
“No breaks,” Alexei says mildly from across the room.
My head snaps up at the sound of his voice. My pulse spikes and my stomach twists.
Conditioned by his mere fucking presence.
He watches me for a moment, dark eyes assessing, then nods once in approval. “Continue.”
And they do.
By the time Alexei decides we’re done for the day, I’m shaking too hard to hide it. My arms feel like dead weight. Blood trickles down from my split lip. They let me stand there, swaying, humiliated in my exhaustion.
Alexei steps closer. “You’re learning,” he says quietly. “Faster than I expected.”
I don’t answer. I don’t trust my voice not to crack or sound hoarse. I’d just rather not.
He tilts his head. “You’ll forget what pain feels like,” he continues. “Soon, it won’t bother you. Mental, physical...you’ll be better than what you are now.”
My gaze falls to the floor, not wanting to look at him anymore today.
“Leave us,” Alexei says without looking at them. “I’d like a moment with Jude. Erik, you stay.”
Adriana hesitates, but Nolan steers her out anyway, following Alexei’s other men.
The door shuts, and I’m alone with him. And Erik.
He’s standing near the wall, arms folded, blonde hair damp with sweat, blue eyes unreadable.
The same man who butchered my fucking vein.
The same hands I’ve been wanting to rip off.
My pulse starts to race before Alexei even speaks.
“You did well today,” he says calmly.
I don’t like the praise. I avoid his gaze.
He steps closer, leather shoes on concrete. Then, he lifts his hand.
My body reacts before my mind does. My shoulders loosen, and my stomach twists with both relief and terror. I hate myself for it.
Erik moves.
I don’t resist when his hand clamps around my arm. I simply don’t have the energy. He shoves me back against the wall, cold concrete scraping through my shirt, and my head tips back as his forearm presses across my chest. I barely register the sting in my neck.
I gasp, warmth flooding my veins. The pain doesn’t disappear all at once. It recedes. My muscles feel like they’re unclenching for the first time in hours. My thoughts slow, like they’re sinking. My knees threaten to buckle, but Erik keeps me upright until I can stand on my own. Then he steps back.
Alexei watches me closely. I feel his gaze. “Better,” he murmurs.
My head lolls slightly. I force myself to focus. His steel-grey eyes are completely unmoved by what he’s just done to me.
“You fight like a man who expects to die,” he says. “That won’t do.”
My eyes lock with his.
“If you’re going to be useful,” he continues, “you fight like a man who expects to live.”
A pause.
“And if you ever decide you don’t want to?” His mouth curves faintly. “Well, it would be really unfortunate for that pretty piece of ass in the States.”
My chest tightens so fast it steals what little air I have.
“She exists because you breathe,” Alexei goes on. “If you stop…her world becomes full of pain. Her little blonde friend, too. And…” he trails off, his head tilting. “Your old bandmates. So behave. Got it?”
I flinch.
He sees it. “So,” he continues, stepping closer, “you will stay alive. You will be ruthless. You will carve out every last inch of softness inside you and leave it bleeding out on this floor.”
He stops directly in front of me.
“You are not a man,” he says quietly. “You are a weapon.”
His hand snaps out, gripping my jaw hard and forcing my head up. I’m too high to fight it properly. My body betrays me again, heavy and loose and weak.
“Look at me.”
I do.
His eyes fill my vision. They’re calm, yet full of evil. “I can make the pain stop,” he says. “All of it. The guilt. The fear.”
My throat works, but I don’t answer.
“You don’t have to feel anymore,” he says gently. “You can be empty. Clean. Efficient.”
My thoughts slide, bumping into each other. Her face tries to surface and feels…farther away than it should. That scares me. The fear dulls almost immediately.
Alexei watches the moment it happens. “Is that what you want?” he asks.
My gaze remains locked with his as I nod. Just once.
Alexei releases my jaw and straightens, satisfied. “Good,” he says. “Go. Rest.”
Erik opens the door, eyes soulless.
I walk out on unsteady legs, wondering if mine will soon look like that. If Alexei has already broken him like he intends to do with me.
The door closes behind us, the quiet of the suite too soft for what my body just went through. My muscles are still overstimulated, like they want to keep defending me.
Adriana drops her purse on the counter. Nolan says something about “just ordering food” and disappears into his own suite with his phone already at his ear.
I don’t respond to either of them. I go straight to the bathroom and turn the shower on as hot as it’ll go. The steam fills the room as I strip out of my clothes. I stare at my reflection for a second—bruises stained along my ribs, a shadow of fingerprints on my arm, my mouth split and swollen.
I don’t look like myself anymore.
I step under the water and let it hit my shoulders. My skin stings, but at least the heat loosens some of the tightness in my chest. Alexei’s voice is still there, though.
You don’t have to feel anymore.
The thought follows me as I wash the blood out of my hair, as I scrub until my skin is raw. When I finally step out, wrapped in a towel, the room smells like citrus soap.
Adriana is at the kitchen island when I come out, sliding a glass toward me. Vodka cranberry. “Eat,” she says, nodding toward the takeout containers she’s laid out.
I sit. I drink. I chew mechanically.
She talks, but I don’t really hear her. She asks how I feel. I don’t answer. She asks if I want more. I shake my head. Her eyes keep flicking to me, like she’s waiting for something—anger, maybe. A meltdown. Anything that proves I’m still…here.
I’m not sure I am.
Alexei’s putting me through so much hell and fucking trauma.
Eventually, she sighs, defeated, and gathers the empty containers. “I’m going to lie down,” she says quietly.
I nod once.