Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
JUDE GRAVES
These fuckers don’t ever let me rest. My arms shake as I wipe blood from my mouth with the back of my hand.
I don’t know if it’s mine or someone else’s.
It doesn’t matter at this point, honestly.
They’re animals with dead eyes, sneering at me every time I stumble or allow a noise to escape my mouth.
Alexei’s basement is purposefully cold. Anything to add to my discomfort, apparently.
He demanded that Nolan and Adriana stay behind tonight, since Adriana cries every time I get beaten up.
Which is a lot. He’s getting annoyed with her.
Plus, Nolan seemed to have some kind of emergency going on, barking at us to leave him alone while he sorts some shit out.
He had his phone to his ear and was chewing someone’s ass out.
So, unfortunately, I’m alone here tonight with Alexei watching from the edge of the room, studying me too much.
Two of his men drag someone forward. It’s a man in civilian clothes—jeans and a thin black leather jacket.
His shoes scuff as they shove him to his knees.
He raises his head and looks at me, his blue eyes widening with terror.
His mouth opens like he wants to speak, but no sound comes out.
His messy blonde hair is matted with blood already, as if the men got too carried away when bringing him in.
They’re fucking monsters who drool over the coppery scent of it. Worse than sharks, these guys.
My pulse starts to roar in my ears. I already know what Alexei wants.
“убийство,” Erik says, eerily casually. Kill.
I step forward, my hand tightening around the gun they shoved into it earlier. It feels slightly heavier than it should be. Or maybe my arms are just tired. My ribs ache every time I breathe.
The man shakes his head, pleading. I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to disconnect. Dissociate. Something. I don’t move fast enough, because when I open my eyes, Alexei’s there. He stops beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne.
“You hesitate,” he says calmly.
My jaw locks.
The man on the floor starts crying. Quiet, whimpering sounds, like he’s trying not to be heard.
Like that alone might save him. I don’t even know who this man is or why they’ve decided that his life should end tonight.
I don’t ever care to know now, really. I don’t want to be able to put names to faces because I’ve made the mistake of looking people up and seeing that they had a family.
Pictures of beautiful wives and smiling children with the father that I shot or stabbed or beat to death.
I hate what I’ve become.
Alexei turns his head slightly, studying my face. “That makes you unreliable.”
I swallow.
“подчиняться.” There is no anger in his voice, and somehow that’s even more fucking unnerving. Obey.
I raise the gun once more.
The man sobs. “Please—”
I pull the trigger.
The sound cracks through the basement as his body jerks once, then slumps forward to collapse onto the floor.
The silence rushes back in, and I fear it may suffocate me.
I stare down at the man and at the blood spreading beneath his chest. In that moment, I notice his fingers twitching once before going still. My stomach twists violently.
Alexei steps closer. “Well done,” he says softly.
I don’t look at him. I can’t. My fingers feel numb around the gun.
“Do you know why you hesitated?” he asks.
I shake my head once.
He reaches into his jacket, and my body knows before my mind does. A spike of sudden, sharp pain lances through my chest. My vision blurs, and my knees threaten to buckle, muscles locking as nausea rises inside me. I’ve been subjected to Pavlovian responses for years with drugs. Now, it’s this.
Alexei holds up a photograph. Her. Again.
A gasp escapes me before I can even fucking think to swallow it. My heart slams against my ribs, and I am suddenly very aware of the sweat along my spine. I can’t stop it.
Alexei smiles. “She seems to be the key to whatever humanity you’re holding onto,” he murmurs. “That will simply not do.”
My hands shake.
He steps closer, holding the photo where I can’t escape it. Where my body keeps responding, every nerve burning with remembered pain, conditioned reflex screaming louder than reason.
Keep her away from me. Keep the pain away.
“I know what will break you, boy,” Alexei says. “I can send Erik to retrieve her for me. She’s a pretty little thing. Men would claw at each other’s eyes to have a chance to pay top dollar for her.”
My teeth clench so hard my jaw could very well snap.
He tilts his head, studying me. “You either let the cunt go once and for all, or I’ll find out what the obsession is about myself.”
I tear my gaze from the photo, glancing down at my black boots.
“Soft men hesitate. Soft men die.” His voice sharpens. “And you are no use to me dead.” He slips the photo back into his jacket. The pain fades slowly, leaving me nearly trembling.
Alexei straightens and signals for them to continue.
And then they come at me from everywhere.
I barely have time to react before the first blow lands, driving air from my lungs.
I stumble, barely catching myself as another strike clips my shoulder.
Someone swings low; I jump back on instinct, boots scraping against the floor.
No warning. No rhythm. Just pure fucking chaos.
I raise my arms, blocking one hit, then another. Pain explodes through my forearm, but I don’t stop. I can’t. If I pause, if I think, I get hit again. And again.
Move. Or bleed.
A fist whistles past my head. I duck, pivot, strike back without aiming, without thinking.
My knuckles connect with something solid.
A grunt. Someone staggers, but they don’t slow down.
They force me to react. Every mistake is punished immediately, and every hesitation earns pain.
My body starts learning on its own, muscles firing before fear can catch up.
Block. Strike. Duck. Turn.
I go down once, hard, breath knocked from me. A boot slams into my side before I can curl inward. I roll, scramble back to my feet, vision tunneling. There is no room for mercy here. Or doubt.
I catch another man’s wrist, twist, and hear the wet snap of something breaking.
He screams. I let go instantly, already turning as someone else charges.
I don’t enjoy this. I don’t feel joy when I inflict pain.
I only feel a tinge of relief because it means one less person can hurt me. I’m sick of people hurting me.
When it finally stops, I’m standing in the center of the room, chest heaving, blood dripping from my knuckles. One man is down, groaning. Another lies still, staring at the ceiling with an annoyed expression.
Alexei watches me with approval, and I wipe my mouth again, tasting copper.
The motorcycle roars beneath me, black and wild like a black leopard, vibrating straight into my bones.
The cold air bites through my jacket as I tear down the road, city lights smearing into useless streaks at the edges of my vision.
The engine is loud enough to drown out thought if I let it be.
That’s why I ride at night. That’s why I ride way too fast. The Lambo is incredible, but the bike lets me ignore the cops.
I bought the bike with the blood money I've earned over the years. I have several million in my account right now, and a few million more in savings accounts, accruing interest. So when I bought it, I picked the fastest thing they had. Speed feels like absolution when you’re someone who doesn’t deserve forgiveness.
I feel like I’m on borrowed time, so if I happen to die on this thing… so be it.
The road curves, wet pavement reflecting headlights of cars passing me by.
My tires grip hard as I lean into the turn, body moving on instinct alone.
Wind roars past my helmet. If I stop moving, I think.
And if I think, she finds me. But she slips in anyway.
Her soft laugh. The way her fingers used to hook into my hoodie when she pulled me closer.
The warmth of her body against mine, like it was always meant to be her.
Nausea rises, and my muscles tighten. Fuck, I can’t even picture her anymore without my body losing its shit. My chest tightens painfully.
In another life, I could have had her.
The words slam into me so hard my vision blurs.
My throat closes. I suck in a breath, and it comes out broken and jagged.
I don’t pull over or even bother to slow down.
I’m sobbing beneath my helmet, shoving the memories down.
Drowning her every time she surfaces just to survive another day without her.
Forget her forget her forget her…
My shoulders shake as tears soak the padding inside my helmet. I feel so goddamn sick I could pass out on the bike. If she hates me, she’s alive. If she forgets me, she’s free. I hope to fucking god Micah listened to me. I can’t have them fucking around.
The bike screams as I push it harder, and my heart pounds alongside it. Every mile puts more distance between me and the version of myself who believed in futures. In love. In endings that didn’t involve bodies bleeding out on concrete floors or my veins ripped to shreds.
I lean forward, gripping the handlebars tightly.
The city thins out, buildings giving way to dark stretches of road.
The air smells like rain, oil, and cold metal.
My tears finally slow, leaving me exhausted and numb.
I keep riding anyway, because I’m not ready to go back to a hotel that has a woman in it that isn’t her.
I’m foolish to say that I’m losing when I’ve already fucking lost.
The hotel room is chaos the second I walk in. Something shatters against the far wall—glass exploding, skittering across marble. Adriana flinches hard, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders caved inward like she’s bracing for impact.