Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
JUDE GRAVES
I wake slowly, like my brain and body connection is glitching. There’s warmth pressed against my side, and for one disorienting second, I think I’m somewhere else.
Then I remember the bathroom floor, and the way my stomach turned itself inside out last night.
How the tiles leeched the heat from my skin until I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered.
I don’t remember deciding to move. I don’t even remember getting up, honestly.
I just remember opening my eyes just now and realizing I’m in bed.
With Adriana.
She’s curled into me, her back tucked against my chest, my arm slung around her waist. She breathes in and out in a lazy, steady rhythm. I don’t move, because for some reason, I’m afraid I’m dreaming and I’ll be right back on the bathroom floor, choking on bile and panic.
My entire body aches, and my thoughts are downright sluggish. There’s a sour taste in my mouth that’s pissing me off. Water would be nice. Or toothpaste. I stare at the ceiling, counting cracks in the plaster for a few minutes until Adriana stirs.
She makes a small sound in her throat, then presses her back more firmly into my chest. “Jude?” Her voice is hoarse with sleep.
“I’m here,” I say. The words come out automatically.
She turns her head just enough to look at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are puffy, like she was up late crying. There’s a faint crease between her brows that doesn’t smooth away when she blinks. Jesus, my actions are now making my ex abuser cry. The fuck?
She exhales a shaky breath, and nods. “I tried waking you. You were shaking and wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t even acknowledge me.” Her face twists. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“I didn’t die,” I say. It’s meant to be dry. A joke, maybe.
Her lips tremble anyway. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Silence settles between us. It isn’t awkward, but it’s heavy.
I remember what she confessed to me last night, even if I wish I didn’t.
I hate the bitch for telling me because it just doesn’t help me.
I can’t kill Nolan. Now I’m just stuck with the knowledge that my life really could have been different.
The first murder that I committed, that forced me to leave Seaside, never actually happened.
But every murder after did. So knowing the truth does nothing but make my soul cry out for a version of life that perhaps I’m living in an alternate universe somewhere.
She turns more fully toward me then, her forehead resting against my collarbone. I can feel the tension in her body. Her eyes flick toward the door, then to me. “I think I hear them coming,” she says.
“I know.”
And within seconds, the front door opens, and footsteps approach the bedroom quickly. Adriana stiffens instantly. So do I.
“Up,” Aiden demands, the scar beneath his eye looking more menacing in the low light.
My stomach tightens, but I push off the bed anyway, dragging my legs over the edge. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet. I glance at Adriana; her eyes are wide, but she mirrors me anyway, moving forward without so much as a word.
“Give me five minutes,” I mutter, going to brush my teeth so when they inevitably make me taste blood, it will at least be minty, too.
When we reach the basement, I already know what’s waiting for me. Alexei’s there, in the chair across from the one I usually sit in. Without speaking, I lower myself to the seat, aware of Erik and Aiden as they chain me.
“Hello, Jude,” Alexei says, that silky tone grating on my nerves. “Let’s get right to work.”
I force my gaze to his, restraints digging into my wrists.
He gestures. Erik steps forward with a syringe, and my stomach twists. The white mask splattered with blood from the men I’ve killed is now in Alexei’s hand. “You’ll wear this today,” he says softly, almost like he’s offering me some kind of gift. “Your identity…disappears. You understand, da?”
I shake my head.
Erik slides the mask over my head, and the air is instantly warmer. My own breathing sounds loud and raspy in here. I blink, seeing nothing but what the slits in the eyes allow me to see.
“Good,” Alexei purrs. “Without this mask, you're more likely to fall into weaker tendencies, reverting back to the pathetic version of you. The one who is always in pain."
I stare at him, truly listening.
"This one is superior." He touches the mask. "This one will never feel pain again. You just have to prove to me that you are him. That you will let go of that useless, weak boy.” He leans forward. "Kill him."
The syringe pierces my vein before I can protest. Meth. Hot, sharp fire racing through my blood. My pulse doubles, then triples. Every nerve is electrified. My stomach churns; my vision skews. My thoughts scatter into shards of light and shadow, fracturing into jagged edges I can’t piece together.
I gag, swallowing the sudden bile and the rising panic. Adriana sitting back against the wall, eyes darting to mine.
Alexei’s voice cuts through. “You have a task tonight. It’s an easy one, don’t worry.
Just a man who needs to know he can’t cross me.
And tomorrow night, another party I’m hosting.
The most important people in Russia will be there.
Some from the States, as well. Buyers of everything from drugs to people. ”
Adriana flinches behind Alexei. Traffickers will be there, and she knows she’s in danger.
I swallow again. The meth makes it hard to feel anything but raw, vibrating alertness. My hands shake in the straps, but I can still move enough to tense my jaw, clench my shoulders, fight against the mask—but why fight? Fighting is pointless.
“And in a couple of weeks,” Alexei continues, circling me. “A masked ball for some of the most powerful people in the world.”
Erik’s hands tighten slightly on my restraints. “Ready, Jude?” he asks, tone like a doctor about to amputate a limb.
I nod.
Alexei smiles. "Remember, Jude, prove to me how strong you are. You are him." He traces the mask again, slowly. "And he is you."
Another day of torture begins when Erik slams his fist into the side of my face. My head whips to the side, blood filling my mouth. Alexei pulls out his phone and shows her face. I can’t fucking stand it.
Stop showing her photo to me. I can’t take it anymore.
I hate her. I hate this. I hate…
My mind is fracturing, and I am already halfway gone. I am the mask. The mask is me.
The motorcycle beneath me is the only thing that truly grounds me anymore. My hands tighten around the grips, and the bike responds instantly. Headlights flash behind me. Alexei’s men are following me as backup.
I exhale through my nose, my breath fogging the inside of the helmet. Why doesn’t he just have them do it? He has a little personal army. Men who kill without blinking, and who have no souls left. But it’s not about efficiency, really. It never was. It’s about ownership.
He wants me to do it. He wants to know that he can take a rockstar who used to fill stadiums and turn him into this. A weapon. A monster on command. My jaw tightens as the road blurs beneath me.
I don’t want the event tomorrow night.
I don’t want the masked fucking ball in two weeks.
I don’t want any of it.
The wind cuts through my jacket, offering some relief to my hot skin.
The meth is still in my bloodstream, keeping my eyes and thoughts sharp.
My body is sore from restraints and injections and being forced into submission over and fucking over again.
I’ve gotten used to being forced into things over the years, but this is the worst. My mind isn’t even mine anymore.
He’s taking everything from me. My feelings, my memories. They’re blurring now. How does someone do that to a person? Now I can barely picture her face without flinching or feeling rage. I...I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.
I pull up to the location just after midnight. It’s a quiet street, with only a few houses, all separated by dense trees. The house itself isn’t impressive, and it definitely doesn’t look like some evil man lives there who deserves to die.
I kill the engine, and silence crashes in. The car parks behind me with their lights off, watching me through tinted windows. I swing my leg over the bike and set my helmet on the seat. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the house. Then I reach into my jacket for the mask.
My fingers hesitate only a second before lifting it.
I’ve worn the damn thing all day, hours of it swallowing my face and erasing me.
I slide it on, and I’m surprised at how normal it feels.
Soon, I won’t be able to tell if I’m wearing it or not.
There used to be a difference. Jude with the mask. Jude without it.
The man beneath it used to be someone who still felt things. Someone who dreaded killing people. Who remembered why killing was wrong in the first place.
That line is fucking gone now.
I walk to the door and knock once. It opens faster than expected. The man looks confused at first. His eyes land on the mask, and I see the moment recognition hits. Fear. Pure prey animal instinct kicking in. It’s funny how quickly you remember that humans are mammals.
“Wait—” he starts.
I don’t hesitate. The gun is already in my hand. The shot is loud in the small house, even with the silencer. His body jerks, then collapses, a dead weight hitting the floor. Blood pools fast beneath his body, dark against pale tile. The metallic smell hits me a second later. I stare down at him.
Nothing.
There’s no sudden panic, no voice in my head screaming what have you done.
Just…silence.
I wait for something to come crashing in. A memory, perhaps. My parents, my little brother, my sister, her. Or even a flicker of humanity somehow clawing its way back to the surface. But there’s nothing. My chest doesn’t tighten. My hands don’t shake. My stomach doesn’t turn.
I feel the same as I did before I walked in.