Chapter 55 Roran
Roran
“Get your dirty hands off me,” I snarl, fighting his grip as he drags me forward by the arm.
I nearly fall—one heel missing, hands bound tight with thick rope, Malec’s shirt torn at the bottom. I don’t even know what happened after I was knocked out and brought here, but I feel like hell. Probably look like it too.
“I think you forgot who’s calling the shots here,” he grits, then shoves me forward.
I catch myself with my elbows before I faceplant, hissing through the sharp jolt of pain as they slam into the ground.
“Ivan’s coming any second. You wait here,” he adds before stepping out and locking the door behind him.
Another dark room. Great. At least this time, only my hands are tied. And not to a wall.
I force myself upright, shifting onto my knees, then stretching toward my one remaining heel. Gripping it between both hands, I wrench it off and toss it aside. No point limping like a newborn deer.
Balancing with my arms awkwardly forward, I rise to my feet in a careful, clunky motion. The room is empty—same as the last. One plastic chair and a rusted metal table, but this one has light, at least. Not much, but enough to see my surroundings clearly.
There’s a window here, too—higher than the one before.
What the hell is this place?
If this is how Fedor keeps all of the rooms, it’s not just some abandoned dump. This is something else. Some kind of underground torture prison?
And if Diana’s here...
Then this isn’t just one of his secret holding rooms.
This is the Red Dock.
Fuck.
I wish Malec were here. Wish he’d show up and tear this place apart to get us out.
No.
Roran, don’t start with that. You saw it with your own eyes—he’s a monster.
His whole family is. Literal monsters.
As always, it’s up to me to crawl out of hell. I’m not stopping until Diana’s safe. That’s all that matters now.
I scan the room again, looking for options. I shuffle toward the table, twist my wrists so the rope knot catches on the corner, and drag it to the wall—directly beneath the window. Then the chair.
Stack it in front of the table.
With no hesitation—I climb up, stepping carefully onto the table, balancing on my toes.
The window is high, but from here, finally, I can see through.
And I wish I didn’t.
My breath catches at the disturbing sight—at least fifteen people chained to chairs, completely naked. If some of them hadn’t blinked, I’d think they were all dead. Their bodies limp in the chains’ grip, heads thrown back like puppets with cut strings.
I stretch my neck farther, trying to get a better view—guards, exits, windows, anything that could help.
Then I remember that girl—Orbit. She said they injected her neck with something. I squint at the ones closest to me and gasp at the bruises on their necks. No.
Not just their necks. Needle marks and bruises cover their arms.
Fedor’s completely lost it.
And I was scared of Malec’s family?
Clearly, Fedor’s in the running for the damn ‘beast’ crown too. I hiss out a few curses, wondering if Orbit’s one of the girls huddled in the far corner. I have no idea what she looks like—she sounded young—but my eyes aren’t really searching for her.
They’re searching for Diana.
It’s hard to see their faces from up here. Maybe if I just—
“It’s not nice to peek on others…”
The voice startles me.
I lose balance. The table wobbles, and I shut my eyes, bracing for the fall.
But instead—two strong arms catch me.
I open my eyes… and instantly wish I hadn’t.
Ivan.
My heart seizes in my chest. I scramble clumsily out of his grip, every awkward motion making him grin wider.
“Did you bring me here? Or was it my fath—Fedor?” The words fly from my mouth before I can stop them.
Stupid, Roran.
I’m locked in a room. Alone. With him.
Is he going to kill me for running?
Did I humiliate him in front of everyone when I ran, and now he wants revenge?
He turns to face me fully. I take a step back, swallowing hard.
“Fedor?” he mocks, leaning in, fingers brushing over the pulse at my neck. “I think it’s time to give you your wedding present, wife.”
His voice is low, but his words drip like poison. I don’t dare look away.
Only when he straightens and tips his chin toward the door do I finally exhale. But then I see what he’s pointing at.
I let out a loud gasp, almost choking. Fedor’s head lies on the floor. Eyes bulged open, staring straight at me.
I turn away, gagging, bile burning my throat. My lungs won’t work.
He killed him.
And brought his head here… to frighten me? Threaten me? Their games never end.
I press my tied hands to my face, wet warmth sliding down my cheeks. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I wanted this.
“If I knew my wife would love it that much, I would’ve done it sooner,” he laughs.
That motherfucker laughs.
“What do you want from me?” My voice barely escapes. “You killed him. You don’t need me anymore.”
“Blood is blood,” he says casually. “And I’m going to take what I came here for. Dimitry will happily take your father’s place in New York and work with me.”
He says it like it’s meant to sound like a favor. Like I should be grateful… but I know better. He’s not trying to get on my good side—he’s trying to tell me something.
And then it hits.
My eyes snap open.
He chuckles. “So you’re not completely brainless after all. Good.”
Dimitry betrayed my father. He’s been working with Ivan from the start.
“Why?” It’s all I can manage.
He steps closer, the smug grin stretching wider as his hand wraps around my chin.
“You’re the first one to survive his drug for years and still keep your sanity,” he says, voice low and deliberate. “I’m going to figure out why.”
I try to shake my head out of his hold in surprise, but his grip tightens.
He knows I take that drug.
“He gives it to me every two weeks. That’s all I know. I can’t help you,” I say honestly—and instantly regret it. I may have just signed my own death sentence.
“You think I don’t know how clueless you are?” he scoffs. “We’re going to start testing on you. Starting with your next dose. Today.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the familiar vial—the same one I begged to see days ago, but now… it just makes me want to vomit.
I’m going to be his guinea pig.
Shit.
I open my mouth to speak. To scream. To do something. But all that escapes is a broken groan of pain.
My neck burns—blazes—like someone poured fire across my skin. Tears blur my vision. Ivan’s cold blue eyes smear into the glow.
My skin feels like it’s peeling from the inside out.
And the only sound that fills the room now is my own scream.