He heads for the door, then pauses.
"Oh, and Maksim?" He glances back. "Still alive. For now. Thought you'd want to know. He's in a cell in the basement. We're keeping him breathing just in case I need additional leverage over you or your sister."
Relief and horror war in my chest. Alive. Maksim is alive.
But trapped. A prisoner like me.
And we will both die soon.
"Don't try anything stupid," Roman warns. "You're not leaving until I decide what to do with you."
He opens the door, revealing the guards stationed outside.
"Oh, and Kira?" He smiles. "If you do somehow manage to escape? If you try to run or interfere? I'll have Maksim killed immediately. Then your sister. Then your father. Everyone you've ever cared about, dead because you couldn't stay put. Understand?"
I nod because what choice do I have?
He leaves, and the locks engage again.
The Ice Queen has finally, completely shattered.
And I don't know how to put the pieces back together.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maksim
Consciousness returns in waves of pain.
My shoulder is on fire—a deep, burning agony that pulses with every heartbeat. My ribs scream with each breath. My head throbs where someone hit me after I went down.
I force my eyes open and immediately wish I hadn't.
Concrete walls. No windows. A single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering like it might die at any moment. The smell hits me next—mold, dampness, human waste, despair.
I know this smell. Lived with it for six years.
I'm in a cell again.
The realization makes my chest tighten with something between rage and panic. Not again. I can't do this again.
I won’t survive.
I try to sit up and immediately regret it. Pain explodes through my shoulder, and I look down to see rough bandaging—someone wrapped the gunshot wound, but not well. Blood is already seeping through the makeshift dressing.
They're keeping me alive.
It’s part of the torture.
My ribs protest as I force myself upright, leaning against the cold concrete wall. Every movement sends fresh waves of agony through my body, but I catalog the damage anyway.
Gunshot wound to the left shoulder, through and through, based on the exit wound I can feel. Could be worse. Could have hit bone or an artery.
Broken or cracked ribs on my right side—at least two, maybe three. From the beating Roman's men gave me before they dumped me here.
Head wound from where they knocked me out. Dried blood in my hair.
Various cuts and bruises.
