“I'm not kidding, Jonah. We'll get out of here. And I'll take down every one of them who hurt me. Or you.”
I believe him. I believe him and it terrifies me. What does that make me?
Viktor tightens his grip again, like if he lets go I'll disappear. “I swear it on my mother's grave.” He exhales and eases us back onto the mattress. The bed dips under his weight.
His tongue traces the shape of my lips. I gasp into him. I'm lost in the taste of him again, lost in the weight of his body pressing me down.
“So precious. Come on now, krasavchik. Let's sleep.”
I wake with a start. My heart slams against my ribs. Moonlight cuts the room into strips. It silvers the floor, the edge of the bed, the dark shape of the piano by the wall. I lie still, breath shallow, trying to understand what pulled me out of sleep.
Then I hear it again. The lock.
“Viktor?” I sit upright, scanning the dark. The bathroom door stands open. The other side of the bed is empty. “Viktor?”
The panic isn't the same as the night I was kidnapped. That was the fear of a stranger. This is the fear of a missing limb. Mylungs burn as if the air in the room has been sucked out with him. I look at my hands—hands that have touched him, washed him, held him—and they’re shaking so hard I have to tuck them under my arms.
I already know. The sound that woke me was the lock turning from the outside.
My chest tightens until it burns. I should have said it. I should have told him that when he's here, the fear goes quiet. But I didn't, and now he's gone. He's gone. Why am I shaking? Why does the room feel so cold?
I realize then that I’m not waiting for a savior. I’m waiting for the monster to come back and tell me I’m still his. I’ve crossed the line from stranger to something far more dangerous, and there’s no way to find my way back to the boy who lived in that trailer.
They took him.
He would never have left without telling me. Would never have gone quietly.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand there, shaking, staring at the door like it might explain itself. What am I supposed to do? Where did they take him?
Immediately, the house feels different without him. My mind scrambles, racing through every piece of information we exchanged. Every word that could truly make me an accomplice.
But whoever took him knew exactly what they were doing. They didn't come crashing in. They didn't leave a mess. This wasn't chaos. It was a calculation. And I'm the one left behind.
I'm alone in the middle of it. Caught between hope and terror. Was he trying to save me? Or is Sergei finally finishing what he started?
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
VIKTOR
“Stimulants might not bea good idea, Sokolov. He's still running hot.”
“Just do your fucking job, Andrei.”
“If this goes wrong,” Petrov says, his jaw tight, “that's not on me.”
A needle pricks my bare arm. The cold bite of the metal is the first thing I truly feel. They're not trying to knock me out. They're trying to keep me conscious and controllable at the same time. I wonder if they sedated me earlier to get me out of bed and away from Jonah without a fight. If they did, it fucking worked. They drag me down the back stairs while my head is still fogged. My feet are useless weights, but my heart is already beginning to hammer against my ribs from the injection. I try to count the men, but the edges of my vision are fraying. There's too many of them.
The world spins. My feet scrape concrete. My shoulder slams into a brick wall when someone yanks too hard. A flare of pain finally cuts through the fog. A door opens. Stagnant air pushes over my face. We're back in the fucking basement.
“Hold him,” Sokolov growls. “He'll fight the second the kick hits.”
Grips clamp down. They drive me into the center of the room and force me to my knees. Two men pin my shoulders. Another palm grips the back of my neck, keeping my head lowered. They don't tie me. They don't need to. Cold metal snaps tight at my back, the chain going taut as they drive me down. It's long enough to kneel, not long enough to stand straight.
I can feel him before I see him.
Sergei steps into the circle of light in a tailored suit. The ring with our crest flashes when he lifts his hand, gold sharp against the gloom. He looks me over like he's inspecting damaged cargo. “Welcome back, Viktor. I'm sure you remember the room.”
