I try to focus, and almost as if he can tell, he stands, moving forward so I can get a better look at him. His legs are chained at the ankles, and there’s a collar around his neck. I blink, what feels like a hundred times, until I get the fog to clear enough to study him.
Deep tanned skin. A lean, toned frame. Tattoos scatter across his back but stop abruptly at his shoulders, the rest of him clean. He looks like he could be my age, but his movements are confident and calculated.
“Who are you?” My words slur.
Whatever they drugged me with still clings, heavy and slow in my veins.
He lifts his head, giving me a clear look at his face. He has a strong jaw, and a scar trailing dangerously close to his right eye.
He smirks. “You really are very cute.”
His steps are fluid, chains clanking, giving him just enough slack to walk closer—close enough I can smell the faint sweat and iron. He stops a few inches away, looming over me where I’m strapped upright between two wooden beams.
I force my chin high, locking eyes with him. He’s attractive, sure, but chains don’t mean harmless. I’d be stupid to forget that.
“What did you do to end up strapped across two posts?” he asks, dipping low. His eyes flick briefly—too briefly—down the line of my body, and I’m reminded just how exposed I am, regardless of the fabric.
“I shot a man in the head.” My throat is dry, but I spit the words. “Guessing that upset them.”
His grin widens, flashing white teeth. “That’s probably a good guess.”
I don’t speak. I wait. Silence can be a weapon too. And, like most men, he can’t stand it for long.
“I owe them a couple grand,” he finally says with a shrug. “So I’m guessing that’s why I get chains and you get crucifixion.”
His accent snags my attention—faint, almost buried, but not exactly Russian. Something else, smoothed out by time and too much exposure to the wrong company.
I still don’t answer. Instead, I try to study him further, gauge his threat level, regardless of his words.
He takes a step toward me, causing my body to tense at his closeness.
He stops, tilting his head. “Look, you’re gorgeous, but I’m not a rapist. So if you could stop looking at me like I am, that’d be great.”
“I don’t know you,” I snap, my voice cracking through the haze.
“And I don’t know you.” His smirk tilts, not cruel, just amused. “But I’ve been here three months, and I’m bored. Plus, out of the two of us, only one has executed a man. Pretty sure that makes you scarier.”
A laugh almost slips out but I bite it back, shaking my head. “I’m not trusting you based on your word. So you can sit back down. I’m done talking.”
He doesn’t move right away. Instead, he stretches, his chains groaning with the effort, and his gaze lingers on me long enough to make my skin heat. “Yeah,” he mutters finally, almost to himself, “you’re definitely scarier.”
He leans back with a deliberate slowness. His chains scraping across the floor, back tattoos flexing and shifting with each step until he drops into a lazy sprawl against the far wall, this time, remaining in my eye line.
Then—clang.
The sound comes from my left, but I can’t see anything. Sharp metal on metal. My spine stiffens.
The chained man glances past me, eyes narrowing. His smirk returns, but this time it’s darker, edged. “You may want to be done talking,” he says softly, “but I don’t think that’s gonna stop them.”
Chapter 24
Aurelia
FLASHBACK
Six years ago
My chest tightens in anticipation, adrenaline mixing with the thrill of doing something utterly reckless. He gestures toward the sleek, black motorcycle, polished chrome gleaming faintly under the streetlights, like a predator waiting.
