The air tightens.
One step. Then another. Suddenly, he’s in front of me, only inches away.
I tense as his hand rises, brushing a strand of loose hair out of my face. For a second, the touch is almost gentle. Then hisfingers fist, yanking my head to the side. Pain jolts down my neck.
He forcefully turns me so we are eye to eye, and I feel helpless.
I can’t fight, and my mouth is so dry I can’t even say the words on my tongue. I want nothing more than to spit in his face and tell him what will happen if he ever tries to touch me again, but I don’t even think my mouth moves when I try.
All I can do is get my fingers to twitch.
And right when I’m about to close my eyes—submitting to the pain—I hear a rough voice in a Russian accent spit: “Khvatit. Tronesh’ yeye yeshche raz, I ya otrezhu tvoyu chertovu ruku.”
The doctor instantly releases me, smoothing down his coat with an absurd professionalism.
My head falls, hitting my arm beside me, but I keep my eyes open.
“Prinoshu svoi izvineniya. Etogo bol’she ne povtoritsya.” The doctor dips his head and exits quickly, leaving me with a clear view of the man behind the voice.
He’s impossible to miss.
His black suit fits him too perfectly, stretched across a frame built purely of muscle. Tattoos crawl from beneath his cuffs and collar, marking his neck and his hands. He is surprisingly taller than the men I’ve known my whole life, maybe six foot five.
He looks evil, a man you wouldn’t expect to have any soul left, but he’s looking at me like he’s looking at a puppy, and I hate that my heart skips a beat because of it.
In any other world, any other circumstance, I would’ve found him devastatingly attractive.
Now? Regardless of the heat building beneath me, I can push it aside with the knowledge that he’s a monster.
He leans casually against the gate, not speaking, just watching. My pulse hammers, but I force my expression intothe same icy mask I’ve been trained to wear. Even if I had the ability, I wouldn’t be the first to speak. I know never to initiate a conversation with the enemy.
Finally, his gaze shifts past me, landing on the chained man.
“Stop looking at her, Adrian. I wouldn’t want you to make our new guest uncomfortable.”
So that’s his name.
The man in chains—Adrian—stiffens but doesn’t respond. The power dynamic is obvious.
I keep my death stare locked on the man in the suit. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just studies me in a way that causes my chest to tighten, but I refuse to break. Begging for my life would be weakness.
That’s not who I am.
Finally, he runs his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, possibly frustrated. I can’t tell, and I don’t know if my ability to assess situations is being clouded by the haze of drugs.
He pushes off the gate, slips out, and locks the door behind him with a metallic click.
The silence that follows feels like a release. Adrian actually exhales, tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
I tilt my head toward him, a small, devious smile curling as the drugs start to give me back some control.
“Hi, Adrian.”
It’s sweet, and I think he knows what I was thinking when he replies. “Don’t get too cocky, Ace. They said yours when you were getting strapped to those posts.”
Perfect.
Chapter 26
