“So am I your friend yet?”
“Mmm…” I drag out the sound, pretending to think. “I don’t really have friends.”
“Well, too late. I’m your friend. I’ll just declare it now.”
He’s smirking, but for some reason, it hits me harder than it should. I can’t remember the last time anyone claimed me without a condition attached. No blood oath, no family name, no expectation of loyalty I could never give. Just… a declaration.
I smile, but I know it’s meaningless. He’s probably just lonely.
Still, the word clings to me like a stubborn shadow.
Friend.
* * *
My eyes tear open, hearing a crank in the door through the pitch black.
I really don’t like the dark.
The sound scratches harder than it should, carving through the silence.
The light hanging overhead has been turning on and off during specific times in here, which is the only clue we’re given about the timing of the day, and since it’s been out for hours, I know it must be the middle of the night.
I can’t see a damn thing, but I can feel him. The shift in the air, the weight of his footsteps. My pulse trips over itself. I know Nikolai is back.
Even without sight, I track him. Every inch closer makes my chest tighter, my palms damp in clutched fists. He doesn’t announce himself. He doesn’t have to. My body already knows it’s him.
Cold metal and his heated hand brushes my skin. His hands—steady, unhurried—work the lock at my ankles.
A click, and freedom burns static down my legs. Before I can even process it, his grip is around my waist, pulling me upright to stand on my feet as though I weigh nothing. His hand then moves to the lock around my neck, his frame towering over mine. He doesn’t speak. Not a word. Just catches my hand, his palm rough and firm and begins to walk me out of the room like it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to be his.
I should be terrified. I should be bracing myself to be auctioned, raped, tortured, and killed. That’s what happens to girls stolen by the Bratva. That’s the story you tell yourself to stay ahead of things, to never let your guard down.
But… I’m not.
Instead, I feel oddly secure in his grasp, almost a familiarity in his touch, in his control, even in the dark. His silence is a shield and not a threat.
Maybe it’s because no one’s laid a hand on me yet.
I’ve been a captive of the Bratva for nearly six days and, aside from the bruises from restraints, not a hair on my head has been harmed.
Maybe it’s just a calculated way to give me a false sense of security before the real breaking begins. That would be smart. Ruthless. Very Orlov-like.
But deep down, a traitorous part of me believes it’s something else. That he’s protecting me.
I don’t know why. I don’t know how long it’ll last. But I know one thing: I need to use it. Milk it. Pretend to be grateful. Pretend to care for this monster if that’s what it takes.
Because the truth is, I would still happily slit his throat if given the chance.
Chapter 38
Aurelia
FLASHBACK
Six years ago
My hand flies to my mouth, stifling my gasp. Screams mean danger, so instinct forces me behind a corner, my back tight to the wall—but not before I catch a glimpse beyond the courtyard: a massive chamber yawning open, dimly lit and impossibly long.
