Elijah jumps out of his chair, but my men throw him down before he even gets close.
Laughter fills the air once more. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for my next meeting.” I turn, taking the door, pissed that I have to work a little harder to get her toactuallyreact that way.
Chapter 42
Aurelia
Ithink I may have upset Nikolai more than I predicted. The thought gnaws at the edges of my mind as I sit in my cage. It’s been three days since I was brought back down here, three days in a haze of fear and frustration.
On the bright side, I’m still alive. More than a week in captivity and I’m not dead yet. That has to mean something.
The Bratva men have been relentless. Two more have been added to the rotation, and they seem to take a sick pleasure in tormenting me with their words, their leers, and the constant sense of threat hanging just above my head.
Adrian is pulled into a separate room more often now, returning every time bloodied and bruised. His silence says more than any words could—torture, intimidation, pain. Each time he comes back, he’s a little more broken, a little more hollowed out.
As for me… I try not to think about what might happen if Nikolai were not around. Thankfully—or maybe terrifyingly—I can assume he’s had a hand in keeping these men from touching me. The threads of fear and dread are there, yes, but at least the physical threats remain at bay.
Still, the psychological assault is endless. Disgusting comments, subtle threats, the faintest brushing of hands againstthe bars—each moment a reminder that my control here is absolute fiction. And with every passing hour without him, without Nikolai coming around to keep his men in check, to keep them from touching me, the haunting worry in my chest grows heavier.
He’s the only one under Bratva order who’s asked questions without the undertone of menace, the only one who’s treated me as… I don’t know, someone whose mind is worth more than the entertainment of a beating. And the longer I go without seeing him, the more I realize just how much his presence—or absence—defines my sense of safety.
I try to focus on the threads of thought I can control: my breathing, my posture, my planning. But it’s hard when every echo in the dark, every creak of a floorboard overhead, every whisper of a footstep feels like it could be the moment everything changes.
And the truth? No matter how much I want to blame Nikolai for my kidnapping, right now all he’s done is keep me from being raped, and I can’t exactly hate him for that.
Ripped from my thoughts, I hear the heavy gate grind open. Two men drag Adrian out, his screams echoing through the stone corridors. I try to tune it out, desperately, wishing there was a way to help, but I can’t—not when I’m in the exact same position, chained and powerless.
Usually, these moments are the rare stretches when I have time to myself. I rinse my clothes in the bucket of water, hanging them over the bars to dry, letting the cool air brush my bare skin. But just as I dip my arm into the water and start my routine, I hear the gate open again.
My pulse spikes. I immediately look up, expecting to see Nikolai.
But it’s not him.
It’s one of the new guards—the one usually responsible for Adrian’s abuse.
“What did you do?” His accent is thick, jagged, and clipped. His tone is low, but there’s a nervous edge.
“Wrong place, wrong time, I guess,” I reply with a fake uncertainty.
“You are very pretty to Nikolai,” he mutters.
I frown, unsure what he means.Maybe he’s still learning English.But language doesn’t matter—I read the way his eyes linger on my body, the curve of my breasts, and the slow, hesitant way his gaze moves over me.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” I drop my wet hands to my waist, letting the tension in my body speak louder than the words.
He nods, almost too quickly, swallowing hard. His nervousness is palpable.
“Maybe we could spend some time together then?” I pose it as a question, but we both know he wouldn’t say no.
He stays silent, holding my stare.
“Can you… show me around since no one else is here?” My eyes flick to the swelling in his pants, opportunity sparkling in my mind.
A calculated risk, but if I can maneuver him, maybe I can gain some freedom—even if just a little.
I dip my hand back into the water, bringing it to my neck and scrubbing my skin, not afraid to let the water drip down my collarbone.
He hesitates, unsure, clearly weighing the consequences of this moment. Low rank, inexperienced, probably young enough to be reckless, but not yet hardened by the Bratva.
