I moved to the small propane heater in the corner. It was compact, ventless, and the kind designed for sealed spaces like this one. The independent gas line fed from a tank tucked behind the half wall, and the unit ran on a low, steady blue flame that produced no smoke and minimal exhaust.
I twisted the knob until the pilot caught then turned it up a notch. The ceramic elements glowed red almost immediately throwing clean, dry heat into the room. Warmth spread slowly.
“Sit,” I whispered, nodding toward the edge of the bed.
She obeyed, perching on the very corner of the mattress as if she might bolt if I so much as blinked. Zoya looked impossibly small swallowed by my coat and sitting on my dark sheets, trembling faintly even as the first threads of heat reached her.
I grabbed the thick, wool blanket from the wooden chair pushed up against a two-person table. I took my jacket off her and draped the blanket over her shoulders, tucking the edges around her arms so it stayed in place. Then, I took the spare pillow from the head of the bed, firm and unused, and slid it behind her back so she could lean without falling forward.
Not kindness but practicality, I told myself.
Our gazes met again, hers wide, confused, still searching mine like she was trying to read the next move in a game shedidn’t understand. Something twisted hard in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. That look had no place in a room built for disappearing. No place in me.
I stepped back, putting distance between us. “Sleep if you can,” I told her. “Tomorrow, we collect what he owes.”
She nodded. “Thank you… for the warmth.” Her voice came out hoarse, cracked, almost inaudible over the soft hiss of the propane flame.
I exhaled through my nose, forcing the moment back under control. “I didn’t bring you down here because I’m generous,” I said, voice low and even. “The office is cold. The upper levels are exposed if anyone finds this place and comes looking too soon. And you’re no good to me if you freeze or break before we finish this. This room is secure, buried deeply, and no one knows it exists except me. That’s why you’re here. That’s the only reason.”
“I understand. Thank you regardless.”
I nodded toward the narrow, metal locker bolted to the wall beside the half partition.
“Water bottles, protein bars, and basic toiletries are in there. The toilet and shower are behind that door. Bed’s yours for tonight. The door stays locked from the outside when I’m not here. You try anything stupid, pry at the vents, mess with the locks, scream for help that won’t come, and you’ll find out how fast this place can turn cold again. And trust me, down here, cold kills slower than a blade.” I let the words hang for a second, watching her take them in.
Her fingers tightened on the blanket edges, but she didn’t flinch. Not outwardly.
“There’s one camera in the corner above the door. It’s hardwired but has no audio. It’s just enough to make sure you’re not getting into trouble while I’m gone. Understand?”
She gave a small, jerky nod, eyes wide and searching mine like she was waiting for the trap to spring. Something in herlook twisted low in my gut again. It wasn’t pity or compassion. It was… recognition. Zoya was seeing the shape of the cage she was in, and she wasn’t begging to be let out.
Her gaze didn’t leave mine, and that quiet confusion had gone nowhere. If anything, it had deepened, mixed now with something that looked dangerously close to trust she didn’t want to feel.
I turned for the door before the twist in my chest could tighten any further but paused with my hand on the heavy bolt. “I don’t trust you yet,” I said without looking back. “But I believe you want him gone. That’s enough for tonight.”
I slid the heavy internal bolt free, the three thick steel rods retracting with a low, metallic grind, then pushed the door open just enough to step into the corridor. The air down here was colder, carrying the faint metallic tang of the vents.
I pulled the door shut behind me. From the outside, I snapped the heavy padlock through the reinforced hasp. It was industrial grade and one only I could access. The mechanism clicked into place with the same finality it always had: solid, unyielding.
Zoya was locked in now. Safe from the world, from escape, and especially from everything except whatever waited in the dark of her own mind.
I walked the short distance back toward the upper levels, boots echoing on the steel stairs, the chill deepening with every step I climbed. Down the hall, a knife sat on its sharpening stone. The meat hooks swayed in the faint draft from the vents. Revenge waited, patient, familiar, and always cold.
But for the first time in years, something else waited, too. It tasted like the faint, impossible promise of something I should never want. I told myself it was nothing.
And that fucking lie burned hotter than the desire for Zoya, slowly consuming me from the inside out.
Chapter 9
Zoya
Iwoke to the hum of ventilation and the low burn of the propane heater. The air tasted of metal and concrete, which had a weird scent of sterile, contained air that was devoid of anything real.
My father had always preferred sterile things. Clean negotiations, ledgers, and exits. Mess was for lesser men. But apparently, that was all just for show. He preferred things dark and messy and heinous when no one was looking, unless they paid for it.
I pushed myself upright on the narrow bed, blanket slipping from my shoulders. My wrists were still raw where the cuffs had been the night before, thin angry rings of red that throbbed when I flexed my hands. The door was bolted shut from the outside, but strangely enough, I’d never felt safer.
Dmitry hadn’t locked me here because he was afraid of me. He’d kept me here because I was a variable that needed to stay in one place while the world adjusted around me. Another part of me whispered he had to have a semblance of gentleness in him to put me in this safe room where all my comforts and needs were met.
