Page 85 of The Russian's Bought Bride

My stomach twists, and the thought hits painfully through the terror already consuming me. I can see him so clearly in my mind, reaching out for me and trying so hard to free himself just to get to me.

This is because of him.

Not because Nikolai did something wrong, but because he tried to stop these monsters in the first place. He’s the one who meddled, and now they want to use me as reparations.

Malenkov notices the shift in my expression immediately, eyes sharp enough to catch everything. “This is very much about him, too.”

Fear spikes sharper through my chest, unaware of his current state or what happened to him after the fact. “Where is he?”

“Probably bleeding out somewhere,” Malenkov says dismissively, waving his hand vaguely. “Though knowing the Lukovs, he’s likely already trying to come for you.”

Despite everything, the thought sparks a flicker of hope in me. While small and fragile, it exists, and I try to hold on to it.

Nikolai will come. I know he will.

The certainty settles strangely deep in my bones despite the horror of the situation, and I pull in a shaky breath to calm my racing heart, but it’s no use.

“Which is why we need to get this over with,” Malenkov murmurs, gesturing for the other to get to it.

Volodin steps closer then, syringe in hand, and I already know what’s coming.

Immediate panic tears through me all over again, and I struggle harder against the restraints. “No…no, please—”

But something stops him. It isn’t from me fighting or because of my pleading. Instead, he hesitates on his own, looking down at the syringe and not moving it yet. Even through my daze, I can see something warring in his eyes.

His hand visibly tightens around the syringe as his eyes flick briefly toward Malenkov, and his lips press into a thin line.

“She was unconscious recently already,” Volodin says carefully, like he’s trying to be clinical. “Another heavy sedative this soon could be unstable and cause adverse effects.”

The words sound rehearsed in a way, and it clicks. He’s stalling, but why?

Malenkov’s brows pinch together, and he gives him a questioning look. “And?”

Volodin swallows. “The stress could be hard on the organs.”

A long silence stretches through the room, only broken when Malenkov exhales slowly through his nose. He looks visibly irritated now, as every minute wasted risks everything.

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll be out of her soon enough, and she’s dying anyway.”

The casualness of the way he says it nearly breaks something inside me, reminded that their focus is on one thing, and it isn’t about my well-being.

Still, Volodin doesn’t move. Instead, his face has gone pale beneath the fluorescent lighting, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor instead of me. He’s debating with himself, regardless of the position it puts him in.

Fear shifts through me again, this time tangled with confusion.

He’s scared, just not of me. Of Malenkov, maybe. Or potentially the reality of what this makes him, and the hand he has had in such a horrific scheme. Regardless of why, he doesn’t do it.

Malenkov watches him for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. “We’re waiting on you, Volodin.”

Finally, he looks at him fully then and pulls in a deep breath like he’s building the courage to speak his mind. “This has gone too far. The Lukovs are involved now, and they’re bound to be here any minute now. We should leave Vegas before—”

A gunshot explodes through the room, loud and terrifying, and I’m screaming before I realize it.

Without any lead-up, Volodin drops instantly from the impact.

One moment, he’s standing there, pale and shaking beneath the lights. Next, he’s hitting the ground hard as blood spreads rapidly beneath him.

For a second, I can’t process what I’m seeing while the room goes painfully quiet. I blink, staring at how the red puddle crawls across the floor like it’s trying to leave the room.