Page 82 of Deceptive Vows
“Six hours,” I repeated Pasha’s words, calculating what this meant for Thea. Six hours she had been in their hands, taken to who knew where, suffering who knew what. The thought made my blood run cold.
With deliberate movement, I pushed myself into a sitting position, ignoring Pasha’s protests and the stabbing pain in my side from my broken ribs. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The sterile chill of the tile stung my bare feet, and the world tilted violently. My visionnarrowed to a pinpoint, black at the edges, but I ground my teeth and pushed through it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lucas demanded, stepping forward.
“Getting out of this bed.” My voice was stern despite the pain lancing through my skull. “I need to speak with your captive.”
“Absolutely not,” Pasha countered, placing both hands on my shoulders. “The doctor said?—”
“The doctor doesn’t know what the Wolves will do to her,” I snarled, shoving his hands away. Pain detonated through my side, white-hot and punishing, like a blade twisting between my ribs. The pain was irrelevant. Thea was everything. “Six hours, Pasha. Six. Do you know what they can do in that time?”
A tense silence stretched thin over the room. Lucas’s jaw tightened with quiet resolve.
“Even if we let you out of here,” he finally said, his tone even, “you can barely sit up. How exactly do you plan to conduct an interrogation?”
“I don’t need to be at full strength to ask questions,” I replied. “I just need to be conscious.”
Pasha’s grip on my shoulders loosened slightly, his expression shifting from concern to resignation. He knew me well enough to understand thatnothing short of physical restraints would keep me in this bed.
“The doctor won’t discharge you,” he said, a last attempt at reason.
“I don’t remember asking permission,” I countered.
Pasha rubbed a hand over his face, then nodded once. “Get him clothes,” he directed to one of our men who stood at the door. “And something for the pain that won’t cloud his thinking.”
Thirty minutes later, I was dressed in clothes Pasha had procured, dark jeans and a black sweater that fit well enough. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain through my body, but the medication had taken the edge off, making it manageable. The simple act of standing required more effort than I wanted to admit, but I forced myself to move with purpose, refusing to show weakness.
A nurse stepped into our path, concern etched into her face, her hand lifting slightly in protest, but a few quiet words from Pasha, and what I suspected was a substantial donation to the hospital, smoothed our departure. By the time we reached the parkinglot, my breath came in shallow pants, the cold air stinging my lungs.
“Still think this is a good idea?” Dimitris’s breath curled in the frigid night air.
The SUV’s engine rumbled low, a fixed growl that vibrated through my aching ribs as he helped me into the back seat. The door slammed shut with a finality that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Ask me again after we’ve spoken to our guest.” I settled carefully into the seat.
The drive to the Kalantzis warehouse took nearly an hour, carrying us far from Chicago’s lights to an industrial area on the outskirts of the city. The compound was well-chosen—isolated enough for privacy, but not so remote as to draw attention. High fences topped with razor wire surrounded a complex of three buildings that appeared abandoned at first glance, but the subtle security measures visible to my trained eye spoke otherwise.
We pulled into a loading bay, the door descending behind us with a mechanical groan. Despite my determination, I needed both Pasha and Dimitris to help me from the vehicle, my strength fading faster than I wanted to acknowledge.
“Maybe you should rest first,” Lex suggested, noting my pallor.
I shook my head. “Every minute matters.”
"We've been working on this guy while you were out," Lex said, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "Dimitris has been… persuasive, but he's holding out."
The captive was held in what had clearly once been a storage room, now repurposed for something far darker. Concrete floors, stained from previous occupants, stretched underfoot, easy to hose down, easy to forget. The walls were reinforced with soundproofing foam, dulling any hope of escape. In the center, a single metal chair was bolted to the floor, its legs crusted with old rust or, perhaps, dried blood. The room smelled faintly of bleach, but it couldn’t mask the underlying copper tang of violence.
His face was already swollen, one eye nearly closed from Dimitris and Lex’s preliminary conversation. He looked up as we entered, his good eye widening slightly as he recognized me.
“Ty dolzhen byt’ mertv,” he said in Russian, his split lip curling into a sneer.You’re supposed to be dead.
“Ya trudno ubit’.”I’m difficultto kill.I replied calmly, my own Russian flowing more naturally than English in the moment. “Something you’ll soon wish wasn’t true.”
I gestured for Dimitris to bring me a chair, which he placed directly in front of the Wolf. Fire lanced through my ribs with every step, each breath a white-hot dagger. My hands trembled slightly as I lowered myself into the chair, but I made no effort to hide it. Let the Wolf see my weakness. Let him mistake it for vulnerability. It would make what came next all the more effective.
“Here’s how this will work.” I switched to English for the benefit of Thea’s brothers. “I will ask questions. You will answer them. The quality and speed of your answers will determine how much pain you experience before you die.”
The Wolf spat blood onto the concrete between us. “I’m already dead. Sergei doesn’t forgive failure.”
