I try to push the pain aside and think about all the things that Vlad tried to get out of me. All the things I need to remember for when the club finds me and gets me out of here. Because I know they will. Bullet won’t stop until he finds me, so when he does, I need to be ready to tell him everything that he needs to know.
Vlad was furious with each passing minute that I didn’t break, didn’t answer his questions, or give in to his demands. Nikolai let him go, but I always knew that son of a bitch was waiting in the background for his turn.
Vlad wanted to know what the club knew. If Thea had been the one to tell them where to find the locations they’ve been to. I also vaguely think I remember Vlad saying to Nikolai to check on the scouts watching the clubhouse, to see if they’ve noticed I’m gone yet. Nikolai had left the room for a brief time, and Vlad had spent the time on his phone barking orders, not paying attention to me.
It was also the time when he called in the nurse. The same one that gave me the antibiotics and cleaned me up earlier. Or was it yesterday? I’ve lost track of time, but I wonder if he’ll send her back in again soon. When I saw her come in for the first time, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Anyone working for Vlad, no fucking way I’m going to trust them. Until I heard her snap back at Nikolai, and my opinion started to change.
She doesn’t sound like someone who just follows orders. Maybe she’s not here of her own free will, either. I chanced looking at her, trying to make sure that Nikolai and Vlad wouldn’t catch me. Through swollen eyes, I was able to make out that she was far too pretty to be around all this evil and darkness. Dark brown hair pulled back into a low bun at the base of her neck, minimal make-up, and bright blue eyes that when they connected with mine, I felt a punch of something in my gut. Hope maybe? A connection? I’m not sure, but I know I want to see her again. She gave me the respite to gather my strength and resolve both times she’s been close to me, and I need that again.
Though I have to be careful, or they’ll catch on to that. I need to make sure that I’m not giving away that I rely on her in any way. They’ll probably kill her just to prove the point or try tomake me cooperate with them. I can’t allow that. I don’t want that on my conscience.
She’s never spoken to me in the two times that she’s come to me, but her eyes always seem to find mine. In them, I see pity and compassion, but also the hardness of a woman fighting to survive and keeping herself separate. She has a job to do, and she’s getting it done and that’s it. To her, I’m just a poor soul at the hands of the Russians, and she has no idea if I’m innocent or guilty.
A large part of me wants to tell her I’m innocent, but why would she believe me? Why do I care if she does? I need to focus on getting my ass out of here as soon as I can, or at least making it so that it’s easier to get out of here when Bullet and the others get here.
Between the beatings, I’ve looked around the room, but it’s nothing but a steel and concrete box. This must be their interrogation room. It’s bolted and locked from both the inside and the outside, depending on who is in here. From what I can see, the only people with keys are Nikolai, Vlad, and one other man, who I’ve only seen a couple of times when he’s been in with the other two or opening the door. I’m assuming he’s another head soldier to Vlad, but he’s not as hard as Nikolai. I’ve seen him look over at me repeatedly, almost curious. He’s the weak link, and he’ll be the one to fuck up, but how can I use that to my advantage?
I need the pounding in my head to stop so I can figure that out. My mind feels groggy and slow, and I’m fairly sure I have a concussion. The only nice thing about my position right now is that the room is dark, and it’s easing some of the discomfort enough for me to think.
Namely, was it Cobra who struck me in the back of the head or someone else? I recall the voice, but it’s not clear enough in my mind to know who it was. It was in a whisper but I knowit was male. Shit, I wish I paid more attention. Because if it is someone in our club, I’ll kill them with my bare hands myself when I get out of here.
The club can’t handle another traitor. Bullet will probably implode, and Sniper might just finally lose his shit. Especially after everything that happened with Dagger. If it was Cobra, however, that might mean the end of an alliance that has been in place for a very long time. And did he act on his own or on his President’s orders? And if so, why? Arson might not like how we run things, but why the fuck would he come here to fuck us over? Is he trying to take our club out with the help of the Russians? Or are they trying to prove some kind of point?
None of those options sounds good.
The door suddenly opens, and I stiffen and bite back a groan at the light that pours into the room and directly into my face. I only allow myself to stiffen slightly, and I listen carefully, keeping my head down and chin against my chest. The steps are mixed, heavy and soft, and a slight rustling, like someone is carrying something and it’s brushing against the fabric of their pants. Then I hear a slight rattle, like a chain or even change in a pocket.
I hear them step inside, but it’s the scent that hits me first. Sweet, feminine, and slightly floral. So uniquely hers it wraps around my senses, sharpening them. The pain dampens, and I know that things are going to perk up for a little bit. Maybe this time she’ll give me a bit of pain meds. The steps of the man walking tell me that it’s not Vlad or Nikolai, it’s the third one, and the one that probably isn’t going to pay as much attention as the other two. Not that I don’t trust that he won’t be listening, or that Nikolai and Vlad have cameras watching and listening to everything.
“Don’t be stupid,” the guard warns the woman.
“Yes, I know by now,” the woman snipes at him. “Are you going to give me a hard time if I ask him if he’s allergic to the med I need to give him, or do you want to chance it and kill him?”
“What are you going to give him?” the guard demands, clearly untrusting.
“A mild painkiller to keep from going into freaking shock,” she tells him tightly. “Do you see the way his body is shivering?”Shit, I hadn’t even noticed that, but she’s right.“He’s cold, and he’s obviously in pain. He’s going to go into shock, and if he’s not treated, then he probably won’t survive another round. Does your boss want him dead?”
“Don’t move. I need to make a call.” He steps out the door, and I can vaguely hear him on the phone.
I lift my eyes, straining to look at her, and I see that she’s facing toward the door, not even looking back at me. Smart girl. I have a feeling that she’s doing that on purpose. Maybe she’s figured out that there are probably cameras here. Either way, I can look at her this way, even if it does hurt my eyes and my head.
The light from the door is enough that I can see she’s wearing a pair of dark blue scrubs, and her hair is up in a messy bun. In her hand is a bag, and from this angle, I can see that she has sneakers on her feet. She shifts slightly. It occurs to me that she’s probably been on her feet all day and now standing here, it can’t be comfortable. A part of me wants to tell her to sit down or lean against the wall, but I clamp my mouth shut and look away, forcing my eyes closed.
It takes another couple of minutes, but finally, the guard comes back in and tells her tightly, “You can ask him that, nothing else. You do what you need to do and then you’re out of here. And to make sure that you comply, the boss has someoneready to go into your shitty apartment and deal with those brats if you try anything funny. Got it?”
Brats? What brats? Does she have kids? No wonder she’s being so careful.
The tension in the room rises, but the woman merely says, “Yes.” Then I hear her turn and walk toward me. The bag falls to the floor with a thump near my feet, a quick rush of air hitting my legs. I open my eyes slowly, still keeping my head down, and see her reaching in and pulling out gloves, pulling them on quickly with a snap, before she reaches in and pulls out a vial and a syringe. Then she asks me, “Can you lift your head?”
Slowly, I lift my head and look at her. At this angle, she towers over me, and I’d put her at six feet tall, possibly an inch or two taller. Her eyes regard me critically, taking in my face, and I see the sympathy fill her eyes, though her grim expression doesn’t change.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the guard demands, stalking forward.
“I’m making sure that he can fucking hear me,” she snaps at the guard, side-stepping when he tries to grab her. I barely restrain myself from growling at him for daring to touch her. I tighten my hands that are chained behind me and use every ounce of control to stay still. “If he can’t hear me, then there’s no point in asking him if he’s allergic to anything, is there?”
“Don’t get smart with me, bitch,” the guard hisses. “Give him the fucking shit and be done, or I’ll make you regret it.” He steps back, but not far. Maybe I’ve been wrong. I was sure he was going to be the weak link, but that might be the concussion skewing my perspective.
I hear the woman give an aggravated sigh, but she must figure that it’s best to not push it too much further. I watch her carefully because even though I think she’s on the right side of this, I don’t know that she’s fully trustworthy. Especially ifshe’s about to put anything in my system that’s going to dull my reactions or my senses.
