Nikolai: The Complete Collection

25. Justine

25

JUSTINE

H ours pass before the pleas for help projecting from the rooms surrounding mine stop. I think. It could have been minutes, hours, or days. I honestly don’t know. I’ve been immersed so profoundly into this insanity that the ability to keep time is beyond me. I’m scared and hungry and would give anything to return to my family.

Col’s revenge was horrendous, but at least it was quick. He didn’t hold me hostage for hours with nothing but bitter memories to keep me occupied. His punishment was issued within minutes of his verdict being served. If I could choose between a long, torturous death or a swift one, I’d always pick the latter.

Pain isn’t torture. Silence is.

When the jingling of keys rings through my ears, I firm my hold on my legs. I’m in the corner of the room with my back braced against the wall. My body is rolled into a ball, replicating the position I took to protect my face from being torn to shreds four years ago.

Thankfully, my visit to the brink of madness is minus a vicious animal this time.

I blink several times to clear my vision when a fluttering of light scampers into my room. Although grateful my visitor could locate the light switch I frantically searched for hours ago, I’m not as welcoming to the brightness as I should be.

I wasn’t a fan of blood before I was mauled, but my dislike grew rampant after my assault. And considering there’s a massive amount of old, dried blood pooled at the bottom of a pulley-like contraption, no amount of denial can push my disdain aside.

Because I am incapable of removing my eyes from the horrid image, the man entering the room sneaks up on me unnoticed. He hoists me from the ground as if I’m weightless before spinning me around.

With one hand pinning my head to the wall, he demands I place my hands behind my back. Too exhausted to fight, I do as requested without protest. I can barely stand, much less fight a man double my weight.

“ Come sottomesso come sempre ,” he murmurs, amused by my lack of fight.

I roll my eyes, not bothered by his snooty comment. He hasn’t been locked in a dungeon-like chamber for several hours, so his opinion on my submissiveness is the least of my worries.

Suddenly, I freeze, disturbed.

He didn’t grumble his remark in Russian like the many other accents I’ve heard today. He spoke in Italian, his pronunciation so precise I wouldn’t be shocked to discover he was born in Italy.

“ Per chi lavori ?” I ask, demanding to know who he works for.

When he spins me around to face him, the grin cracking onto his face answers my question without a word spilling from his lips.

He is a Petretti crew member.

“No,” I mumble, my one word barely audible, torn from my throat with a sob.

This can’t be happening again.

I won’t let this happen again .

With my mind hazy between the past and the present, my survival mode kicks into overdrive.

If Dimitri expects me to submit in silence as I did years ago with his father, he has another thing coming. I’d rather be killed than go down without a fight for the second time.

Stomping on the brute’s foot, I bite at the bandaged hand closing in on my face. The man squeals like a girl when my teeth gnaw through his skin so forcefully blood tingles my taste buds. My stomach rolls with queasiness, but I keep my determination strong. I’m not the same woman I was when I last wrestled with the Petretti crew. I am stronger and more determined.

After ramming the man with all my might, I charge for the door he left hanging open. My steps are remarkably strong for how hard my legs shake, and I reach the opening in two heart-thrashing seconds.

I nearly lose my footing on the polished wooden floors in the corridor when I take the corner at the speed of a rocket.

Thankfully, I keep upright and moving with my fighting spirit surging past my panic.

Ignoring the pleas for help shouted from each room as I race by, I sprint down the hallway lined with dozens of doors.

“I’ll come back. I promise I’ll be back,” I pledge to the numerous pairs of eyes watching my escape through the keyholes of their room, their pupils as wide as mine.

When I reach the end of the corridor, my frantic pace comes to a dead stop. Two armed men are guarding the stairwell, blocking my only viable exit.

Crap!

Incapable of giving up, I return to the direction I just came from. The squeak of my sweaty feet twisting on the shiny floors alerts the guards to my presence.

They fire a warning shot, forcing the hallway into pin-drop silence.

I freeze halfway down the dimly lit corridor. I’m not freezing in fear of being shot. It’s from unveiling a sight more frightening than my most horrendous nightmares.

The Devil and Satan are standing side by side, their amused expressions as dangerous as my heart rate.

“Is she as you remember?” Vladimir asks Dimitri, his tone reeking of condescending arrogance.

After angling his head to the side, Dimitri’s eyes scan my body in a long, dedicated sweep. He assesses my half-naked figure as if I am dripping in precious gems, not shredded clothes and soot-covered skin.

“Yes,” he eventually answers. His reply is for Vladimir, but his eyes are for me. “You can stave off your hunger for years, but it doesn’t make your desire to eat any less rampant.”

Vladimir grunts, his expression a cross between agreement and disgust. “Even knowing she is marked?” He sounds repulsed, like he had to force his question past a clump of vomit in his throat.

His disgust doesn’t faze me. I’d rather him find me repulsive than enticing.

Dimitri considers Vladimir’s question for a second before nodding. “Scars don’t bother me. The marks you can’t see are the hardest to heal,” he murmurs under his breath as he stalks my way.

I inch back, not trusting the gleam in his eyes.

Something has changed in him since I last saw him. He isn’t the same man he once was. He’s different. I just can’t figure out how.

Vladimir grunts again, assuming Dimitri’s quote was for him.

It wasn’t.

He was staring directly at me when he said it.

“To each his own. Just don’t mark her any more than you already have. A long list of men are waiting their turn.”

Vladimir’s sneered comment makes bile race up my throat, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “He will kill you if you touch me.”

It’s only fair I issue Dimitri the same caution I gave Vladimir hours ago, because this will be his only chance to leave this warehouse unscathed.

“When Nikolai discovers what you have done, he will kill you both.”

While filling the last bit of air between us with his large build, Dimitri mutters, “We can only hope.”

The snarl of his words doesn’t match the twinkle in his eyes. His heavy-lidded gaze is brimming with excitement, a stark contradiction to the emotions he should be feeling.

He should be scared, not eager.

My head snaps to the side when a roared, “He’s here! Nikolai is here!” bellows up the stairwell.

Gunfire breaks through the silence encompassing us, closely followed by a wounded cry. More bullets soon follow, growing louder with each one dislodged.

The noise is more bone-rattling than any high-definition action flick I’ve watched. From the number of shots and the volume of accented voices, I’d guess at least three to four dozen men are storming the lower level of the warehouse where I’m being held captive.

I swing my eyes to Vladimir, who’s standing as frozen as a statue, when the unmissable sound of machine guns booms into my ears.

Even afraid, I can’t help but smile at the panic masking his disgusting face. He looks more frightened than I did when Col threw me into a room with a vicious animal trained to kill.

He should be panicked.

Retribution is about to be served, albeit years too late.

“I told you he’d come,” I sneer, my voice as high as my confidence surges. “It’s time to pay your penance, Vladimir. The prince has arrived to collect his throne.”

My head brutally slings to the side when he backhands me, slapping me so hard my brain rattles in my skull.

“The sale has been canceled. I’ll refund your money by the end of the week,” Vladimir snarls to Dimitri, his words spitting out of his mouth like venom.

The heavy thud of footsteps racing toward the commotion drowns out my screams when he fists my hair in a firm hold. Tears spring to my eyes when my hair rips from my scalp, but with my arms tied behind my back, I’m defenseless to ease the pain.

When Dimitri steps toward us, Vladimir yanks an ancient-looking revolver out of the waistband of his pants and directs it at his chest. “I said the sale is canceled,” he snarls, his voice leaving no misgivings about his annoyance.

If Dimitri fails to meet his demand a second time, he won’t leave this hallway breathing.

Holding his hands out in front of his chest, Dimitri cowardly bows out.

Vladimir smirks arrogantly.

Victory is all over his face.

My bare feet scuttle across the floor, and I struggle to keep upright when Vladimir drags me down the hallway by my hair. For a man of his age and size, his strength is remarkable.

“Go! Now!” he screams in Russian to a group of men huddled in a room similar to the one I was in earlier. When I spot the pool of dried blood circling the floor, I realize it is the same room.

Vladimir grips the collar of my shredded blouse in a white-knuckled hold while his other hand strikes me across the face. His hit is so brutal I’m overcome with nauseating dizziness.

Using my lightheadedness to his advantage, he paces to the other side of the room to gather a rickety old chair.

White spots are still floating in my eyes when he places the chair over the puddle of old blood. With a yank of my arm, he forcefully shoves me into the chair.

“I should have killed that bastard years ago,” he hisses through clenched teeth while gathering something from the floor.

Fear engulfs me when he circles a noose around my neck. “No, please,” I beg, my words as stuttered as my heart rate.

Remaining quiet, he tightens the rope around my neck, allowing his actions to answer my plea on his behalf. He has no intention of letting me go.

Not alive, anyway.

Not willing to give up without a fight, I push onto my feet and rocket out of the chair.

I don’t even make it two steps before Vladimir yanks on the rope, jerking me backward. I land on my backside with a thud, but I barely register the pain. I’m too engulfed by panic to respond to something as weak as pain.

The terror ripping through me grows when he feeds the rope into a metal pulley contraption bolted to the ceiling.

Happy everything is in place, he yanks down on the rope. For every inch I’m hoisted into the air, the wooziness in my head grows, as does the sting of the rope burning my neck.

My only saving grace is the brittle wooden chair under my feet. Although I’m precariously balancing on my tippy toes, if I didn’t have that small piece of wood keeping me upright, I would have been strangled by now.

Hearing my ragged gasps as I fight through the fear eating me whole, Vladimir raises his eyes to mine. The grin on his face triples as he watches me struggle to fill my lungs with air.

“Don’t pass out yet, Ангел ,” he mocks with an arrogant wink. “You don’t want to miss the miracle of the devil being reincarnated into hell for the second time in his life.”