Page 25 of Ivory Oath

Then comes the shooting.

My survival instinct, which has been beaten into a shell of its former self after the last couple weeks, comes blaring back to life. I pull on the chains, ignoring the flare of pain through my raw wrists. Understandably, the metal doesn’t flinch.

Okay. Plan B.

I lift my skirts and give the chair I’m chained to a formal assessment.

The chains are locked around the legs of the chair, which is bolted to the ground. But the ground in question is just faux-wood vinyl. Maybe if I rock the chair hard enough…

I grip the bottom of the chair and throw my weight forward and back like the world’s least-fun swing set. The chair barely moves at first, but after a few rounds of back and forth, I can feel it beginning to wobble. Then the floor begins to creak and splinter.

The yelling is getting closer every second. I don’t have any illusions about avoiding whatever danger is tearing through the halls, but I want to be ready for it.

I’ve sat in this room for two hours praying for a quick end to this suffering—death or numbness, whichever came first. Now, death is here and the truth is impossible to ignore.

I want to survive.

For my baby.

For Dante.

For myself.

There are footsteps in the hallway. Heavy, pounding steps. Someone is running straight for me.

I drum up every ounce of energy I have and hurl myself forward.

Finally, the floor gives way. The chair hangs suspended for what feels like a minute, but can’t be more than a second. Then I fall forward directly onto my face.

My jaw slams into the floor and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood…

But I’m free.

I sit up and disentangle the chains from the bottom of the chair, then coil the loose links around my hands. It’s just me and my homemade brass knuckles against the world.

I face the door and drop into a ready position, ignoring the nausea that twists in my gut and the way my entire body sways with every step.

My tank is almost empty. But after everything I’ve been through—everything I’ve survived—there’s no way I’m dying here without a fight.

My heart thunders to the same beat as the footsteps. I count down the seconds in my head until the door opens.

I know it’s coming, but I’m still not ready when the door flies open so hard it bounces off the wall.

My hands drop to my sides, suddenly too heavy to hold. A sob wrenches out of my chest and I stumble forward, catching myself on the chair I just escaped from. I just can’t believe what I’m seeing.

“Mikhail?” I croak.

He stops in the doorway, framed like the most gorgeous picture I’ve ever seen. As if my deepest, darkest fantasies are playing out right in front of me.

Mikhail holds out his hand to me. “Come on, Viviana. It’s time for us to go.”

11

VIVIANA

Blood dots his collar and his knuckles are cracked. Dried mud clings to his pants. Sweat slicks his golden hair back.

Mikhail is disheveled and panting and gorgeous and?—

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