Page 9 of Twisted Cage

I take a step back. “I can’t.”

Darkness, thick and warm from another time, another place closes in on me. I hate the weakness. I loathe the control those memories have over me. The power I fear they’ll always have, reminding me that despite my strengths, I’m weak.

I fight for every breath, shaking my head, tears streaming down my cheeks. There’s no way out and he’s here. In the darkness. Waiting to touch me. Taunt me. Hurt me.

Vlad’s torment breathes life despite the two years apart. Because of him and his torture, I will always be vulnerable, even when I’m strong.

“Nikoletta!” The urgency in Grigori’s voice cuts through even as my vision narrows, and blackness creeps in along the edge until oblivion swallows me whole.

5

KONSTANTIN

I make my way through the cold stone walls of the tunnels to the crypt where Grigori was to take Nikoletta. Every second she’s out of my sight deepens my sense of dread. It was all I could do to turn her over to him. It’s not that I don’t trust him; I just trust me more.

Hunched over and aching, I shuffle through the shortest, narrowest section of the passageway, the part that runs alongside the crypts under Old Saint Patrick’s church. After I pass two more corners, I feel for the false wall that leads to the makeshift dwelling in the family crypt running along the south side of the property. The passage through to this section is a bitch, but it’s the only section where we’ve managed to tap into the water and sewer system. At least then, if we have to lay low for a long period of time, we can survive.

When my fingertips snag on a rough edge along the painted stone walls, I stop. Digging my fingertips into the crumbled gap between the pseudo door and the concrete, I give a firm push. The fake stone slides into the crypt, the foam sealant we use to make it look like it’s sealed giving way with a scrape.

My hand lands on my gun at the sight waiting for me. Grigori is leaning over Nikoletta’s still body on the bed. Something deep and possessive snaps inside me at the sight of him looming over her and in two steps I’ve got him by the collar. Dragging him off the bed, I throw him against the wall and level my barrel at his forehead. “What did you do to her?”

Palms up, he cranes his neck where I see claw marks and dried blood soaked into the collar of the dress shirt and sticking to the fabric. “Easy. She passed out after she tore the shit out of my neck. I still managed to get her down here. You’re welcome.”

With a click, I tip my gun back. “Watch it.” Grigori might get away with that sharp-witted tongue with me, but other members of the Bratva wouldn’t put up with it.

“What happened?” I whip my jacket at his chest which he catches at the last second.

“Panic attack, I would guess. The minute we got in that closet she freaked, but when I opened the panel in the floor and she saw the darkness, she folded on the spot.”

Dropping down on the bed next to her, I run my hands over her clammy, chilled skin. Her face is so pale and she’s shivering. Jesus.

I get to work peeling the cape from her so I can get her tucked under the covers, but when I draw back the fabric from her shoulders, I find scrapes along her shoulder blades. Red, raw lines with dirt still caked in her skin. At the view of her marred skin, the swell of anger swirls with the adrenaline still surging through my veins and I have to will myself to stay where I am. “Where did these marks come from?”

Never in all the days I’ve spent protecting her has she ever looked like this and despite seeing no other way to get her to safety, I can’t help but blame myself for it.

“I had to drag her through the narrow section of the tunnel. I tried to keep the cape under her, but there’s a couple pieces of rebar.”

I shoot to my feet and advance on him.

He backs up and holds his hands up. “One of them caught on the cape, but not on her. I promise, boss.”

This child—no, woman—she's a woman now. A reckless, impulsive, beautiful woman who will get herself killed taking risks the way she did tonight on that stage. To even step foot in the spotlight was beneath her, but to bare herself to the men there—over my dead body would anyone ever see her like that again.

We fucked up. We didn’t prepare her for just how nefarious this world could be. No matter what recesses of the world she finds herself in, she will be hunted, a prize for whoever possesses her. She's vulnerable because we didn’t teach her how to be ruthless, cunning, and disciplined. Passionate and spirited, she lacks control. And now, evil more sinister than we ever could have imagined is seeping through the cracks in this family, and she’s ill-equipped to protect herself from it.

The day will come when Nikolaj will head this family with intelligence and responsibility. He’ll be a fearsome force, but until that day, we’re all hunted, Nikoletta most of all.

“You’re alive,” she whispers as she reaches for my face and rests her palm along my cheek.

My shoulders slumping in relief, my rigid muscles ache with the constant tension and worry for her. “You think so little of me that I’d fall so easily?”

“Guns. So many guns firing,” she mumbles before licking her lips. She blinks, her gaze dropping to my arm, her eyes widening. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.” And it’s not. I don’t even feel it. Nothing more than a flesh wound and nothing compared to the injuries I’ve sustained over the years.

“What now, Kostya?” Her gaze darts around the room where burning candles are scattered throughout.

“Nikolaj is coming. I got in touch with him on my way here. Moretti’s dead and his men will be looking for retribution. So we stay here until we have reinforcements.”

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