Page 89 of Twisted Cage

The one who fired the shot. He’s clamped to the chair by his hands and feet, his face nothing more than mutilated flesh and blood. I’ve taken his eyes, his tongue, his ears, and his nose. His fingers and toes lay scattered on the floor. He’s in and out of consciousness. Coming to life the minute the flame of my torch meets his skin, only to lose consciousness again when I cut the scorched skin from his body in small enough patches to deliver the maximum pain and keep him alive for a good long while.

Nothing will ease the pain of knowing she’s gone.

I’ve tortured all of them and it’s done nothing to feed this insatiable hunger to destroy everything in my path.

In one final burst of energy, the mutilated man before me slowly smiles. It’s a leering grin of pure victory. But it’s the laugh that grabs me by the throat and makes my eyes shoot open.

Maksim’s laugh.

After dragging my hand down my face, I check the time. It’s just after three in the morning and the place is as silent as a tomb. I’m on my feet, putting on a fresh suit, the need to see her churning in my gut.

Making my way into the living area, the sound of the lock disengaging has me stopping, my hand going to my gun.

Grigori slips in, a small paper bag in his hand from the twenty-four-hour pharmacy a few blocks away. His face is grim as he hands me the package and heads for the surveillance room.

I need to have a talk with him, and soon, before this all completely spirals out of control.

Like it hasn’t already.

There’s still time, though. Still a chance to do this the right way so we don’t destabilize everything Nikolaj has built.

One thing at a time, though. Slipping the packet from the bag, I head down the hall to where she sleeps in my bed. With a quick glance down the hall back toward the living area, I turn the handle and slip inside the door. Heading for the chair in the corner, I stop when I see a new set of dried tears leaving streaks down her cheeks.

She cried herself to sleep again.

While I drank, my feral little killer was in here, reduced to tears.

What the hell am I going to do with you, Pcholka?

I ease into the chair, set the packet on the table next to me, and torture myself by watching her. Every rise and fall of her shoulders with the long breaths that come with a deep sleep imprint in my mind. This serene view of her now continually battering away at the one branded in my head from my nightmares.

Her phone buzzes on the nightstand, but she doesn’t stir. Narrowing my gaze, I count the dried tear tracks on her skin. Three on her left cheek, two on her right.

What caused them this time?

Didn’t I give her what she wanted? I told her the dangerous truth.

I’m hers.

Because she’s the only one with the true power to destroy me. She’s always been the only one. The only one I let in after the brutal lessons of my childhood.

The only person I let myself love so deeply, every aspect of my life tethered to hers.

A soft sigh breaks from her lips and she flips over. She shoves the comforter to her waist, and flings her arm overhead, her hand coming to rest on her thick waves tumbling over the pillow.

The glow from the lamp hits her just right, illuminating the dark circles of her peaked nipples under my shirt.

Well, well, well.

She is mine. I don’t need her to say it out loud. I only need to make sure she never forgets it.

A soft click at the door has me reaching for my gun. Light spills in and Faith quietly pads in with a fussing baby in her arms. As quietly as possible, I pull my hand away and set my palm on my thigh, keeping absolutely still.

Fuck.

She rounds the side of the bed and puts a gentle hand to Nikoletta’s shoulder. “Hey,” she says as she softly shakes Nikoletta’s shoulder.

Sneaking in here was bound to bite me in the ass and here we are.

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