Page 10 of Twisted Cage

She pushes up onto her elbows, her thick waves sleek only an hour ago now a tangled mess framing her face. If this were any other time, any other place, she’d look like a woman thoroughly fucked from where she sits in the center of the bed.

With a wary gaze, she blinks rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the dim light as she gazes through the stark room. Not that there’s much to see. A shelf of pantry foods that don’t require refrigeration, several cases of water, a sink, toilet, and a claw-foot tub.

I’ve been in worse places with no food or water, surrounded by dirt and death. This room, despite being a crypt, is comfortable and dry—a paradise compared to where I’ve been, but I have to wonder what she sees. Raised in wealth, she’s only ever slept on lavish sheets, a mountain of feather pillows—her bedroom alone bigger than most modest family homes. She travels by private jets and luxury cars with buttery soft leather seats and bulletproof glass.

This room is where her extravagant lifestyle dies.

Her bottom lip trembles, but she fights back the fear, her teeth sinking into the flesh to keep it still as she takes a few deep breaths. “It’s so dark.”

“We’ll light more candles.” I brush a lock of hair away from her eyes and settle my palm on her cheek. “When you’re ready, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

“And you’ll tell me what’s going on. Why you’re no longer at my father’s side. Why you stand with Nikolaj.” Her fingers lock on my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, reassuring me she’s coming out of it and she’ll be fine.

I’m staring into the eyes of a Romanoff through and through, and despite her impulsiveness being enough to get us both killed, in moments like this, I have to remember, although having been taught to be demure, she’s been bred to be ruthless in her own right, even if not like her brothers.

“We’ll talk, Pcholka.”

NIKOLETTA

The minute Konstantin leaves me alone to speak to Dmitri and Grigori, I shiver once again. The ceilings can’t be more than six feet tall from the way Konstantin has to round his shoulders and hang his head.

His men glance at me on occasion, but before long, they head out the narrow, short opening, back out to the tunnels. Konstantin sprays the edges of the wall panel and slides it back into place.

“What is that?”

“It’s a sealant. It spreads and settles, making it look like the crypt hasn’t been accessed in years.”

“Are we trapped in here?” My heart climbs into my throat, fluttering like panicked wings, making me lightheaded. I clench and unfurl my fist endlessly while I close my eyes and count.

“We’re not trapped, but it’s not safe out there. Not for you. So we wait.”

This is the one thing that will crawl inside my head and fuck with all the recesses of my mind until I break.

How many years did Vlad torture me like this? Locking me in the dark. Sometimes a room. Other times a closet. The spaces growing smaller and smaller while he toyed with me, tortured me—filled me with fear of the unknown.

Every time, I waited for relief, for someone to find me while I wondered when he’d finally push it further. Screaming in the darkness, clutching at my throat, unable to temper my panic. By the time he and Nikolaj were sent off to a private school in Vermont, fear plagued me to the point I needed lamps scattered throughout my room to sleep at night.

But there are no lamps here. Just candles. How long before we have to douse those too? The heaviness in the room settles on my chest. There’s not enough air and before I can stop it, the edge of hysteria takes hold and every breath feels like it might be my last.

My vision goes black, my body heavy, the only sound the blood pounding in my ears and Konstantin. His voice is muffled, edged with fear, and so far away.

Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Keep breathing.

My throat burns. Drained of every ounce of energy, my arms turn to lead next to me on the bed.

Warm arms lift me, and I want to curl into him, but the darkness won’t release me from its grip. Seconds go by—maybe minutes—his warmth disappears and my body is lying against something cool and hard and slowly more light fills the room.

Tears spring to my eyes as my throat opens with a burn that makes it impossible to speak. Then there’s water. Cold water rushing under me. My eyes snap open and he’s there, with one hand under the water as it grows warmer, the other along my cheek.

Mouth tight, his skin pale, he watches me. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

“Just breathe.”

He lays his palm flat on my chest then, right between my breasts. The water on his palm soaks through the thin fabric and I shiver under his hand. His dark eyes leave mine, his gaze falling to the way he’s touching me.

We’re locked there, both focused on the rise and fall of my lungs. My nipples tighten painfully, and more than anything, I wish he’d touch me. The water rises, the skirt of my dress floating in the water around me, exposing my thighs.

“Did you bring clothes with you in that bag?” His voice is quiet and low. Pained.

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