Page 64 of Vows in Violence

Ivan’s eyes darken with heat and lust, but his jaw is steely. “I can’t promise that.”

Bending my head, I walk back to the bed. He didn’t say ‘no.’ For now, it’s enough.

Chapter 24

Ivan

I squat on thecold, concrete floor, my eyes fixed on the hostage's motionless form. My sleeves are rolled up, revealing the intricate tattoos that snake up my arms, each one a mark of my life, my choices.

Vivi, for all her intelligence and toughness, doesn’t always grasp the brutal necessity of my actions. She’s no naive princess, though. Her family never shielded her from the dark realities of our world, unlike how Cassidy did with Rowan. She wasn’t ushered out when men came bearing grim news. No, she saw what happened to Angel. She survived the fire those bastards set to kill her. And what Nikolai did…she lived through that, too.

She told me he didn’t “fully” rape her, that Angel and I appeared and distracted him before he did so, but the closeness of the violence almost done to her terrifies me. I want to kill Nikolai all over again, knowingI was right thereand missed her.

Her soft words to find another way play havoc on my mind, but I can’t just flip a switch. I know no other way.

The hostage’s chest is a mess of bloody, raw flesh. His fingers, crusted with dried blood, twitch in his sleep. Saliva and blood drip from his open mouth. I’ve done my worst to him, and he’s still here. His training, his conviction—they’re both incredible.

But they won’t save him.

I stand slowly, my muscles aching from the hours spent in this position. I walk over to the sleeping man, feeling a surge of anger. How can he sleep through this? Few men in this world could drift off in such a state. It’s as if he’s accepted his death. The thought infuriates me. I know I’d never give up or give in. I’d fight to the death; these men seem to accept death far too easily.

I open my knife, the blade catching the dim light. I move to the edge of the gaping wound on his chest, pinching a piece of skin between my thumb and forefinger. With a precise pull and slice, I take another piece of skin off.

His scream pierces the air, echoing off the soundproof walls. Lorenzo Valachi designed this room well. When I rebuild my home, I’ll install something like this. The man’s screams continue, and they douse any conflicting emotions I had coming down here. I will get my answers.

I look into his eyes, now wide open and filled with pain. "What is your name?" I ask, my voice steady, almost calm.

He doesn’t reply.

I grip the knife tighter, feeling the cold steel against my fingers as I lean in. “What is your name?”

“Azrael,” he rasps out, eyes defiant.

I rip another piece of skin from his chest. Another scream, more blood. The smell of it fills the room, thick and metallic. I drop the piece of flesh onto the concrete floor; it slaps like a wet cloth.

“Who are you?” I demand my patience wearing thin.

“Azrael,” he repeats, his voice weaker but still unyielding.

I tear another strip of flesh, and his scream bounces off the soundproofed walls again. The urge to end this, to plunge the knife into his chest and be done with it, is nearly overwhelming. But I can’t. This is our only chance to get information about the enemy. And all this bastard gives me is “Azrael,” something we already know.

Frustrated, I shake out my hand, blood splattering up the wall. He stares ahead, unseeing, uncaring. His acceptance of his fate only fuels my anger. My fingers tighten around the blade, and the thought of plunging it into his chest is almost consuming.

A knock at the door gives me pause. I don’t get up but glance over my shoulder as Damon walks in, Luca following close behind.

“Did you get it?” I ask, not bothering to hide my impatience.

Luca nods, holding up a file. “I had to spend a considerable amount of money to rush the lab, but yes.”

I glance at the man, then back at Luca. This is the key we require to unlock the answers we need. Satisfaction roars through me. “Lucky for him. I was about to rip off his fucking nipple.”

Damon chuckles, taking the file from Luca and holding it out to me. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Gladly,” I say, rising and dragging a chair from the wall and positioning it in front of the man. I sit down, the chair creaking under my weight. When I open the file, some of his blood smears onto the pages.

“You had no ID,” I begin, my voice calm and measured. “Which is the usual situation when we drop one of you. But there are certain things that no one can hide, not in this day and age.”

I flip through the pages, each one a piece of the puzzle. The man watches me, his breathing ragged, his eyes glassy with pain. I see his defiance waver, replaced by a flicker of fear. He knows we may have found something, but what that something is, he is unsure about. I don’t know yet, but I keep reading.

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