Page 216 of The Harbinger

My face was gaunt. The dark circles under my eyes accented the hollowness in my cheeks. I’d looked no better than when I’d first arrived, addicted to cocaine, my body starving for a good meal.

I touched the faint scars across my chest that I’d put there from clawing at the bugs. My nails were broken, and despite the shower, dirt embedded itself under them.

My broken finger was held together by the red strip of fabric I’d fashioned around it, yet it was no longer red but black with dirt and filth. Part of me wanted to remove it, while the other half feared the pain accompanying such an act.

The blonde finished drying my hair, and the other two women pulled out a long gown from a garment bag.

My hands shook in my lap as they brought the plain gown closer. It was nothing special, made of black cotton with a measly trio of buttons at the collar and a frilly neckline. It’d drag down to my ankles, and the bell sleeves looked almost identical to the ones Sacha donned during his mother’s funeral.

I stole a furtive glance in the mirror. Ruslan’s guards stood like a sentinel at the bathroom entrance, effectively cutting off any means of escape. One wrong move, and they’d eagerly carry out Ruslan’s depraved desires without a second thought.

The golden-haired woman shoved me onto my feet, wrenching the towel away from my skin in a rough motion. The other two females descended upon me, draping the dark gown over my head in a swift motion.

The dress was surprisingly weighty, the fabric rough to the touch like a thick burlap sack, yet it was also soft and comforting, akin to a child’s security blanket. It cocooned me in privacy, offering a much-needed respite.

The blonde stood behind me, her hands gripping my shoulders tightly. Her expressionless mask added an unsettling finality to my predicament. In mere moments, I would be led down to the altar Sacha had once promised to protect me on. But now, he would be the one to shatter that vow, exposing me to untold horrors and fears beyond my imagination.

Chapter 59

Mia

Myhandsandfeetwere slick with fragrant oils, and the women ran their fingers through my hair, twisting it into an intricate braid that crowned my head like a queen. They stuffed my mouth with grapes and meats that bore little resemblance to their living forms, forcing me to eat until my stomach bulged and the threat of retching loomed large.

And then, without warning, Ruslan strode into the room, his ornate robes trailing behind him.

He clapped his hands in delight, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Marvelous. Look at you,” he exclaimed as though I were a bride on her wedding day.

“You have some nerve.” I spun in my seat. “How dare you make me think he was dead.”

Ruslan’s smile vanished, replaced by a chilling scowl. “You nearly killed him. If not for the skilled hands of the doctors, he would be six-feet under by now.”

“I want to see him.”

“You’ll see him when he cuts out your heart and burns it in hellfire.” His smile returned as he extended his hand. “Now come, it’s time.”

I recoiled in horror. “You’re insane if you think I’ll just lie on that altar and let you kill me without a fight. I’m not one of your brainwashed followers who can’t think for themselves.” My gaze drifted between the women and the bodyguards.

Ruslan sighed heavily. “I had a feeling you’d be difficult,” he muttered. With a quick flick of his hand, his two henchmen rushed forward and yanked me from my seat, throwing me to the ground. I grunted and thrashed as they held me down, the third man restraining my flailing legs.

I screamed as Ruslan produced a syringe from his robe pocket. “Relax,” he said calmly. “It’s only for your nerves. We need you to be coherent for your last words.”

“Sacha,” I screamed with every fiber of my being, my ears buzzing from the deafening tone and tears streaming down my face like a raging river. There had to be a way to reach him, to make him hear me, and I was going to find it.

Ruslan bent over and shoved my dress to my waist, exposing my flesh to him. “If only this were another time.” He sniffed as he rubbed my thigh, then uncapped the needle and plunged it into my muscle, sending a bolt of pain coursing through my body.

The medication hit my shoulders as though the weight of the world pushed down on them, the pressurized ache in my chest evaporated, and my head swam with the clouds.

I’d lost the fight, and he’d made me not care about it.

“Much better.”

Ruslan’s Russian tongue slithered through the air, but the words were like distant echoes heard through the murky depths of water. My head drooped on my shoulders as they dragged me upright, my legs wobbling beneath me, unable to obey my commands. I tried to shake off the numbness, the weakness, and the inexplicable euphoria that coursed through me, but it was no use.

They guided me out of the room and down the stairs, but my eyelids were so heavy I couldn’t scan the area for Sacha. What would be the point? He knew what was coming, and he was ready for it. He’d thrust that blade deep into my heart and wrench it out with his bare hands, treating it like a mere amusement ride.

The crisp chill of the air smacked me in the face, jolting me awake enough to take in the eerie procession before me. The massive frames of the horses, draped in black metal, loomed like dark sentinels. Their heads had transformed into grotesque dragons, with spikes running down their faces and their nostrils spewing smoke.

Three cloaked figures perched atop the fiery red beasts while another straddled the gray-dappled mount. His hood obscured his face, but the telltale white bandage across his throat marked him unmistakably.

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