Page 17 of Captive Prize

She tilted her head. “Let’s start with the senators,” she said, her voice casual and cold. “Which ones answer when the Ivanovs call?”

I turned back to Pavel, grabbed his shirt, and hauled him upright into a new chair.

Leaning close, I whispered, “Almost done.”

He sneered at Zoya. “Fuck you,” he said. But I knew he’d heard me.

I kept my body between him and the others as the swinging light cast us in darkness for a heartbeat—just long enough for him to tuck the knife into his sleeve.

No matter how they tied him down again, he had steel now.

I had to trust him. Trust that I’d done enough.

It was his move.

“I suggest you tell the girl what she needs to know,” I said.

“Fuck you too, asshole,” he muttered, voice slurring just enough.

His eyes stayed focused. Pupils normal.

No concussion. He was still playing the part.

“He’s an Ivanov, ma’am. They’re impossible to break. Stubborn Russian fuckers. Ice and vodka in their veins. If I hit him again, I risk a brain bleed.”

Zoya shrugged, like we were discussing the weather. “Then give him time to reconsider his options. Starvation and pain tend to loosen tongues.”

I nodded and stepped away.

Pavel slumped in his chair.

Battered and bruised.

Steel pressed to his wrist.

I turned my back on him.

He had what he needed.

Now it was up to him.

More importantly…this game was just beginning.

CHAPTER 7

ROMAN

This mission was risky.

I was unarmed, outnumbered, and worse—I didn’t know my enemy.

Which meant it was going to be fun.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, making me twitchy.

Time was short. I had to extract Pavel—fast and quiet.

No backup. No margin for error.

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