“Volkov? Are you sure?” He must be mistaken. That’s Zariah’s surname. “Do you have a first name?”
“Only an initial.”
“What is it?” I ask at the same time Nikolai mutters, “V.”
“V?” I pause, sounding out the single letter as if it is an entire sentence. “V, as in Vaughn Volkov? Zariah’s brother?”
Nikolai doesn’t seem convinced. It’s a pity for Vaughn I’ve already made up my mind.
Chapter 25
Zariah
“Zariah, wake up.” Someone nudges me, waking me from my nightmare. “You need to hurry, please.”
When my eyelids flutter open, I realize I’m not dreaming. I’m still in my nightmare. It’s just real life instead of being made up. My dress sits in tatters on the floor where I left it— right next to the box of photos that began my demise—and the thrum of multiple orgasms is still heating my veins. I thought losing my virginity would be a dream, whereas all it ended up being was a nightmare.
The past twenty-four hours almost seems unreal, as if I made up the entire thing. If it weren’t for the ache in the middle of my chest and between my legs, I may have believed that. Asher has always been a little hotheaded, but he showcased it in an entirely different light last night. His dominance had me captivated in under a minute. . . but learning our exchange was nothing more than a business transaction shuts down any possibility of seeing it as a good thing.
He bought me. Sorry, let me correct that. He bought my virginity.
If it didn’t hurt so much, I’d laugh at his stupidity. He didn’t have to pay for something I would have given him willingly.Would havebeing the crucial part of my statement.
When I’m nudged again, I rise to a half-seated position. The champagne I guzzled down in quick succession is messing with my head, and I’m not going to mention the number of tears I shed. Even with me sleeping a majority of the day, my head is throbbing so much, I feel seconds from vomiting.
“Lenin?” I’m not convinced it’s him. He’s been avoiding me like the plague since last night, and it’s too dark in my room to see two inches in front of me. “What is it? Is it Asher?”
My teeth grit after my last question. Why do I care if anything is wrong with Asher? He got what he paid for, so he’s done with me.Isn’t he?
The shred of hope I’m stupidly clutching is thrown aside when Lenin grumbles, “Asher is fine, but your brother won’t be if you don’t hurry.”
“Vaughn?” Shock sends me into autopilot mode. I leap out of my bed to thrust my feet into the pants Lenin is holding out for me, not the slightest bit worried I’m flashing him my lady bits. “He’s here? Where is he?”
I ask a thousand more questions as I shadow Lenin out of my room. His pace is brutal, a speed I’d never be able to keep up with if it weren’t for the adrenaline roaring through my body.
Bile burns my throat when we merge into the dark, unlit corridor we walked down only six weeks ago. Women aren’t usually allowed down here. The only time they’re granted access to this part of the compound is when they’re being brought before their executioner.
Jesus—I must really suck at sex. If I had known a bad performance between the sheets would result in a death sentence, I would have tried harder.
Like I had any more to give.
Asher was under my skin long before I knew the meaning of the word “obsession,” so you can be assured I held nothing back last night. I gave him everything I had. Heart, body, and soul.
I shudder when a grunt bellows through the door Lenin is standing next to. It isn’t a moan. It’s edged with pain. I discover the reason for the groan when Lenin swings open the door. Although the man standing in the middle of the room has his back to me, I know it is Asher. Even if I didn’t know the exact rhythm of his rising and falling torso, the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, exposing the tattoo on his right arm. They’re also sprinkled with blood.
My pulse spikes when my brain demands I take in the entire picture. The room is similar to the one Asher held me captive in last month. It has the same pungent smell of death, it’s just fresher—newer.
That might have something to do with the blood splattered around Asher’s feet. His knuckles are bloodied and bruised, but the pool of blood is too large to be from him, which can only mean one thing: he’s not the one being hurt. He’s delivering the punishment.
I find out who when I raise my eyes. There is a man suspended from the ceiling by a thick steel chain. The deep welts in his wrists show he’s been hanging for some time, let alone the vibrant red blood oozing down his arm. Half of it is dry and sticky, whereas the other half looks recent.
With my heart in my throat, I take a step to my left. My worst nightmare comes true when the green eyes of my baby brother reflect back at me. I can barely see them with how badly his face is battered, but I’d never mistake his eyes. They’re the ones I stayed strong for, the ones I’d go to the ends of earth to protect.
The air in my lungs evacuates my body as brutally as Vaughn’s does when Asher’s fist connects with his left rib. I hear a crack, closely followed by another. He just broke my brother’s rib and my heart with one punch.
Not thinking, I push off my feet with a grunt. My first thoughts are to tackle Asher, but I know a woman of my size would never be able to take him down. Instead, I move toward Vaughn to protect him with my body. His can’t take much more punishment. He is battered and bruised, seconds from collapsing.
He’s so out of it, he doesn’t even notice me clinging to the front of him until my screams for Asher to stop shred through his ears. I prepare my body for impact when I hear a whoosh.
