"Well, we'll find out soon if it's a complex answer or he's just an asshole. Though," I stop, wiping a tear away, "I think it's the latter, but," my voice breaks, "I pray it's the former."
Lyra squeezes my hand.
"Only time will tell," she says quietly, "whether you lost a man you never had or trusted someone who never existed."
39
OCTAVIAN
Son of a bitch drugged me.
That's the first thing that comes into my mind as I wake up. Through the pounding in my head, through the blurred vision, I can't believe he did that.
I try to move, and pain lances through my shoulder, the stab wound and cuts from earlier. The fabric of my shirt sticks to the wounds, dried blood cracking as I shift and pulling at my skin, reopening them.
I flex my fingers, but my hands won't move.
I know they're zip-tied behind me. Pretty tight, too, tight enough that my fingers tingle, circulation cut off.
I blink a few times, forcing my eyes to focus.
I look down and see my feet tied to the legs of a chair that's bolted to the floor.
I look around the room.
Where am I?
It's a small concrete room, maybe ten feet by ten feet. A single light juts out of the wall just above the door.
Then it hits me.
The Killaney estate. Their basement. Yes, Declan showed me this room once, on my tour when I first arrived.
I saved her. I tracked her through that hellhole, fought my way through maniacs with blades, hauled her out with blood still pouring from her arm. I killed for her. Killed for them.
And this is how they repay me?
Tied to a chair like a dog. Waiting for judgment.
Rage floods my chest, and I pull against the restraints, testing them. The zip tie bites into my skin, unforgiving, and the chair doesn't even creak.
I can hear footsteps somewhere, mixed with muffled voices. I guess they're up there now, talking about me. Deciding my fate.
My jaw clenches. If it goes south, they're going to kill me here.
In this cold, empty room, they'll put a bullet in my head and dump my body somewhere no one will find it. Just another foreign operative who got too close.
But if they come, I'll fight. Let them see firsthand what's left when you push a man who's already lost everything.
I knew better. I fucking knew better.
I close my eyes, and a memory crashes over me without warning, sharp and vivid.
Bucharest. Nicolae's on speaker. Hours before I left for Boston.
"Let them take the package if it comes to that," he says, his voice smooth as glass. "So we can come out saviors."
"And if they hurt her?"
