“You don’t know that,” I say, despite it probably being true.
“I know it for a fact because he sent me proof.”
She pulls out her phone, her fingers trembling as she unlocks it and holds it out to me.
“Watch it,” she says.
On the screen is a video. I press play and narrow my eyes as I watch.
The video is thirty-seven seconds long. It’s Nessa bound to a chair. I hear Konstantin Lomonov. Hear her tell him to go fuck himself. See his vicious response.
When the video ends, everything inside me goes very still.
It’s not a calm stillness. It’s a loaded calm before a storm.
“You were going to walk straight into his hands,” I say with more control than I feel. “Without telling me.”
“He said if I told you, he’d kill her.”
“And you believed him.”
“I know what he’s capable of, Silas.” Her voice sharpens as the look in her eyes turns from fear to something much darker. “You don’t.”
“Then tell me,” I say with more edge to my voice than I intend.
She’s silent for a moment as she collects her thoughts.
“After I shot Viktor, I didn’t escape that night because Konstantin found me.”
The stillness inside me tightens.
“I didn’t get out in time. And when he realized what had happened to his brother, he restrained me and kept me prisoner in a basement.” She swallows, and her face drains of color as she recalls the memory. “What he did in that basement was worse than anything Viktor ever did.”
I don’t move. Or breathe. If I do, the rage building inside me will break free, and it is not something that should be loose in a room with another person.
“Somewhere in Viktor’s black heart, there was muscle memory of something that once might have been love. Or whatever twisted version of it he was capable of. But Konstantin doesn’t have that. He’s a psychopath.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides as the fury builds higher and higher inside me.
“His heart isn’t just black—it’s inhuman. Something dead and vile. He doesn’t know love or empathy or remorse.”
She takes a breath.
I stand very still because if I move, I will put my fist through the wall. The rage inside me is so concentrated it burns through my bloodstream like acid.
“He didn’t hurt me because he was angry about Viktor. He hurt me because he enjoyed it.”
“How long did he keep you prisoner?” My voice sounds alien. Like it didn’t even come from me.
“Three days.”
I see red.
Three fucking days.
“How did you escape?” I ask, barely keeping my rage at bay.
“I found broken glass. When Konstantin came back, I jammed it in his neck, and I ran.” She looks at her hands. “And I’ve been running ever since.”
