He lifts a brow. Amused. “Touch?” He chuckles. “Jude, I don’t need totouchher.” He taps the photo lightly against his palm.
My pulse spikes instantly. My skin goes ice-cold, sweat breaking out along my ribs and spine. Something in my chest starts to cave inward, like my ribs are folding around my heart.
“You carry her like some kind of talisman,” he continues conversationally, tilting his head. He crouches in front of me again, bringing the photo into my full line of sight. Close enough that it’s almost as if she’s sitting right there. My hands shake violently against the restraints. A sharp cramp rips through my gut, followed by a cold rush of nausea.
Alexei’s smile sharpens. “There it is,” he murmurs. “Every time.”
Somethinghitsme—hard. A baton across my ribs. Pain bursts through my side, and I scream.
The photo stays up.
“Look at her,” he demands.
Wincing, I do.
Another strike. My muscles seize. My pulse races out of control.
Then the photo drops. At the same time, Alexei lifts his hand, and one of his men steps forward. I barely register the needle before it slides into my arm.
Just a little.
Not enough to entirely satisfy...just enough toquietit. Warmth spreads again. The cramps ease a fraction. My breathing speeds up, chasing the relief like a lonely child chases a butterfly.
Alexei watches with infuriating fascination. “Alright,” he says softly. He watches me again for however long it takes for my blood to burn through the heroin.
The photo rises again.
My heart slams so hard it hurts. Sweat pours off me. The relief is replaced by panic and sickness so sharp it makes me whimper.
Another hit to my body with that fucking baton.
The photo lowers.
Alexei shifts closer.
Another micro-dose.
My body responds before I do, lungs dragging in air, shoulders sagging, a broken sound leaving my throat that Ihate.
Alexei laughs quietly. “Oh,” he murmurs. “How convenient.”
I choke on something between a sob and a snarl. “She has nothing to do with this.”
He considers the photo again, watching my pulse jump. “I disagree.” A beat. “People like her are currency.”
The word snaps something inside me. “Don’t you fucking—”
He stands abruptly, the photo still in hand. The man behind me tightens his grip on my shoulder. “You remember my friend, Vlad?” he asks lightly.
My blood turns to poison.Vlad.He’s the man who made Adriana and me both very uncomfortable the other night.
Wait, how many nights ago was that now?
Alexei watches the recognition bloom on my face and grins. “He owes me,” he continues. “Favours. Space.Women.”He shrugs. “I could sell her to him. Very easily.”
He brushes the photo against my cheek, and I recoil. Pain follows immediately. My body convulses, a scream ripping out of my parched throat as another blow lands. My system spirals—withdrawal crashing down hard, my muscles locking, stomach rolling violently.
I thrash against the restraints. “I’ll fuckingkillyou!”