My stomach tightens, but I push off the bed anyway, dragging my legs over the edge. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet. I glance at Adriana; her eyes are wide, but she mirrors me anyway, moving forward without so much as a word.
“Give me five minutes,” I mutter, going to brush my teeth so when they inevitably make me taste blood, it will at least be minty, too.
When we reach the basement, I already know what’s waiting for me. Alexei’s there, in the chair across from the one I usually sit in. Without speaking, I lower myself to the seat, aware of Erik and Aiden as they chain me.
“Hello, Jude,” Alexei says, that silky tone grating on my nerves. “Let’s get right to work.”
I force my gaze to his, restraints digging into my wrists.
He gestures. Erik steps forward with a syringe, and my stomach twists. The white mask splattered with blood from the men I’ve killed is now in Alexei’s hand. “You’ll wear this today,” he says softly, almost like he’s offering me some kind of gift. “Your identity…disappears. You understand, da?”
I shake my head.
Erik slides the mask over my head, and the air is instantly warmer. My own breathing sounds loud and raspy in here. Iblink, seeing nothing but what the slits in the eyes allow me to see.
“Good,” Alexei purrs. “Without this mask, you're more likely to fall into weaker tendencies, reverting back to the pathetic version of you. The one who is always in pain."
I stare at him, truly listening.
"This oneis superior." He touches the mask."Thisonewill never feel pain again. You just have to prove to me that youarehim. That you will let go of that useless, weak boy.” He leans forward. "Kill him."
The syringe pierces my vein before I can protest.Meth. Hot, sharp fire racing through my blood. My pulse doubles, then triples. Every nerve is electrified. My stomach churns; my vision skews. My thoughts scatter into shards of light and shadow, fracturing into jagged edges I can’t piece together.
I gag, swallowing the sudden bile and the rising panic. Adriana sitting back against the wall, eyes darting to mine.
Alexei’s voice cuts through. “You have a task tonight. It’s an easy one, don’t worry. Just a man who needs to know he can’t cross me. And tomorrow night, another party I’m hosting. The most important people in Russia will be there. Some from the States, as well. Buyers of everything from drugs to people.”
Adriana flinches behind Alexei. Traffickers will be there, and she knows she’s in danger.
I swallow again. The meth makes it hard to feel anything but raw, vibrating alertness. My hands shake in the straps, but I can still move enough to tense my jaw, clench my shoulders, fight against the mask—but why fight? Fighting is pointless.
“And in a couple of weeks,” Alexei continues, circling me. “A masked ball for some of the most powerful people in the world.”
Erik’s hands tighten slightly on my restraints. “Ready, Jude?” he asks, tone like a doctor about to amputate a limb.
I nod.
Alexei smiles. "Remember, Jude, prove to me how strong you are. You are him." He traces the mask again, slowly. "And he is you."
Another day of torture begins when Erik slams his fist into the side of my face. My head whips to the side, blood filling my mouth. Alexei pulls out his phone and showsherface. I can’t fucking stand it.
Stop showing her photo to me. I can’t take it anymore.
I hate her. I hate this. I hate…
My mind is fracturing, and I am already halfway gone. I am the mask. The mask is me.
The motorcycle beneath me is the only thing that truly grounds me anymore. My hands tighten around the grips, and the bike responds instantly. Headlights flash behind me. Alexei’s men are following me as backup.
I exhale through my nose, my breath fogging the inside of the helmet. Why doesn’t he just havethemdo it? He has a little personal army. Men who kill without blinking, and who have no souls left. But it’s not about efficiency, really. It never was. It’s about ownership.
He wantsmeto do it. He wants to know that he can take a rockstar who used to fill stadiums and turn him into this. A weapon. A monster on command. My jaw tightens as the road blurs beneath me.
I don’t want the event tomorrow night.
I don’t want the masked fucking ball in two weeks.
I don’t wantanyof it.