Chapter 44

Chapter 43

Wren

"A FUCKING week in this fucking shithole," I snarl, feeling the cold seep into my bones from the damp floor.

The rat-infested room is a desolate pit of despair, and the sounds of revelry from the floor above, make the gnawing ache in my stomach more potent.

Beside me, Nilo, poor bastard, is barely hanging on. He's shivering, sweat-soaked, his face deathly pale. They've been denying him his fix, and the withdrawal is kicking his ass. He needs his fucking drugs, and I need a goddamn miracle.

Nilo heaves again, and the foul smell of vomit fills the small space. My heart clenches, but I keep my face hard. I'm not going to let them see me break.

"Get a grip, Nilo," I say, but it's gentler than I intended. He can't help it; the withdrawal's a bitch. "Fuck this!" I storm over to the heavy iron door, slamming my fists against it. "Hey! Assholes! You gonna let him die in here?"

The footsteps thud closer, sounding like a damn drumbeat in my skull. The door groans open and in walks one of Aleks's goons. Big fucker fills up the entire doorway, like a goddamn mountain with a face only a mother could love.

"Shut up, bitch," he grunts, his thick Russian accent twisting the words into something even more nasty. His beady eyes move to Nilo's convulsing body, disgust scrawled over his ugly mug.

I square up to him, the anger in my veins overpowering the fear. "Hey, dipshit!" I snap, poking a finger into his stone-hard chest. "You want a corpse on your hands?" He chuckles, the sound as grating as nails on a chalkboard. "Fancy giving him his fix?" I spit, the words tasting like bile in my mouth. He just smirks down at me, the prick.

Nilo lurches at my feet, his body convulsing again, bile spewing from his lips. The Russian goon looks at him, his face screwing up like he'd just bitten into a lemon. He curses in Russian, the words thick and heavy in the air.

What a dick!

"Do you think I'm asking for fun?" I sneer, fighting the quiver in my voice. "Your boss, Aleks, wants him alive. You damn well better make sure it happens."

He curses under his breath again, turning on his heel as he slams the door shut with a bang, the echo bouncing off the cold, damp walls. I hear the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.

"Fucking perfect," I mumble, running my hands through my tangled hair.

God, I feel like shit.

I start pacing the room, my boots scraping against the worn-out concrete. I gotta get the hell out of here, and soon. I can't stay trapped in this hellhole. I won't let Nilo die here.

Over in the corner, I spot a heap of filthy rags. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I yank it up, revealing a rusty pipe underneath. A smirk tugs at my lips.

Well, ain't that interesting?

"This might just work," I muse, the cold metal heavy in my hand. I can already imagine smashing it into the goon's skull, hearing the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking.

But first, I gotta figure out how to open that goddamn door. I glance over at Nilo, slumped against the wall. He's no help, barely conscious. The pressure's all on me.

"Hang tight, Nilo," I whisper, clenching my hand around the pipe. "This show's just getting started."