The warehouse was suffocating, shadows dancing against rusted walls from the single fire burning in a dented bin. The ropes cut into my wrists as I struggled, but the chair held firm. My breath came ragged, frustration mounting.
Then a voice slithered through the darkness.
"It's pointless. You're wasting your energy. You'll soon need it… to satisfy me."
My eyes snapped toward the sound, fury igniting. Andrey stepped into the glow, flanked by men whose faces were hidden behind masks of indifference. He moved closer, his hand brushing against my cheek with mock tenderness.
"Oh, what a waste of beauty," he said, voice dripping with cruelty. "I would have made you my wife, if not for my brother being a party pooper. Imagine it—you and me. We would have made beautiful children."
Behind him, Darius chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. Andrey glanced at his brother, then back at me, his smirk widening.
My rage boiled over. I spat, the saliva striking his face. He froze, then slowly wiped it away, his eyes narrowing.
"Is that all you've got?" he sneered.
I straightened in the chair, my voice calm, polite, but sharpened into a blade.
"Even if I had a million lifetimes, I wouldn't choose you. Even if we were the last two people on this planet… even if desire consumed me… I still wouldn't touch you."
The words cut deeper than any bullet. The firelight flickered across his face, revealing the crack in his arrogance. Darius's laughter died into silence, and for a moment, the warehouse itself seemed to hold its breath.
The fire in the bin flickered, shadows twisting across the warehouse walls. Darius's laughter echoed, sharp and mocking.
"She's feisty, brother. Don't you like the feisty ones? That was good."
Andrey's smirk hardened as he stepped back, his eyes narrowing.
"Well… seems like you've got a sharp tongue. Why not cut it?"
I locked my gaze on his, refusing to flinch. The silence between us was heavy, charged. Then his hand lashed out, the slap cracking across my face. Pain seared, but I held his stare.
Before I could recover, his boot slammed into me. The chair tipped, crashing to the ground, ropes biting deeper into my wrists. The impact rattled through my body, but I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream.
Darius chuckled again, circling like a predator watching prey.
"Oh, brother… you enjoy breaking her, don't you? But look at her—she still won't bow."
The firelight danced across their faces—Andrey's twisted mockery, Darius's cold amusement—and across mine, where defiance burned even through the pain.
The warehouse burned with shadows, the fire in the bin flickering like a cruel witness. My body was already battered, blood staining my lips, but I refused to break.
Andrey's boot had slammed into me, his voice sharp: "Darius, join me."
Darius waved his men forward. They carried in a drum of diesel, the stench filling the air. He dismissed them with a flick of his hand, then untied me from the chair. For a heartbeat, I thought freedom was near—but rough hands seized me, binding my wrists again.
Darius leaned close, his fingers brushing through my hair. I lashed out, my knee striking him hard. He groaned, doubling slightly, then chuckled through the pain.
"Well… at least I'm not in as much pain as what's awaiting you."
His grip tightened, violent now. He dragged me toward the drum, yanking my hair back. My head plunged into the foul liquid, the world burning with suffocation. He pulled me out, only to shove me back again, each motion cruel, relentless.
The hours blurred into torment—mockery, blows, humiliation. Their laughter echoed, feeding on my suffering. Yet through it all, I screamed but never shed a tear. My silence was my rebellion, my refusal to give them the satisfaction of breaking me.
Five hours passed like an eternity. My body was failing, but my spirit remained unyielding. In the firelight, I was no longer just their captive—I was their challenge, their frustration, their reminder that some wills cannot be crushed.
The fire in the bin hissed as the diesel fumes clung to the air. My body was battered, but my spirit refused to collapse.
Darius wiped his hands, his dragon tattoo shifting with each breath.
"Brother, she's still standing in spirit. Let's see how long that lasts."
Andrey smirked, signaling to the men. They dragged in a rusted metal table, its surface lined with crude tools—chains, clamps, and a car battery with wires dangling like venomous snakes.
"Electricity," Andrey said mockingly. "It doesn't leave scars… but it burns the soul."
They tied me down, my wrists bound against the cold steel. Darius leaned close, his voice low and taunting.
"Five hours of beatings and you didn't cry. Let's see if lightning can break you."
The wires touched my skin. A surge jolted through me, violent, tearing at every nerve. My body convulsed, but I bit down hard, refusing to scream. The men laughed, their shadows dancing in the firelight.
Andrey tilted his head, studying me.
"Still no tears? You're stubborn, Layla. But stubbornness is just another form of weakness."
Another surge ripped through me. My vision blurred, but I forced my voice out, steady and cutting.
"Weakness is believing you can break me. Strength… is surviving you."
Darius chuckled, almost admiring.
"She spits fire even when drowning in pain. Brother, maybe she's not prey… maybe she's a rival."
The torture continued, each shock a test of endurance. Yet through it all, I held onto defiance, my silence and words sharper than any blade.
Days blurred into torment. No food. No water. My body was frail, my lips cracked, but my spirit clung to defiance.
Andrey entered, his smirk sharp as a blade.
"I think we've had enough fun. Let's take this story to its climax."
Darius's eyes locked onto mine, cold and intimidating.
"What are you planning? Let me go!" I wailed, thrashing against the ropes, fighting for my life.
One of their men stepped forward, a cloth in his hand. A strange powder clung to it, acrid and suffocating. I struggled, twisting, desperate to resist. But my body betrayed me—weak, starved, trembling.
The cloth pressed against my face. My vision blurred. My strength drained. Darkness crept in, swallowing the firelight, the laughter, the cruelty.
The last thing I heard was Andrey's voice, mocking, final:
"This is the end of her."
And then—silence.
The knock at the door was sharp, urgent. Axel's voice was impatient, muffled by the dim glow of his private suite.
"If it's not bad news, I'm in the middle of something here."
The blonde at his side leaned closer, but the door opened anyway. His right‑hand man stepped in, face grim.
"Boss… it's about Avery. She's in danger."
The words cut through the haze instantly. Axel froze, then pushed the girl away with a cold gesture. He rose, dressing swiftly, sliding into his finest suit like armor. His eyes hardened, the indulgence gone, replaced by steel.
"Take her away," he ordered, nodding toward the blonde. One of his men escorted her out without a word.
His right‑hand man lingered, voice low.
"What do you suggest, boss?"
Axel adjusted his cufflinks, his tone sharp, commanding.
"Gather all our men. Arm them. If they want a battle… I'm ready for war."
The room shifted, the air charged with anticipation. Orders spread like wildfire through the compound—guns loaded, vehicles prepared, men assembling in formation. Axel's smirk returned, but now it carried menace.
"They think they can break Avery? They'll learn what war really means."
Engines roared in unison as black cars lined the compound, headlights slicing through the night. Axel's men stood in formation, their suits sharp, weapons gleaming under the floodlights. When Axel appeared, every head bowed—a gesture of reverence, of fear, of loyalty.
Without a word, he strode forward, his finest suit catching the glow. The car door opened, and he slipped inside. Tires screeched as the convoy surged forward, cutting through the city at high speed.
The private airport awaited, its runway lit like a path of destiny. Planes stood ready, but one gleamed above the rest—Axel's personal jet, polished steel and power incarnate. His men flanked him as he ascended the steps, their silence heavy with anticipation.
Inside, Axel adjusted his cufflinks, his gaze cold.
"Darius thinks he can play games with Avery. He'll learn tonight that war isn't a game."
The jet engines roared to life, the ground trembling as the plane lifted into the sky. Below, his convoy dispersed, preparing for the next move. Above, Axel flew straight toward Darius's stronghold, carrying with him the promise of vengeance.
The jet's engines cooled as Axel descended the steps, his polished shoes striking the tarmac with deliberate weight. A line of armed men awaited him, rifles gleaming under the floodlights.
At one glance, they dropped to one knee, bowing in unison.
"We are all prepared for war."
Axel's eyes swept over them, cold and commanding. He raised his hand, signaling.
"Then get on with it. Tonight, we march."
His convoy stood ready—black cars lined like predators waiting to strike. The driver opened the door, but Axel stopped him with a sharp gesture.
"No. You sit at the back. I'm driving. The others can follow me."
The driver hesitated, then obeyed. Axel slid behind the wheel, his suit immaculate, his gaze fixed forward. Engines roared to life as the convoy surged into motion.
The speedometer climbed—100… 150… 200 km/h. The cars tore through the night, headlights slicing the darkness, the ground trembling beneath their fury.
Inside the lead car, Axel's grip tightened on the wheel. His voice was low, steady, a promise of vengeance.
"Darius thinks he can break Avery. Tonight, he learns what war truly means."
The convoy followed like shadows, a storm gathering momentum, ready to crash against Darius's stronghold.
My eyes snapped open, the world blurred and foggy. I forced myself to focus, shapes slowly sharpening into the suffocating reality of an enclosed space. My wrists were bound, my body heavy, the air thick and stale.
I tried to move, but the ropes bit into my skin. Panic surged, but then—a sound. A phone ringing.
The shrill tone echoed in the darkness, mocking me. I twisted, strained, every muscle screaming. The phone was behind me, tucked awkwardly into my jeans. Each ring was a countdown, each second a reminder of my helplessness.
With raw determination, I clawed at it, fingers trembling. The ringing continued, relentless. Finally, I managed to grip it, dragging it forward with agonizing effort. My breath was ragged, but I pressed the answer button.
Silence. Then a voice.
Darius. Cold. Husky.
"How does it feel… to know you are six feet underground… and no one can come rescue you?"
The words sank into me like ice. The walls seemed to close in tighter, the air thinner. My heart pounded, but I clenched my jaw, refusing to let fear consume me.