Page 24 of Darkest Oblivion

Two of Dmitri’s soldiers blocked the way, immovable walls of flesh and muscle.

Their scarred faces betrayed no sympathy, their black suits straining over broad shoulders.

Their silence was worse than mockery—it was confirmation that escape was hopeless.

My chest heaved.

Anger and panic clashed as Dmitri stepped in behind me, shutting the door with a final, metallic thud.

My asthma hit like a freight train, my lungs seizing, the air turning thick as molasses.

I clawed at my chest, wheezing, panic lancing through me as my vision blurred.

My hands fumbled for my clutch, searching—praying—but the inhaler wasn’t there.

Shit. It must have fallen when he slung me over his shoulder.

“I... can’t breathe,” I rasped, my voice cracking like brittle glass.

My knees buckled, the plush carpet biting into my palms as I collapsed.

My body shook violently, every gasp shallow, ragged, useless. The world tunneled to black, the roar of the chopper blades distant, muffled.

Dmitri stood a few meters away, unmoving, his broad frame backlit by the chopper’s lights.

His silence suffocates me as much as my failing lungs.

He leaned to one of his men, murmuring something low. The man bolted, but Dmitri stayed rooted, watching.

Did he think I was faking? Or worse—did he not care if I died right here on his jet-black carpet?

“Please...” I gasped, my voice shredded, tears burning hot tracks down my cheeks. “It probably... fell when you carried me. Go check. I’m dying!” My throat seized, my body convulsing, darkness creeping in at the edges of my sight.

For a fraction of a second, I thought he’d let me go.

His jaw flexed, his fists clenching at his sides, a war raging in those frozen eyes.

Then, the door burst open. One of his men shoved the inhaler into my hand, the small device glinting like salvation.

With trembling fingers, I jammed it to my lips. One deep press, the mist filling my lungs, cooling the fire. Another. Then another. Slowly, the vise around my chest loosened. My lungs opened, pulling in precious air. The world came rushing back—lights, sound, movement.

I slumped against the leather seat, drenched in sweat, my body weak, trembling with aftershocks. Tears blurred my vision, but defiance burned hot through the humiliation.

“You’re a monster,” I croaked, my voice hoarse.

Dmitri’s gaze locked on me, unblinking. Inhuman.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t argue, didn’t deny. He simply uttered, low and final:

“Buckle up. We’re leaving.”

Rage surged despite my weakness.

My hands shook as I tore at the belt instead of fastening it. “I’d rather die than be yours,” I spat, fumbling for the latch, my body trembling.

“Penelope,” he warned, but I shoved at him with all the strength I had left, clawing weakly at his chest.

“I’ll never be yours,” I hissed.