Page 34 of Deceptive Vows (Bound by Vows #3)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

THEA

When I woke, I knew two things immediately—I was caged, and I was no longer alone.

Suffocating darkness pressed in, the sharp tang of damp concrete clogging my throat.

The air was thick and stale, carrying the faint stench of unwashed bodies and fear.

My head throbbed, my mouth dry as cotton.

My silk wedding dress was gone, replaced by plain, rough clothing—thin cotton pants and a shapeless top that scraped against my skin.

I wouldn't allow myself to delve too deep into how my clothes were changed.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, details emerged from the shadows.

I was in a cell—no, a cage—approximately eight feet square.

Metal bars surrounded me, including above.

Beyond my enclosure was a larger space—a warehouse of some kind, with high ceilings and distant windows that let in only the faintest hint of moonlight.

Across from me, other cages lined the wall, each containing a huddled figure. Women. Girls. The missing ones we’d been searching for.

I sat up slowly, battling a wave of nausea. To my right, a young woman stared at me with wary eyes. No older than twenty, her thin face was still beautiful, her dark hair a tangled mess around her shoulders.

“You’re awake,” she whispered, her accent Eastern European—Polish, maybe. “We thought you might be dead.”

“Not yet,” I rasped. “Where are we?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. They brought me here three days ago. Or maybe four.” She gestured vaguely toward the other cages. “Some have been here longer.”

I scanned the room again, taking inventory. Ten cages including mine, each occupied. Some of the figures were so still, I couldn’t tell if they were sleeping or worse.

What struck me most was that we were all dressed the same, down to our bare feet. A nauseating uniformity that stripped us of identity, reducing us to interchangeable merchandise.

“Who are you?” the young woman asked.

I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “My name is Thea. I was... taken.”

“On your wedding day.” She nodded toward my hand, where my platinum band still gleamed, surprisingly not stolen.

“They left it,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.

“They left mine too.” She held up her own hand, where a modest gold band encircled her finger. “Said it makes us more valuable. Especially if we’re ‘new.’“ The disgust in her voice was palpable.

My stomach turned at the implication. “What’s your name?”

“Elena,” she replied. “I was a ballerina with the National Warsaw Ballet. Until...” She trailed off, gesturing helplessly at our surroundings.

A ballerina. Marco had mentioned one specifically to Nazar.

Nazar .

The memory struck without warning: Nazar bleeding and outnumbered but still on his feet, refusing to fall, fighting to protect me until the end. I refused to let myself think about the end. I gritted my teeth, forcing the grief aside. I couldn’t afford it. Not now.

“There are cameras,” Elena whispered, nodding toward the corners of the room. “And guards. They come in to check on us four times a day. Bring food and water twice.”

I followed her gaze, counting three visible cameras. There would be more I couldn’t see from this angle.

“How many guards?” I kept my voice low.

“Usually two inside. More outside, I think.” She studied me with increased interest. “You’re different from the others they’ve brought.”

Before I could respond, a heavy door at the far end of the warehouse clanged open. Light spilled into the space, harsh and sudden, forcing me to squint. Heavy footsteps approached—two sets, judging by the sound.

I schooled my features into a mask of fear and confusion, letting my shoulders slump in apparent defeat. Better they think me broken than recognize me as a threat.

Two men appeared, moving between the cages with the casual confidence of predators among prey. One carried a tray with food and water, the other a clipboard and a small bag.

“Ah, the bride is awake,” the second man said, his Russian accent thick as he approached my cage. “Marco will be pleased.”

I said nothing, keeping my head lowered, studying him through my lashes. Stocky build, late forties, with a wolf’s head tattoo visible at his collar. Gray Wolf, not Moretti’s man.

He consulted his clipboard. “Thea Volkov. Twenty-nine. No children.” He looked up, smiling thinly. “High-value merchandise. You’ll be the star of the auction.”

“Go to hell,” I spat, allowing a flash of defiance.

The man only laughed. “Spirited. The buyers like that—more satisfying when you finally break.” He nodded to his companion, who slid a tray through a slot at the bottom of my cage. “Eat. Keep up your strength. The auction is only days away, and we want you looking your best.”

As they continued their rounds, I examined the offering—a paper cup of water, a stale roll, and what might have been soup but looked more like gray dishwater. Still, I would need my strength .

“Alexa.” The guard with the clipboard had stopped at the cage of a young girl—sixteen at most—who cowered in the corner. “Time for your medicine.”

He unlocked her cage, and his companion entered, syringe in hand. The girl didn’t resist as he injected her, her eyes vacant and unseeing.

“What are they giving her?” I whispered to Elena once they had moved on.

“Something to keep them docile.” Her voice was tight with anger. “The younger ones, especially. Makes them... compliant.”

And not me? I couldn't quite decide if it was an insult or not. It was possible Marco wanted me drug-free for now. An oversight he’d pay for dearly.

I watched as they repeated the process with two more girls, all around the same age. My rage built with each injection, a cold, deadly thing that coiled in my chest like a viper.

When they finally left, plunging the warehouse back into semi-darkness, I turned my attention to the food. It might be drugged, but dehydration would kill me faster than whatever they might have added. I took small, careful sips of the water, alert for any unusual taste or immediate effect.

My hands trembled—not from fear, but from the adrenaline crash that followed nearly dying and watching the man I loved bleed out on cold asphalt.

“How many days until the auction?” I asked Elena, who picked listlessly at her own meal.

“Three, I think. They’ve been preparing us—making us shower, bringing us cleaner clothes.” Her voice dropped even lower. “There was another girl here—Mila. They took her yesterday for a ‘private showing.’ She hasn’t come back.”

A chill ran through me. Three days. That was all the time I had to find a way out—not just for myself, but for all of these women.

I thought of Nazar again, of the determined set of his jaw when he’d promised to find them, to free them. He had died trying to keep that promise. Now it fell to me to finish what we’d started.

For the briefest moment, doubt clawed at me—a splinter of helplessness threatening to slip under my skin. I shoved it down. There was no room for weakness. I leaned closer to the bars separating Elena’s cage from mine.

“Listen to me carefully,” I whispered, making sure my back was to the nearest camera. “I’m going to get us out of here. ”

Her eyes widened, hope and disbelief warring in her expression. Too much hope. It clung to her voice, fragile and desperate. “How?”

“I don’t know yet. But I will.” I held her gaze, letting her see the absolute conviction behind my words. “Keep watching the guards. Their routines, their weapons, how many keys they carry—anything that might help.”

She nodded slowly, a spark kindling in her previously defeated eyes. “Okay. I’ll help.”

I settled back against the bars of my cage, mind racing through possibilities. My brothers would be looking for me by now, but they wouldn’t know where to start. Without Nazar’s knowledge of the Gray Wolves, they’d be working blind.

No, I couldn’t count on rescue. I would have to save myself—and these women—on my own.

As moonlight filtered through the distant windows, painting silver stripes across the concrete floor, I closed my eyes and began to plan. Three days until the auction. Three days to engineer an escape.

And then, when these women were safe, I would find Marco Moretti and the Gray Wolves who had taken Nazar from me. The men who had turned my wedding day into a funeral.

I twirled the platinum band on my finger, the metal catching what little light there was in our prison. A promise, both to the man I had lost and to myself.

I would survive. I would escape. And I would make them bleed.