Page 35 of Deceptive Vows (Bound by Vows #3)
Chapter Twenty-Nine
NAZAR
Pain was my first awareness, a brutal, unyielding drumbeat against my skull. My lungs burned with each shallow breath, and every breath dragged fire through my ribs. Then came the voices, distant at first, then sharpening into familiar tones.
“His blood pressure is rising. He might be waking up.”
“Nazar? Can you hear me?”
Pasha. The relief in his voice was palpable.
I forced my eyes open, immediately regretting it as harsh fluorescent light sent daggers through my skull. A groan escaped my lips as I tried to orient myself. White ceiling tiles. The consistent beep of monitors. The antiseptic smell of hospital disinfectant.
“Don’t try to move.” Pasha’s face swam into focus above me, lines of worry etched around his eyes. His hand pressed firmly against my shoulder as I instinctively tried to sit up. “You need to stay still.”
Images flashed, the crash, Thea being dragged away, blood on my hands.
“Thea.” Her name tore from my throat, raw and desperate as I struggled against Pasha’s restraining hand. “I need my phone. The tracker.”
Lucas's breath caught. "Tracker?"
I took a shaky breath. "Her wedding band. I added it last night. If they didn't strip it from her, it should lead us to her."
“Lie still, Nazar.” Pasha’s voice was gentle but firm. “You have a severe concussion, two broken ribs, and twenty-seven stitches in your head. You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for nearly six hours.”
“I don’t care.” I tried to push his hand away, ignoring the wave of dizziness and nausea that followed. “They took her. The Wolves. We need to…”
Pasha placed my screen-cracked phone in my hand. A rush of gratitude filled me when it lit up. I pulled up the tracking app, my heart sinking as I saw the status: Signal Lost—Last Location 6 Hours Ago.
"Damn it." I dropped the phone onto the bed. "They found it. Or they're somewhere the signal can't penetrate."
I could still see her face—the veil, the silk, the moment before it was all ripped away. The Wolves had taken my wife. My vows meant nothing if I couldn’t bring her back.
"We're working on it," Lucas said, his voice tight with controlled fury.
My vision finally steadied enough to take in the full room. A private hospital suite—expensive and discreet. Pasha stood closest to my bed, relief and anger warring in his expression. Lucas stood at the foot, tension radiating from him.
“How?” My question encompassed everything—how I was still alive, how they had found me, how I had ended up here while Thea was still in the hands of the Wolves.
“Her brothers had a hunch.” Pasha nodded toward Lucas. “They saved your life. Ari caught one at the church before he could set explosives."
“Lex and Dimitris and I followed you,” Lucas said. “When we saw the crash...” He trailed off, jaw tight.
“They were too far behind to prevent it,” Pasha continued. “But they got there before the Wolves could finish what they started.”
“The Wolves?” My voice was steadier now as the initial shock began to fade.
“Three dead,” Pasha confirmed with grim satisfaction. “The one they caught at the church is secured at their warehouse outside the city.”
A savage satisfaction coursed through me. At least there was a thread to pull.
“Six hours,” I repeated Pasha’s words, calculating what this meant for Thea. Six hours she had been in their hands, taken to who knew where, suffering who knew what. The thought made my blood run cold.
With deliberate movement, I pushed myself into a sitting position, ignoring Pasha’s protests and the stabbing pain in my side from my broken ribs.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
The sterile chill of the tile stung my bare feet, and the world tilted violently.
My vision narrowed to a pinpoint, black at the edges, but I ground my teeth and pushed through it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lucas demanded, stepping forward.
“Getting out of this bed.” My voice was stern despite the pain lancing through my skull. “I need to speak with your captive.”
“Absolutely not,” Pasha countered, placing both hands on my shoulders. “The doctor said?—”
“The doctor doesn’t know what the Wolves will do to her,” I snarled, shoving his hands away.
Pain detonated through my side, white-hot and punishing, like a blade twisting between my ribs.
The pain was irrelevant. Thea was everything.
“Six hours, Pasha. Six. Do you know what they can do in that time?”
A tense silence stretched thin over the room. Lucas’s jaw tightened with quiet resolve.
“Even if we let you out of here,” he finally said, his tone even, “you can barely sit up. How exactly do you plan to conduct an interrogation?”
“I don’t need to be at full strength to ask questions,” I replied. “I just need to be conscious.”
Pasha’s grip on my shoulders loosened slightly, his expression shifting from concern to resignation. He knew me well enough to understand that nothing short of physical restraints would keep me in this bed.
“The doctor won’t discharge you,” he said, a last attempt at reason.
“I don’t remember asking permission,” I countered.
Pasha rubbed a hand over his face, then nodded once. “Get him clothes,” he directed to one of our men who stood at the door. “And something for the pain that won’t cloud his thinking.”
Thirty minutes later, I was dressed in clothes Pasha had procured, dark jeans and a black sweater that fit well enough.
Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain through my body, but the medication had taken the edge off, making it manageable.
The simple act of standing required more effort than I wanted to admit, but I forced myself to move with purpose, refusing to show weakness.
A nurse stepped into our path, concern etched into her face, her hand lifting slightly in protest, but a few quiet words from Pasha, and what I suspected was a substantial donation to the hospital, smoothed our departure.
By the time we reached the parking lot, my breath came in shallow pants, the cold air stinging my lungs.
“Still think this is a good idea?” Dimitris’s breath curled in the frigid night air.
The SUV’s engine rumbled low, a fixed growl that vibrated through my aching ribs as he helped me into the back seat. The door slammed shut with a finality that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Ask me again after we’ve spoken to our guest.” I settled carefully into the seat.
The drive to the Kalantzis warehouse took nearly an hour, carrying us far from Chicago’s lights to an industrial area on the outskirts of the city.
The compound was well-chosen—isolated enough for privacy, but not so remote as to draw attention.
High fences topped with razor wire surrounded a complex of three buildings that appeared abandoned at first glance, but the subtle security measures visible to my trained eye spoke otherwise.
We pulled into a loading bay, the door descending behind us with a mechanical groan. Despite my determination, I needed both Pasha and Dimitris to help me from the vehicle, my strength fading faster than I wanted to acknowledge .
“Maybe you should rest first,” Lex suggested, noting my pallor.
I shook my head. “Every minute matters.”
"We've been working on this guy while you were out," Lex said, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "Dimitris has been… persuasive, but he's holding out."
The captive was held in what had clearly once been a storage room, now repurposed for something far darker.
Concrete floors, stained from previous occupants, stretched underfoot, easy to hose down, easy to forget.
The walls were reinforced with soundproofing foam, dulling any hope of escape.
In the center, a single metal chair was bolted to the floor, its legs crusted with old rust or, perhaps, dried blood.
The room smelled faintly of bleach, but it couldn’t mask the underlying copper tang of violence.
His face was already swollen, one eye nearly closed from Dimitris and Lex’s preliminary conversation. He looked up as we entered, his good eye widening slightly as he recognized me.
“ Ty dolzhen byt’ mertv ,” he said in Russian, his split lip curling into a sneer. You’re supposed to be dead.
“ Ya trudno ubit’ .” I’m difficult to kill. I replied calmly, my own Russian flowing more naturally than English in the moment. “Something you’ll soon wish wasn’t true.”
I gestured for Dimitris to bring me a chair, which he placed directly in front of the Wolf.
Fire lanced through my ribs with every step, each breath a white-hot dagger.
My hands trembled slightly as I lowered myself into the chair, but I made no effort to hide it.
Let the Wolf see my weakness. Let him mistake it for vulnerability.
It would make what came next all the more effective.
“Here’s how this will work.” I switched to English for the benefit of Thea’s brothers. “I will ask questions. You will answer them. The quality and speed of your answers will determine how much pain you experience before you die.”
The Wolf spat blood onto the concrete between us. “I’m already dead. Sergei doesn’t forgive failure.”
“Sergei isn’t here.” I leaned forward, ignoring the protest from my ribs. “I am. And I care about only one thing—where is my wife?”
“I don’t know.”
I smiled. “Wrong answer.”
What followed was a conversation conducted in the ancient language of pain—specific, methodical, and increasingly persuasive.
Pasha stood back, watchful but not interfering.
Lucas and Ari observed from the shadows, their silence more unnerving than any threat.
Dimitris and Lex assisted when called upon, their movements efficient and practiced.
I never raised my voice, never showed anger. There was no need. The cold precision of my methods spoke volumes, made all the more effective by the stark contrast with my own weakened physical state. It wasn’t about strength—it was about inevitability.