Chapter 9 - THE WOLF'S TORTURE CHAMBER
Emily awoke to the brutal, biting sensation of freezing water thrown across her face.
She gasped, coughing violently, her body shaking from the sub-zero chill. She was tied to a rusted steel chair in the center of an abandoned shipping warehouse. Wind whistled through broken skylights above, dusting the blood-stained concrete floor with fresh snow.
Viktor Volkov stood before her, tossing the empty bucket aside. He wore a heavy fur-lined coat, holding a hunting knife with a serrated edge.
“Wake up, little bird,” Volkov purred, using the flat blade of the knife to lift Emily’s chin. “You caused me a great deal of trouble. Two million dollars lost on the kidnapping, five men dead at the diner, and my best inside asset killed at the mansion.”
Emily spat blood onto the toe of his designer leather boot. “You’re pathetic, Volkov. Hunting children because you’re too cowardly to face Dominic Vale like a man.”
Volkov’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He struck her across the face with the back of his hand, splitting her lip. Emily’s head snapped back, but she refused to cry out.
“You think Dominic loves you?” Volkov sneered, circling her like a vulture. “To him, you are a temporary pawn. A convenient babysitter. When I finish carving you up, he will simply buy another one.”
“You don’t know anything about him,” Emily whispered, her mind racing. She could feel the rusted bolts of the chair vibrating slightly. Beneath the warehouse floor ran the underground subterranean service tunnels of the old Chicago port—the very infrastructure Dominic’s family had owned for eighty years.
She knew Dominic wasn't coming alone. He was bringing hell with him.
“Tell me the override code for the Vale Atlantic automated container terminals,” Volkov demanded, pressing the cold steel of the blade against the hollow of her throat. “Give me the master password, and I will let you die quickly.”
“I don't have the codes,” Emily said, looking straight into his dead eyes. “I’m just a waitress, remember? But I do know one thing.”
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“What is that?” Volkov hissed.
Emily smiled through her bruised, bloody lips. “You shouldn't have stood directly over the drainage grates.”
