Chapter 56: The Price of Betrayal

[Warning: This Chapter contains torture and if it’s something that triggers you, I’d advise you to skip, else, happy reading.]

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Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound of water dripping was the first thing James heard when his heavy eyes opened.

It has been a day since his press conference and saying it hadn’t gone well would be a big understatement.

In order to gain the favor of this new, anonymous big wig, he had not so subtly dragged Nathaniel’s name through the mud just after admitting to the leaks.

He was sure that this would be enough to impress this anonymous person. He was sure that this person would bail him out of the coming consequences.

Oh, how wrong he was.

James expected to be contacted by this person again, after all, he had done his part of the deal.

But as the hours ticked past without any form of communication, that’s when the realization settled in.

He had just bit the hand that fed him for years, in a single moment of desperation. And this hand was a dangerous one.

Something he was about to be reminded of.



His eyes finally focused on the environment, revealing that he was in what looked like a warehouse.

The last thing he remembered was drinking in regret before passing out, so how had he gotten here. He tried moving only to realize that he was tightly bound by what seemed like chains on a metal chair.

"Oh, you’re awake," a heavily accented voice spoke up, causing James to look up.

Standing before him was a man as terrifying as the reaper himself, Dmitri Volkov.

His back was towards James but he was still recognizable even from this angle. Dmitri seemed to be sorting something out on the table before him so he couldn’t be bothered to turn around.

"I was wondering if I had to wake you myself," Dmitri added, his back still to James.

James pulled at the chains, but they were tightly bound around his wrists, ankles, and even across his chest. They rattled faintly, but offered no give. Panic began to swell in his chest and his breath started hitching.

"Dmitri..." James croaked, his voice hoarse. "This isn’t necessary. We can talk about this."

The Russian let out a soft, humorless chuckle as he picked up something from the table, a small, silver instrument that caught the dim overhead light.

He finally turned around, revealing his cold, predator’s eyes. On his hands were gloves and there was a faint splatter of something on them, either red or rust, James couldn’t tell.

"Talk?" Dmitri repeated, tilting his head. "James, my friend. We are talking."

He walked over slowly, every step deliberate, controlled. James felt like a mouse cornered by a panther. There was no room to run and no hole to squeeze into.

Dmitri crouched before him. "And worse... you thought you could break from us. That you were no longer useful."

James shook his head quickly. "I wasn’t trying to betray—"

"You were desperate," Dmitri cut in, his tone cmpletely calm. "Desperation makes people sloppy. It makes them weak. And weak men..."

He tapped the silver instrument, now clearly a scalpel, against James’s knee.

"...they break."

James flinched, sweat beading down his temple.

"I-I can fix this. I’ll retract the statement. I’ll blame it on stress. Say I was misquoted—"

Dmitri leaned in closer, so close James could feel the heat of his breath.

"You think this is about a statement?" he whispered. "You think Nathaniel cared what you said on camera?"

He pulled away, pacing in a slow circle around James now.

"The Langleys can make the media forget about your statement with the snap of a finger." He continued, the cold scalpel lightly grazing James’ neck and drawing a bit blood "this is about Nathaniel’s reputation."

James shivered as the cold bite of the scalpel traced a delicate line down his neck, that caused a sting, it was to remind him of how close he was to losing his life.

Dmitri stopped behind him. James couldn’t see him, but he could feel the man’s presence on his back.

Dmitri leaned in close again, his breath completely calm and composed. "You thought you were playing a game of kings and pawns. But you’re not a king, James. You’re barely even a pawn."

"Now, you’re going to tell me exactly who this new king was that made you so confident in betraying the old."

"I’ll tell you anything—just please, ask. I’ll talk, I swear." James stuttered out, the fear very much evident on his face.

Dmitri didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped back into James’s line of sight, holding the scalpel delicately between his fingers like a pen.

"Oh we’ll get to that," he murmured. "But first..."

Without warning, he drove the scalpel into James’s thigh.

James screamed, his body convulsing against the restraints. The metal chair scraped an inch across the concrete floor, chains rattling wildly as blood began to soak through his pants.



"I get to have my fun first." He said with a grin on his face.

Tears streamed down James’ face and his pants were soaked, not just from the blood on his thighs.

Dmitri’s gaze dropped. He sighed.

"You’re pissing yourself already?" he asked, almost disappointed. "There’s still a long way to go."

"Please don’t do this," James pleaded as tears and snot streamed down his face, holding even the slightest bit of hope that Dmitri would go this far, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

"You’re too noisy," Dmitri said as he walked back to the table and picked up a white cloth.

Dmitri walked back toward him slowly, folding the white cloth neatly as if preparing a dinner napkin. His calm was far more terrifying than rage.

"Open your mouth," he said flatly.

James shook his head frantically, words bubbling up in terror, "No, please—"

Dmitri struck him across the face with the back of his hand. James’s head snapped to the side with blood dribbling from his split lip.

"I said open."

When James hesitated again, so Dmitri forced his jaw open with one hand, using the other to shove the cloth into his mouth, deep enough to nearly gag him.

He whimpered behind the gag, his breath coming in ragged bursts through his nose.

"Better," Dmitri muttered, inspecting the work like a craftsman.

He turned back to the table again and picked up a small blowtorch. The clicking sound as he ignited it echoed in the room, followed by the low hiss of the flame.

James’s muffled screams picked up instantly as he thrashed wildly against the chair causing the chains to rattle.

Dimitri then brought the flame close enough for James to feel the blistering heat kiss the skin on his arm.

James let out a high, choking scream into the cloth.

Pffffft.

The scent of burnt skin filled the air.

"You feel that?" Dmitri said, his voice low and clinical. "That’s the pain betrayal brings, I’ll be sure to burn it into your memory."

James couldn’t hear a single word out of his mouth as he was busy screaming in pain from his scorched skin.

The torch moved away briefly and James sagged forward, sweat pouring down his brow and his eyes rolling in their sockets.

But Dmitri was far from done.

He placed the torch aside and picked up a pair of pliers next.

"We’ll take one finger. Just one. For now."

He clamped them onto James’s left pinky, ignoring the frantic, garbled pleas from behind the cloth.

Then, with a jerk, POP.

James’s muffled scream came out louder than before.

______

While Dmitri tortured James, Nathaniel sat in his room, watching the news on Avance being reported.

The anchor woman neatly arranged her papers as she spoke, "according to the recent press conference by James Brock, CEO of Avance, he claimed that he was pulling the strings—bribing enforcement agents, blackmailing clients, and worst of all... using his connection to Nathaniel Langley to keep the law off his back."



"The Langleys haven’t given any official response to this damning accusation," the anchorwoman continued, her voice unwavering despite the weight of the topic. "But with public outrage mounting in the last twenty-four hours, the silence is speaking volumes."

There wasn’t a single change in Nathaniel’s expression as the news report went on. He was just a bit curious about where James got the balls to pull this off.

He took a sip of his favorite wine before letting out a sigh, dealing with this was no issue but it’d take a few days for this to completely die down so it was annoying.

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, fingers resting under his chin. "So. James wanted to dance with ghosts."

He pressed a button on the intercom built into the desk.

"Isla."

Her voice came through a second later. "Yes, sir?"

"Have Dmitri send me everything he got from our guest once he’s finished playing." He ordered.

"Understood. Anything else?" She asked.

"Make sure this doesn’t reach my father." He added after a while.

"Understood." She replied before he removed his finger from the intercom.

With that he leaned into his chair and closed his eyes, this really was annoying.