Chapter 31: The Bitter Taste of Betrayal

The cold, damp air clings to us as Liberty and I make our way back through the winding corridors of Frigid Rock. The uneasy alliance with Viktor Sokolov weighs heavily on my mind. I don’t trust him—not completely—but right now, he’s the best shot we’ve got. The tension between Liberty and me is palpable, but it’s a shared tension, born from the pressure of what lies ahead. She’s tough, tougher than most in this hellhole, but even the toughest can break under enough pressure.

“Are you sure about this, Sev?” Liberty’s voice is a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the prison’s aging ventilation system.

I glance at her, noticing the worry etched into her features. Her blue eyes, usually so sharp and determined, are clouded with uncertainty. “We don’t have a choice,” I reply, my tone more clipped than I intend. “We need Viktor’s intel, and we need his men. We can’t fight the Aryans alone.”

She nods, but I can tell she’s still uneasy. Hell, I am too. This whole plan feels like we’re balancing on a knife’s edge, and one wrong move could send us plummeting into the abyss.

We turn a corner and find ourselves back in one of the main corridors, the familiar harsh lighting casting long shadows along the walls. The air here smells of bleach and desperation—a scent I’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

Suddenly, a sharp sound pierces the air—a door slamming shut, followed by hurried footsteps. My instincts kick in immediately, and I grab Liberty’s arm, pulling her into the shadows. We press ourselves against the wall, waiting, listening.

The footsteps grow louder, closer. My heart pounds in my chest, the adrenaline surging through my veins. Whoever’s coming is in a hurry, and that’s never a good sign in a place like this.

A figure emerges from around the corner—one of Viktor’s men, a wiry guy with a nervous energy about him. His name’s Sergei, and I’ve always thought he was more rat than man. He skids to a stop when he spots us, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Sev!” he gasps, clearly out of breath. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?” I ask, my tone laced with suspicion. “What’s going on?”

Sergei glances nervously over his shoulder, then back at me. “It’s Viktor. He—he sent me to find you. He says there’s been a change of plans.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. “What kind of change?”

Sergei swallows hard, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold. “He wants to meet with you. Alone. In the storage room by the south wing.”

My gut twists. There’s something off about this—something wrong. Viktor wouldn’t change plans like this, not without a damn good reason. And sending Sergei, of all people? That doesn’t sit right with me.

I exchange a quick glance with Liberty, who’s watching Sergei with narrowed eyes. She’s suspicious too, and that only confirms my own instincts.

“Fine,” I say after a moment, keeping my voice steady. “Let’s go.”

Sergei nods quickly, relief washing over his features. “Right. This way.”

I fall into step behind him, keeping Liberty close by my side. My mind races, trying to piece together what could be happening. Viktor’s smart—too smart to make a move like this without a damn good reason. But if this is a trap, if he’s decided to double-cross us, then we’re walking right into the lion’s den.

The walk to the south wing feels like it takes an eternity, the silence between us thick and suffocating. I can feel the tension radiating off Liberty, but she doesn’t say a word. She knows as well as I do that we’re on dangerous ground.

We reach the storage room, a small, dimly lit space filled with boxes and old equipment. Sergei opens the door, and I step inside, my senses on high alert. The room smells musty, the air stale and heavy. I scan the area, looking for any signs of an ambush, but it seems empty.

“Where’s Viktor?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous.

Sergei shifts nervously, avoiding my gaze. “He’ll be here soon.”

That’s when I hear it—the faint sound of footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate. My heart races, and I instinctively move in front of Liberty, shielding her with my body. The door swings open, and Viktor steps inside, his expression unreadable.

But he’s not alone.

Behind him are two Aryan Brotherhood members, their faces twisted into cruel smirks. One of them is holding a knife, the blade glinting in the dim light.

Betrayal hits me like a punch to the gut. I knew this was a risk—I knew Viktor couldn’t be fully trusted. But seeing it laid out in front of me, the cold reality of it, makes my blood boil.

“Viktor,” I growl, my voice low and deadly. “What the hell is this?”

Viktor’s eyes flicker with something—regret, maybe—but it’s quickly replaced by cold calculation. “I’m sorry, Sev,” he says, his tone almost apologetic. “But the Aryans made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. They’ve got more resources, more power. And they promised me something you couldn’t—freedom.”

The knife-wielding Aryan steps forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Time to die, Mikhailov.”

Before I can react, the Aryan lunges at me, the knife aimed straight for my chest. I twist to the side, grabbing his wrist and using his momentum to throw him against the wall. The knife clatters to the floor, and I kick it away, my focus narrowing on the immediate threat.

The second Aryan rushes at me, his fists swinging wildly. I dodge the first punch, but the second catches me in the ribs, the impact sending a shock of pain through my side. I retaliate with a punch to his gut, doubling him over.

It’s chaos—a blur of fists and blood. Liberty stays back, smartly avoiding the fray, her eyes wide with fear and determination. She’s not a fighter, but she’s not helpless either. I see her scanning the room, looking for anything she can use to defend herself if it comes to that.

But I can’t focus on her right now. I need to take these bastards down before they get the chance to hurt her.

Viktor stands by the door, watching the fight with cold detachment. He’s made his choice, and now he’s letting his new allies do his dirty work. Coward.

I manage to land a solid punch on the second Aryan’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. But before I can finish him off, the first Aryan recovers and tackles me from behind, sending us both crashing to the floor.

Pain explodes in my shoulder as we hit the ground, but I push through it, grappling with the Aryan as he tries to pin me down. I catch a glimpse of Liberty out of the corner of my eye—she’s grabbed a metal pipe from one of the shelves, holding it like a baseball bat, ready to swing.

The Aryan above me snarls, his hands tightening around my throat. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as I struggle to breathe, to fight back. But I won’t go down like this. I can’t.

With a burst of adrenaline, I grab the Aryan’s wrist and twist it sharply, forcing him to release his grip. He lets out a pained grunt, and I use the opportunity to shove him off me, rolling to my feet.

Liberty seizes the moment, swinging the pipe with all her strength. The metal connects with the Aryan’s head with a sickening thud, and he crumples to the floor, unconscious.

“Nice swing,” I manage to rasp, my voice hoarse from the struggle.

Liberty gives me a shaky nod, her grip on the pipe still tight. “Thanks.”

But we’re not out of the woods yet. The second Aryan is back on his feet, and he’s pissed. Blood drips from his mouth where I hit him, and he glares at me with pure hatred.

“This ain’t over, Mikhailov,” he spits, wiping the blood from his lips. “You’re dead.”

He charges at me, but I’m ready this time. I sidestep his attack, using his own momentum to slam him into the wall. The impact is hard enough to rattle the shelves, but it’s not enough to stop him. He comes at me again, his fists swinging wildly.

But he’s sloppy, too angry to fight smart. I dodge his punches, landing my own hits with precision. A jab to the ribs, a hook to the jaw—each blow weakening him, wearing him down.

Finally, I see my opening. With a swift kick to the back of his knee, I bring him down, then drive my fist into his temple. His eyes roll back, and he collapses to the floor, unconscious.

Breathing hard, I turn to Viktor, who’s still standing by the door, his expression unreadable.

“You chose the wrong side,” I say, my voice cold and steady.

Viktor shrugs, though I can see the fear in his eyes now. “I did what I had to do.”

“And now you’ll pay for it,” I reply, stepping toward him.