The crowd has mixed emotions as it bounces up and down on its feet. Egorov comes over, carrying a plastic bag and a set of keys. He unhooks my wrists. My freezing arms drop to my sides. My fingers are lifeless and numb, like phantoms. I see them but can’t feel or control them.
The cage’s door is unlocked and opened. Alexei steps back.
“But—” I murmur.
Cuffs are removed, and my wrists look dark. There’s dried blood from the bindings scraping my wrists and maybe bruises, too. I can’t tell with my vision so distorted.
Alexei drops his black shirt from earlier onto my lap. My fingers twitch but can’t move enough to put it on.
Alexei elbows Egorov farther aside, and he puts me into his shirt.
“Thank you,” I whisper. It’s slurred, but I think he understands me.
“Here,” he says in a low voice as he puts his hands in the cage. Then I’m lifted out and put over his shoulder. My arms and hair dangle down his back.
He holds the backs of my thighs so I don’t roll off.
I turn my head and see that there are men walking with us, escorting us out. I think they must be from the club until he pays them in the parking lot. He brought his own men for protection, I realize. My monster is the smartest.
Alexei puts me in the backseat of a car, covers me with a blanket, and straps me in place before closing the door.
As we drive away, I decide Ivan Egorov must be livid. He bragged and tried to cheat, but he still lost. Now he’s got two cat tails, and no one to put them in.
CHAPTER4
Natalia
I wake with a mild headache and find I’m lying on top of a bed with a blanket thrown over me. Sitting up, I see I’m still wearing Alexei’s black shirt, and I seem to be in an elegant guest room.
The bed’s gold and white baroque headboard looks fit for a princess, as does the small crystal chandelier overhead. Where has Alexei left me?
Rolling from the queen-sized bed, I creep to the door and look out. The hall is light beige and bathed in gold light from the sconces. Somewhere a television plays the news.
Grabbing a blanket, I wrap it around me and creep out a few feet. The nearest room, the living room, is empty, though the flat screen is on.
A beep from another room makes me jerk. The sound of a microwave door being pulled open comes next. Moving closer to that doorway, I wait, my eyes darting back and forth to take in the large burgundy leather couches and marble and glass end tables. I still doubt this can be Alexei’s apartment. It’s very nice, very elegant. I’m sure it’s not his style, nor the kind of place he could afford. Although, he said he was the bidder… was that borrowed money? Or his own?
Alexei appears on the opposite side of the room, carrying a plate of food. He wears faded jeans and gray V-neck t-shirt. The bruises on the left side of his face are more pronounced, and there’s a butterfly bandage over a cut on his cheekbone.
A forkful of food stops halfway to his mouth, and he lowers it onto the plate. He speaks words in English, so it takes a moment for me to understand them. “It’s safe. You can come out.”
I look down, realizing my feet and the edge of the blanket must be visible. Stepping forward, I stand in the doorway.
Again in English, he says, “There are things in that bathroom for you. And your bag from the club.” He points.
“What is that?” I ask in Russian, my stomach rumbling.
“Stroganoff. Come and eat.” He beckons me to join him as he disappears.
My feet carry me to the kitchen before I have a chance to hesitate. He sets the plate down on the polished stone table and gestures for me to sit. I don’t care whether he’s eaten from the fork or not. I don’t wait for a new plate or table wear. Dropping the blanket over the chair, I sit down and lean forward.
The beef stroganoff has been laid over a bed of thinly sliced potatoes. It’s heaven, and I eat with no regard for anything else in the world. Until he puts a glass of cold water near me. I drink that greedily between bites. It’s not until my plate’s empty that I look up to find him preparing another dish for himself.
He sets the plate at the table and looks at me. His index finger touches his neck, and he nods toward me.
I realize I must have something on me, blood or dirt. I touch my neck and it’s crusty. Disgusting.
“You need a shower. Go ahead. No one will bother you.”
