My fury and self-hate cyclone inside me and I slam my fist into the concrete wall until my knuckles are bloody and raw. It’s not enough. I could carve a thousand lines into my skin and it wouldn’t be enough.
Chapter Twelve
In which Lucya is so pissed off. I think we can understand this.
Lucya…
My father would be so ashamed of me.
That’s the thing that breaks me and I start crying in earnest, giving up on my Russian stoicism. I didn’t do a thing to save Inessa and me. It could not have been easier to kidnap us.
I’m glad he turned off the light. I don’t want the camera to show me crying, I don’t want that skull-faced son of a bitch to know he destroyed me.
The masked man had pulled me out of the van and away from Inessa, even though I kicked and screamed, trying to reach for her as the van drove away. He dragged me through a warehouse or a basement, it was hard to tell. It was pitch black and the only thing I had was the echoes of our footsteps on concrete. He must have eyes like a bat because he never turned on a light.
I dug in my heels and started fighting again when he opened the door to this room. A single metal chair was bolted to the floor in the middle of the room.
Over a drain.
This room meant I would never see the light of day again. There’s some heavy-looking hooks hanging from the ceiling and a very large bench, like you’d find in a garage or a repair shop.After I caught a glimpse of a series of hammers and drills, I closed my eyes.
It’s cold in whatever corner of hell he’s dragged me to, but maybe that’s part of the fun for this monster.
What about Inessa? Is she okay? I haven’t done anything wrong; there’s nothing they can punish her for from my actions.
Who am I kidding? These are Bratva men. They could be doing anything.
I sit, shivering, and trying to figure out which of the Six Families took us.
When the door opens again and the light goes on, I close my eyes, turning my face away. It’s painfully bright, searing through my eyelids.
“Keep your eyes closed.”
His voice is right next to my ear, just a dark whisper. A bag slides over my head and he tugs it down. I rub my wrists when he unlocks my handcuffs from the chair and I stumble a bit as he pulls me to my feet.
“Do not struggle. Remember, you’re responsible for your sister’s safety,” he warns, his voice muffled by the bag
I hate him so much.
“I wouldn’t do anything,” I manage between numb lips, yelping a bit when he swings me up in his arms. “Where are you taking me? Did my uncle do what you wanted?”
“Hush.”
He carries me for a while, back up the stairs and then I hear an elevator opening. His jacket’s cold, he must have just come infrom the outside, and the feel of it against my shoulder is making my shivering worse.
“Relax.”
“I can’t,” I say between chattering teeth, “I’m cold.”
He holds me a little tighter, stepping back out of the elevator. I’m straining to get any clues on where we are, but this damn bag blocks my sense of smell, blinds me, and muffles my hearing.
When he finally puts me down, it’s on a bed. Panicked, I scoot backward, pushing away from him.
“Keep the bag on until you hear the door shut, do you understand?”
“Y- yes.”
“Khoroshaya devochka,good girl.”
