They throw me into one of the bedrooms, and I land hard on a bare mattress that reeks of mildew. The room is tiny, barely big enough for the cot and a broken-down dresser. There are no windows, just four walls closing in on me.
I scramble to sit up, my back against the wall, as the man with the scar stands in the doorway watching me.
"Make yourself comfortable, princess," he says. "You're going to be here a while."
"What do you want from me?" My voice comes out stronger than I feel.
"That's not for us to decide. We're just the delivery boys." He grins, showing yellowed teeth. "Boss will figure out what to do with you. Whether you're worth more alive or dead."
The door slams shut, and I hear a lock click into place. I'm alone in the darkness, in this tiny room that smells like death and despair.
I pull my knees to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible. The zip ties cut into my wrists, but I barely feel the pain. All I can think about is Dimitri. About whether he received my signal. About whether he's coming for me.
He has to be coming. He promised to protect me. He said I was under his protection, that no one would dare touch me.
But they did touch me. They took me. And now I'm here, in this nightmare, and I don't know if anyone even knows where to look.
Time passes. I don't know how much. It could be minutes or hours. The darkness in the windowless room is absolute, disorienting. I try to work the zip ties loose, twisting my wrists, but they only cut deeper into my skin. I feel warm blood trickling down my hands.
Then I hear voices outside the door. The men are arguing about something, their Russian rapid and heated.
I press my ear against the door, straining to hear.
"We should just do it now," one voice says. "Get it over with. Why wait for orders?"
"Because Kozlov wants to decide," another responds. "She's valuable. We can use her to draw out Morozov, make him come to us on our terms."
"Or we kill her and send him pieces. Send a message that no one crosses the Kozlov family."
My blood turns to ice. They're discussing my death like it's a business transaction. Like I'm nothing more than a problem to be solved.
"If we kill her without permission, Kozlov will have our heads," a third voice argues. "You know how he is about following protocol."
"Protocol?" The first voice laughs bitterly. "We're talking about Dimitri Morozov's woman. The man who's been a thorn in our side for years. This is our chance to hurt him where it counts. To show him he's not untouchable."
"I say we call Kozlov now. Get his decision. If he says kill her, we do it. If he says keep her alive, we use her as bait. Either way, Morozov loses."
There's a pause, then agreement. I hear footsteps moving away, presumably to make the call.
I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the floor, my whole body shaking. They're going to kill me. Maybe not right now, maybe not in the next hour, but eventually. Whether they use me as bait first or just execute me immediately, the end result is the same.
I'm going to die in this cabin in the woods, and no one will ever know what happened to me.
No. I can't think like that. Dimitri is coming. He has to be coming. I pressed the panic button. He knows I'm in trouble. He'll find me.
But what if he doesn't? What if he's too late?
The voices outside grow louder, more animated. I press my ear against the door again, desperate to hear what they're deciding.
"Kozlov says to wait," one of them announces. "He's sending someone to assess the situation. Wants to see if Morozov takes the bait."
"And if he doesn't?"
There's a long pause, then a response that makes my heart stop.
"Then we kill her and dump the body where he'll find it. Send him a message he won't forget."
14
