The car pulled up to the entrance of his building again, though, and it relieved me and depressed me at the same time.
I was back. It was like I’d never even left, the time had passed so quickly. My attempt at leaving him had failed, and I was right back where I’d started.
This time, as I was guided out of the backseat, I had to carry a lot more baggage with me.
Fearsome nightmares replayed in my mind. I’d only been away for hours, but too many atrocities and gruesome images had come to me during them.
Being smacked around by the cop when I refused to treat those criminals. Then being taunted and teased, warned of how they’d rape me and share me like a shiny new toy once they were out. One groped me, making me feel so filthy and gross to ever be exposed to such crude treatment, behind the bars of a cell.
I was a doctor. I came from a good family.
All my life, I'd followed the rules and obeyed the law, always ready to do the right thing, to be good, and never stray into any temptation. That was how my parents raised me. That was how I’d taken myself through school and earned so many awards in my career in medicine.
Being reduced to the filth and terror in a New York holding cell with injured mobster men wasn’t supposed to make sense. Other people were supposed to be victims like that. Not me.
And I couldn’t comprehend how to change this track to hell my life was set to. This course wasn’t mine. It couldn’t be. Yet, as I was led back into Mikhail’s building, hanging my head, I didn’t know how to move forward. What to do. Where to go. What to say. Because nothing felt right anymore. Nothing at all.
“Go clean up,” he told me sternly, acting like the boss. “Go clean yourself up and I will address this.”
This?I didn’t even want to know what he was calling my failed attempt at escaping. He had to be mad, so livid and furious that I’d defied him and had run at all.
But I wouldn’t push it. Struggling with how to handle this constant violence, I trudged toward my room and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Being dismissed, like I was a thing to order around, not a person who needed care, sucked. But I was grateful for the chance to shower. Scrubbing my skin didn’t erase the memory of the man groping me, but I was glad he hadn’t touched me everywhere. Standing in the steamy shower didn’t relax me until I could feel confident enough to lower my guard, but I was comforted that I had this chance to regroup.
Because nothing had changed. The nightmares in my mind warned me that I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t stay here. I wasn’t cut out to be part of this Mafia life. It sickened me to be taken and told what to do. It angered me to be used as a pawn against my will. And it confused me how any of these ruthless men thought that playing war was the way to solve anything.
When I came out of the bathroom, Mikhail was waiting there. He sat in a chair, his fingers steepled and pressed to his chin.
“What did they do?” he asked. His tone brokered no argument. He wasn’t even giving me a chance to fully exit the bathroom, so impatient for answers.
“I went to the police for help, since that’s what a rational person should do.”
He grunted, annoyed.
I wasn’t in the mood. I walked to the small table where a bottle of liquor sat waiting and helped myself to a double.
“Go on,” he told me, watching me like a hawk after his prey.
Relishing the burn of the alcohol down my throat, I took a deep breath. “They shoved me into a cell and told me to help a couple of your enemies. Men from the Popov family.” My soul ached to admit it. That I wasn’t just a bystander at the fringe of his world. I'd participated.
“Did they hurt you?”
I shook my head then poured another drink. Already, the alcohol was making me buzzed. On an empty stomach like this, it wouldn’t take me long to get wasted. That wasn’t rational, either, but under the pressure to be near this volatile man, I needed something to take the edge off.
In the most clinical and detached manner that I could manage, I detailed how I’d stitched up the men, how they claimed that they would take me and keep me as a pet to share, and how they’d tried to feel me up. I omitted how the cops had manhandled me. I didn’t want to incite any more death. Because when I looked up at him, watching him fume and seethe, his nostrils flaring at my account, I already knew he’d be on the warpath to kill the Popovs for forcing me to help them. For their dirty cops to have captured me like that. If it hadn’t been for Mikhail’s lawyer demanding my release, I would’ve been stuck there.
I appreciated his rescue, but I was sick to my stomach over what else that would mean. This dangerous criminal only knew how to rescue with too much force.
“Please,” I said, searching for the words.
“Please what?” he demanded, standing and coming to me.
I blinked, buzzing and wishing I hadn’t had that much to drink that quickly. I felt too warm. Relaxed, yet frantic deep inside.
“Please don’t go and kill them for this.”
He set the glass down harshly and huffed. “Don’t kill them for using you? For hurting you? For scaring you?” Before I could react, he shot his hand out to touch me. Gripping the back of my head, he pulled me flush to him and forced my head up so I’d look him in the eye.
“It can’t be like this.”
