Wherever I was, whatever the catch was, I doubted anyone would find me. Least of all, Mikhail Orlov.
Why would he look for me? I had walked away despite his argument to stay. I left a note explicitly asking him not to look after me or search for me.
I’d damned myself with that note. Because he was all I’d had. No one else would be looking for me. Fatima was the only other person I knew here in the States, and she was just a coworker who was smart enough to not get involved with the Mafia. Jack was clearly no help, actively helping these men.
Mikhail would’ve been my only hope, and I’d left him.
Time dragged on with agonizing slowness as my mind raced. In the same vein, it sped by, every second blurring too rapidly in this nothingness in which I was isolated. The suspense over when these mobsters could come back gnawed at me. Hours passed, and I remained stuck in this dread of what would happen when they returned.
I hadn’t been abandoned, though. Even though no one was in the room, I heard the distant and muffled sounds of a man outside this space. A guard would be left to make sure I was here, likely taking watch outside the door. But it made no difference. With this gag over my mouth, I couldn’t yell for help. With this rope tying me to the floor, I was nothing more than a leashed animal in here.
Stuck in this room for so long, I couldn’t tell if it was day or night. Only with the hunger pangs in my stomach could I know that time had passed. With the ache in my head worsening, I knew that I had been barricaded in here for more than a little while.
Isolated and without anything to track with the darkness, I neared the brink of insanity. Anxiety was all I could feel. Fear was all-consuming. Beneath it all, I had to endure the fact that I could only blame myself.
If I hadn’t walked away from Mikhail, because he didn’t love me, I never would’ve been taken like this. I could’ve been smart and planned a flight to London while I was still under his protection. I could’ve asked one of the guards to give me advice on how to escape. I could’ve tried to be patient and discuss with Mikhail how uncomfortable I was with his life of violence.
There were so many things I could’ve attempted to change, but it was far too late now.
When the door opened, bringing in a rush of dank air, I gasped and nearly suffocated myself with the gag over my mouth. Jarred out of the hazy drowsiness that I kept fighting, I realized how badly the sleep deprivation was getting to me. It was the biggest mind fuck of all, but I was instantly alert and awake.
The time had come.
Two men stormed in, their expressions full of malice and nefarious plans. Smirking and sneering, they crept closer and closer. Without a warning, they were suddenly there. Real and present danger had me trembling again.
“Time to rough you up, little bitch,” one taunted.
“Time to fuck you up,” the other said, chuckling as he reached for the zipper to his pants.
No!
No! No, no, no!
I scrambled back, held in place by my ropes tied to the floor. It wouldn’t make a difference, but my instinct of fight or flight reared to the surface. I couldn’t just lie here. Being a victim wasn’t supposed to be part of my life!
“Time to fuck that pussy before we make a mess of that face.” The first one smiled at his buddy. “You wanna go first?”
“You take her ass and I’ll fuck that mouth,” he replied.
They nodded, in agreement on how to defile me, but before I could scream mutely again, someone else rushed in behind them. A shadow smeared in the darkness, but I saw him appear just in time.
An arm lashed out, choking off the shorter man who dictated my rape. Long fingers gripped his chin and wrenched his head back before the other hand came up swiftly. Swiping a long blade from left to right, he slit the mobster’s throat.
Crimson sprayed out. Blood leaked instantly with the jugular severed. Despite the gore, the grisly bleeding that I normallywouldn’t have baulked at with my background in medicine, I stared with horror as the man slumped backward. Draped over his murderer, he gazed back at me, a vacant look already stealing over his face and in his eyes.
The killer dropped him. He’d shown up so quickly and ended this man’s life in such a rush, it was hard to believe it happened, that this wasn’t fiction but actually happening.
Mikhail heaved in deep breaths as he withdrew his arms, letting the dead man drop to the floor.
Making eye contact with me, he narrowed his eyes. Anger lit the fire in them. Rage and the feral urgency of violence crossed over his face, but it wasn’t at me.
He turned with the fluid momentum of dropping the first man. Extending his arm, he aimed his gun at the second man before he could react. With his hand still at his zipper, the mobster was too slow to get his gun.
Mikhail didn’t delay. He fired point blank at the man’s head. Five times, he sank bullets into the face of my would-be rapist.
Blood and brain matter sprayed out backward. More gruesome remains painted the wall and floor. He dropped too, dead before he could utter a word or fight back.
“In here,” Mikhail said, as if he was reporting to someone behind him. A comms unit was stuck in his ear, but with his solemn gaze locked on me, he seemed to be addressing me with his look.
