Dimitri drains his beer. "If anyone’s going to make a move, it’s you. You don’t have to bullshit me. That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re checking to see if I'd back you."
I choose my words carefully. "I want to know if you think the problem is deep enough to need a solution.”
Dimitri leans back in his chair, thumbing his chin. After a beat, he says, "It is. But talking’s easy. Doing is a whole other beast, one I’m not sure we can handle."
“You’re right,” I concede. “Problems like this need timing. The right people.”
Dimitri lets out a loud breath. “That’s the fucking problem right there.” He cracks open another Baltika. “Here’s to kissing Albanian asses.”
I leave soon after that. Dimitri’s not ready and I don’t trust him enough to lay out my plans. It’s too risky.
I spend the rest of the day preparing for next Tuesday. I check out a few apartments, settling on one in a certain area of town before leaving with the keys. From there, I zigzag across Moscow, covering my trail at different stores. I stock up on all sorts of food, enough to last for a while. I pay for everything in cash only. No trace. Since I don’t know what condition the girl will be in when I find her, I make sure to grab some medical supplies and nutritional drinks. She could be half-starved for all I know, useless to me if she’s on the verge of death.
My next stop is a clothing store. I don’t know shit about buying women's clothes, so I keep it simple. I grab a couple of sweatpants, t-shirts and some hoodies in a small size. I don’t even attempt figuring out the different styles of underwear. Whatever looks like it might fit a thin eighteen-year-old girl, gets dropped in the cart. I add a few bras that claim to fit one size and add some socks to the pile I pay and move on.
The last stop is for personal items. I get the basics of what I assume a girl would need, take everything back to the apartment and put it away. I’ll need to come back tomorrow to finish setting up the locks. Can’t have her trying to escape.
When I’m done, I stand in the middle of the apartment and take it all in. It’s not the nicest place, nothing like my penthouse near the Moscow River, but it’s clean and much better than a basement. Best of all, no one will look for her here. Knowing my father, I can almost guarantee it. She’ll be isolated and completely dependent on me. As it should be for an asset.
My asset.
CHAPTER 5
NALA
I smell smoke.
I jolt awake to screaming and footsteps pounding above the ceiling. I blink, squeezing my eyes shut then open, fighting through the brain fog of sleep and waking up.
Something’s burning.
The harsh scent of smoke hits my nose again. Oh my God. There’s an actual fire. I scramble off the mattress, legs shaking as I stumble through the pitch-black basement. My eyes slowly adjust, letting in the barest amount of light as I find my way to the staircase. I grip the railing, taking the steps two at a time. I lunge for the door handle and yank. It’s locked.
Noooo. Please. No.
“Let me out!” I slam my fist against the door. Nothing happens, so I pound again, harder and harder. “I’m in here,” I scream. “The basement. Open the door!”
Nothing.
No one hears me, or maybe they do, but they don’tunderstand. I scream again. Language barrier or not, I’m a person yelling at the top of my lungs.
Reality hits me. They don’t care. Madam Belova, the girls who saw me. None of them. They all just left me down here to burn.
I keep screaming. I can’t stop even if it’s useless. I kick the door, desperate to not die like this. I kick it again and again. Over and over, still shouting with everything in me. I do it harder when I see even more smoke crawling beneath the door, burning my throat and choking me.
I can’t be trapped here. I can’t. Sure, I wanted to die, but not like this. I don’t want to burn. It’ll be painful, might take forever before I stop feeling the flames eating at my skin.
I lift my fist, banging and screaming until my lungs ache and my voice cracks. My fists throb as smoke pours in faster now. It hurts to breathe. My lungs no longer just hurt, they burn too. My eyes sting and water.
I'm going to die here. Burn alive or suffocate. This is how it ends for me, in a blaze.
I keep trying to hit the door but my hands feel too weak. Tears stream down my face, as I beg, my voice barely working. "Please. Someone. I'm down here. Please.”
Nothing. I’m alone in this building. Everyone has to be outside already, safe while I burn.
I cough, then cough again, hard and uncontrollable, dropping to my knees at the top of the stairs hoping someone might come.
No one will. I know it now. My hands slip to the floor, my head slumps, falling forward. I’m dizzy, my eyes on the verge of fluttering close, when a sound breaks through my panic. The lock suddenly turns. I drag myself off the ground, trying to stand, my head spinning with relief. Someone’s opening the door. I watch, my breath coming out in harsh ragged spurts as it swings open.
