WREN
Someone is whispering in Russian. Before I’m even fully awake, my body tenses, knowing that can’t be good.
Please let this just be a dream.
I feel around me and find myself still in the enclosed trunk; the car is bumping along slowly, as if on an unpaved road. How long have I been unconscious? Minutes? Hours? My head throbs where I must have been hit, and I feel what I’m guessing is blood, trickle slowly down the side of my head.
The voices grow louder, and I feel all around me for something to use as a weapon, but find nothing. Why hadn’t I insisted that I get my own knife? They said they’d teach me how to use one, but we hadn’t started training yet. If I ever get out of here, I’m going to demand they teach me immediately, and I’ll never go anywhere again without some sort of weapon hidden on me.
I strain my ear toward the front, trying to listen to theirconversation. They speak Russian, so I have to translate it to English in my head.
“No. You know what the boss said.”
“So what? He never has to know we touched her.”
I inhale sharply, my eyes widening with fear. They’re talking about touching me. This can’t be good. But information is power, so I force myself to keep listening.
“She could tell him.”
“Why would she?”
“For all she knows, he told us to do that. Besides, we can convince him that the convicts did it.”
“Don’t even think about it, Sven. Ivan will kill us both if he ever finds out.”
“Fine, fine. Maybe after he’s broken her in, he’ll share. Like he usually does?”
“I think this one might be different. But I heard he’s pissed. She was supposed to come compliantly, but something happened with Blackburn, and she ran off.”
“That can’t be good. What about the deal?”
“I’m not sure. Ivan delivered his side of it, but Blackburn didn’t fulfill his end. And the fact we’re the ones bringing her in, not his men, can’t be good news for him.”
I rest my head back to digest that information. A couple of minutes pass, and the car slows to a stop. My heart hammers wildly in my chest as I try to think of a plan to escape. The only things I have learned are that there is tension between my brother and Ivan, and that Ivan might kill these guys if they touch me.
An idea comes to life, and I reach up, wincing when my fingers touch the gash on my temple. I swipe my fingers gently through the blood,then move my hand down, smearing it over my thighs and between my legs. I do this a couple of times, and even though it feels disgusting, I’m hoping this gives me the chance I need to get away when the time comes.
A car door slams, making my prison rock from the impact, and I remind myself to take deep breaths and try to stay calm.
Just hold on a little longer. They’re coming for you.
I hear muffled voices and the sound of keys to my right. I barely have time to brace myself before the trunk lid raises and sunlight pours in, momentarily blinding me. I shield my eyes with my hands, then someone grabs my wrist and hauls me out of the trunk.
“Ow!” I cry as he wrenches my arm so hard it makes my shoulder ache.
Once my feet are under me, he releases my wrist, and I grab my elbow, supporting my arm as I try to take some of the strain off my wrenched arm socket. Hopefully, he didn’t injure anything permanently.
I scowl at him as I ask, “Was that really necessary?”
His eyebrows raise in surprise. “I thought you were meek little mouse, no?” His thick Russian accent comes through as he smirks down at me while the other man closes the trunk.
“The boss is going to have fun with you,” the second man says as he shoves me in the direction they want me to move.
I walk behind asshole number one as I finally take in my surroundings. In front of us is a large warehouse, with metal walls that must be at least forty feet high. We’re parked in a gravel lot that surrounds it, and the place is littered with stacks of crates. I don’t even want to guess what's inside them.
Cold air hits my legs, and I shiver, feeling too exposed as I realize I’m only wearing my short pleated skirt and crop top. It’s September now, and we are much further north than I’ve ever been.
Before we reach the warehouse, the man behind me clamps a hand on my shoulder to stop me moving forward. “Wait,” he says, and I stand still, holding my arm as I try to remember my plan. But I guess that depends on whether I even see?—
