I remain still until he leaves, then lifting a trembling hand to my throat, I suck in desperate breaths of air.
At the age of twenty-seven, you’d think I’d be used to the threats and abuse, but the fear and disgust never lessen. Instead, it becomes more potent every time I’m hurt and raped.
I picture myself darting up off the floor and running into the torture chamber, grabbing the hammer, and when I catch up to Boris, he’ll give me a look of surprise before I smash in his skull.
If only.
I climb to my feet and shut the door before I reach behind me to pull down the zipper of the dress.
The sounds of Georgi being beaten are muted by the wall between his cell and my bedroom, but I still hear them.
Right after Boris killed Mom, Anton was allowed to rape me. Boris said all my screaming and begging were annoying, so he moved me down here.
Now, only the walls, the guards, and whoever’s being tortured next door hear my screams.
I step out of the high heels and wiggle my toes while I open the closet doors. Grabbing a pair of black jeans, a T-shirt, and a jacket, I quickly change into the clothes.
I always try to cover as much skin as possible, so I don’t draw unwanted attention from the guards.
It’s also always cold in the basement, so I wear the jacket every day. Sitting down on the side of my bed, I put on my ballet flats before I pull a brush through my hair and tie it up in a ponytail.
Stepping out into the dimly lit hallway, I don’t look at the four men who stand guard when there’s a prisoner.
I take deep breaths and try to gather enough courage to face Georgi as I walk to the room beside mine.
It’s gone quiet while I was getting dressed, and I hope he’s unconscious.
I stop by the doorway and peek inside, but see that luck is not on my side.
With his arms held up by the shackles and chains, he’s standing with his feet spread wide. Once again, I can’t stop myself from looking at his incredible body, and even though he’s been beaten, the bruises don’t make him look any less attractive. If anything, they make him come across as more rugged and dangerous.
Georgi shakes his head and lets out a chuckle that sounds a little insane instead of playful like before. “Where has all your bravery gone, Nina?” He turns his head and locks eyes with me. “From deadly siren to scared mouse. That’s quite the change.”
His tongue darts out to swipe over the bleeding cut on his lip.
I take in the red blemishes on the left side of his chest, his busted lip, the bruising on his face, and the cut running through his eyebrow.
The gash on his head is my biggest worry.
Lowering my eyes to the floor, I walk into the room and go to the opposite corner where the cabinet holding all the medical supplies stands. I open the metal doors and take out a bottle of antiseptic fluid and a clean cloth.
It feels like I’m dragging my feet through sludge as I walk to where Georgi is restrained. I glance at him, and only then am I reminded of how tall he is.
I’m much shorter.
Shit.
I glance around the room and spot an empty bucket. Pulling it from under the table, I turn it over and position it behind Georgi. Careful not to fall, I climb on and pour some of the wound cleanser over the cloth.
When I press it to the gash where the blood is starting to dry, Georgi yanks his head away and growls, “Why are you cleaning me up?”
“It’s my duty,” I whisper.
When I try again, he doesn’t pull away. I manage to wipe most of the blood off, and when I see he doesn’t need stitches, I let out a breath of relief.
I climb off the bucket and move it in front of Georgi. When I get on it again, I barely reach his chin.
His eyes take mine captive, and he tilts his head. After a tense few seconds, he asks, “So what’s your deal?”
