I stay planted where I am because my body feels heavy and my head keeps replaying that image of Jagger being dragged down the hallway. I think about Wren too, and I'm wondering how scared she is right now. But she’s strong, I know she can survive this… whateverthisis.
“We have to get them out,” I say.
Elias’s voice softens without losing focus. “We will.”
Pete grins. “We’ll burn that place down if we have to.”
Elias gives the smallest nod. “They just have to hold on a little longer.”
It feels like it's too fast, but at the same time, it’s not soon enough to have her back in my arms, where she belongs.
I look toward the boarded window, toward the direction of Ivan’s estate.
Forty-eight hours.
CHAPTER FIVE
WREN
After spending the rest of the day alone in my room, as usual, I find myself led back to the dining room again for dinner; this time, it’s my other guard, Alexei, who escorts me there.
I’m made to stand behind my chair and wait. Jagger arrives next, and I see he’s being brought in by the same two guards who brought him in earlier.
As soon as his eyes connect with mine, I run to him. Thankfully, nobody stops us, and again, he loops his bound cuffs over my head so he can hold me close.
“I love you so much,” I whisper against him, which has him squeezing me a little tighter. Afraid that we will be ripped away at any second, I pull back just enough so I can reach up on my tiptoes and hold his face. He meets me halfway, bending down and kissing me.
This time, he doesn’t hesitate to press his tongue in, kissing me with so much passion that I eventually have to pull back, not wanting to get too worked up in the home of our enemy.
“Isn’t this sweet?” The voice is cold, and as it rolls over me, I shiver, glancing at where Ivan’s just entered from a side door. “Jagger, come sit over here,” he says, gesturing to the same chair he sat in at breakfast.
Begrudgingly, Jagger leaves me to move to it, and I slowly move back to stand behind mine, unsure what games we’re in for today. When Ivan gestures for me to take a seat, I do so without question. It’s definitely better than kneeling at his side, but I’m still tense with worry. Jagger is too, his eyes constantly darting between us.
“Now, Wren, I’m going to give you a choice.”Chyort poberi!I curse internally in Russian, not looking forward to where this could be going. Ivan lifts his hand to gesture for someone to come in, and a server enters with two plates of food. He places one in front of Ivan, then stands up and waits for instruction.
Even though Ivan isn’t outright smirking, I can tell he’s amused right now. “Your choice is simple, either you eat, or he does?—”
“Jagger,” I say instantly, not even needing to hear what else he has to say. Jagger and I stare at one another, and even though there is no outward expression on his face, I already know everything he’s thinking. He wants me to eat, especially since I didn’t get breakfast, but he understands why I did it. Not just because he’d do the same, giving me the food if the choice was given to him, but because Ivan clearly expected me to choose myself, and I refuse to give him what he wants.
And when I look at him and see the pinch of surprise on his face, I know that is exactly what he expected. He can’t understand why I would choose Jagger over myself. He doesn’t understand love.
Silently, he motions to the man to give Jagger the plate of food while trying to hide his own frustration. I can see his brain practically spinning, and I worry about what his next attempt will be. Surely by now, he realizes I’m not going to turn on Jagger.
And why did he want that so badly? Because the woman he had loved turned on him? I’m sure she had an excellent reason, but he’s a narcissist; he may not think he’s done anything wrong.
They both eat silently, and I take the chance to assess our surroundings. There are five guards present: the two who brought Jagger in, Alexei, and two more I don’t know, stationed at the exits. Escaping this room will be harder than escaping my own room; there are too many eyes in here.
A loud clank has me glancing at where Jagger has dropped his spoon on his plate, his cuffed wrists clearly making it a struggle for him to eat. I wonder if they keep those on him all the time. If he weren’t bound like that, it’d probably be easier for him to escape.
My eyes roam the guards, wondering which of them has the key on them. There is nothing outright visible, but one of Jagger’s guards has a small bulge in his side pocket. It isn’t smooth like a phone, so it’s possible it’s a set of keys. Of course, even if I took them, he’d probably notice.
I’d be better off getting him something to pick the lock with. The short chain between his wrists looks like he has enough room to work with. I know Pete was far better at picking locks, but perhaps with the right tool, Jagger could do it too. But what could be used to pick a lock? Pete once showed me his lock-picking kit, and I try to remember what it looked like. Several thin metal tools. A knife or fork would be too big; it needed to be something smaller.
My mind scrambles with ideas until Ivan announces that dinner is over, and we are joining him in the parlour.
A sense of worry rolls through me. What else did he want from us? Was this because his games weren’t going as planned? What else would he try to do to break us?
As we enter the room, I take in the tall bookshelves filled with what appear to be mostly Russian textbooks, the ornate fireplace with a roaring fire, and two old-fashioned armchairs with tall backs, centered around it.
