Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“Hello?” I cry out, my voice hoarse and cracking. “Is anyone there?”
There’s no response, just the soft hum of the light above me and the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the far corner. I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through the fear, but it’s no use. I’m suffocating. The damp basement air doesn’t help.
A door creaks somewhere above me, and I jolt upright at the sound. I’m terrified of who might be coming down the stairs, but I need to act brave. They can’t know how scared I already am.
Footsteps descend the stairs, and a woman emerges in pale blue scrubs and white sneakers. Her hair is pulled into a bun, her eyes lined with exhaustion. She’s a nurse, that much is clear.
“Hi,” she says gently when she sees me watching her. “You’re awake.”
No shit, I want to say. But I bite it back. This woman might be my only chance of salvation. She walks toward me slowly, cautious and non-threatening, like someone would approach a feral animal. She sets a small white medical kit on the floor before kneeling beside me.
“Don’t be afraid,” she says, her voice low and even. “I’m just here to check on you. Can I take a look at that cut?”
My throat is sandpaper, but I manage one nod.
She opens the kit and dabs my forehead with sterile gauze, her movements practiced. It stings, but I don’t flinch.
“Where am I?” I ask, my voice trembling despite my best effort.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I can’t tell you that.”
“You can’t tell me that?” I jerk against the chains. “You have me chained to a fucking chair, and you won’t tell me where I am?”
Her eyes flick up to mine, and I see a mixture of pity and fear. She’s captive here too—only she isn’t in chains.
“I don’t make the rules,” she says quietly. “I’m just here to keep you alive. I promise, no one wants to hurt you.”
“Too late for that!” I snap. “Why am I here? And why am I chained like a damn animal?”
She presses a clean gauze pad to the wound and tapes it down with steady fingers.
“There are people negotiating for your release,” she says. “It’s just going to take some time. You’re a means to an end, nothing more. Really, you’re one of the lucky ones.”
“Negotiating?” My blood runs cold. “Who’s negotiating for me?”
She doesn’t answer. I blink at her, heart pounding.
“Please,” I whisper. “I’m a nurse, too. Can you at least tell me if this has anything to do with Sergei Volkov?”
Again, she won’t look at me. That’s answer enough. She finishes wrapping my wrist where the metal of the cuffs has rubbed the skin raw and stands.
“I’ll be back soon with some water and something to eat,” she says. “Try to get some rest.”
And then she’s gone. The door clicks shut, and I’m alone again.
“Try to rest,” I mutter bitterly. “That’s not fucking likely.”
I sag against the chair, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I don’t cry, not yet. Not because I’m strong, but because the terror hasn’t broken through the shock. I don’t know how much time has passed. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe two hours. There’s no natural light in here, nothing to help me anchor to reality. Just the buzz of the overhead light and the growing ache in my back from the way I’m seated.
The door swings open again. The nurse is back, I hope. Maybe she brought food and water like she promised. But the figure who comes down the stairs is a man.
He’s tall and looks fairly young. He’s impeccably dressed in a gray tailored suit and gleaming black shoes. He moves with effortless confidence, as if doors open before he even reaches them.
He’s maybe thirty, only a few years older than me, yet everything about him screams power. He’s dangerous and arrogant. My breath catches in my throat.
“Well,” he says, surveying me with a cool, dispassionate gaze. “You clean up nicely. I won’t lie to you, you looked pretty shitty when they dragged you in here.”
I don’t respond. I just stare, trying to decide whether he’s the type who wants a reaction or the type who respects silence. He steps closer, folding his hands as neatly as his suit.
“You must be Nicole.”
I glare. “Who the hell are you?”
He smiles faintly, as if the question amuses him. “My name is Semion,” he says. “And you’re currently a guest of the Chechen Bratva.”
My blood turns to ice. Another Bratva. So this is about Sergei. “Why am I here?” I ask, forcing myself to sound bold.
“You’re here because of Sergei.”
I flinch at Sergei’s name; it confirms everything I’ve feared. Maybe I was right to leave, except leaving landed me right in his enemy’s hands.
“I don’t know anything,” I say quickly. “I’m just a nurse Sergei hired to take care of his mother. Please, just let me go.”