He steps closer to my cage and presses his hips and the zipper of his black jeans against the bars. My blood runs cold in my veins as I realize what he’s implying.
“Did I put your clothing back on you the right way around? I can be so careless sometimes.”
Breathe in. Breathe out. Picture the garden at home. Yourrealhome. The place that Dad left you year after year, where you were so, so lonely, before you understood that a lonely garden is really paradise on earth.
“What a tight snatch you’ve got.”
The flowerbeds in summer. The bees on the lavender and the scarlet poppies nodding in the breeze.
“Tell me,neordinarnaya. Did Elyah ever kiss that sweet little birthmark you have on your pussy?”
The small, pale brown mark on one of my outer lips. He’s not bluffing about undressing me.What did he do to me?
I leap to my feet and lunge through the bars with both hands at the Russian, while he steps back and laughs. He runs his tongue lasciviously over his top lip, so fucking delighted that he’s managed to tear away my pretense of submission and fear.
“Spit in my face. You know you want to.”
Lose control. Give him an excuse to lose his. I can hear what he’d say to Elyah as they stood over my mutilated corpse.She insulted me. I had to teach her a lesson.
I force my hands back through the bars and sit down onto my narrow bed, my burning face turned away from him. I can’t take my revenge while I’m in a cage.
But I will. One day he’ll pay for this.
I feel him standing at the bars to my cage. Gloating. Smirking. It takes him ten minutes to drink his fill of my humiliation and terror, and he breathes heavily the entire time.
Fucking creep.
Finally, the dark-haired man grows bored and heads back upstairs. As soon as I’m alone and the room falls silent, I stuff my hand down the waistband of my shorts and feel around. I’m not sore down there, or even chafed. I’d know, wouldn’t I, if he’d screwed me while I was unconscious? I take a deep breath and slip two fingers inside my underwear. Not wet and sticky, but damper than normal, maybe? I don’t know. I pull my hand out and take a tentative sniff of my fingers, hoping to hell I’m not going to smell semen, but there’s just my scent.
I wipe my fingers on the rough blanket, shuddering at the gaping hole of time between falling unconscious in the Lugovskayas’ apartment and waking up here. I was at that man’s mercy for hours.
Trembling, I push myself into the corner of the cell and sit on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees as I stare into the darkness beyond the bars. If anything happens, I’ll be ready for Elyah and the dark-haired man, and the mysterious Konstantin.
I’ll be ready for anything.
* * *
“Up, my little jewels. Get up.”
The jangling of keys and scraping of locks fill the air. I inhale sharply and raise my head. I must have fallen asleep with my cheek on my knees. Panic slams through me as the door to my cage swings open—
But the armed guard doesn’t even look at me before moving on. There’s another guard dressed in a black uniform holding the chain of a mean-looking dog. These men areshestyorka, I presume. Low-ranking muscle to keep us in line.
I can see the dark-haired man lounging in the corner, one thumb thrust into the waistband of his jeans, the sole of one shoe propped against the wall. His hungry eyes scour the cages, and when they land on me, he winks.
I hold his gaze for three heartbeats and look away slowly. I wish I could ask Elyah how he survived the mind games and constant vigilance that captivity demands. We talked about so many things, but never that. Then with a jolt, I see him enter the cellar room. His powerful shoulders move under his black button-down shirt, and his blond hair is dark with water. He’s just showered and looks exactly like he did when he worked for my husband.
For a moment, I forgot that he’s not a memory anymore. He’s here. He’s my captor.
A man in a black suit with a black shirt and tie stands in the middle of the room. His tattooed hands are clasped in front of him. This, I presume, is the Konstantin one of the women mentioned. He has an expensive, authoritative air about him, from the cut of his suit to the arrogant way he holds himself. He’s older than Elyah and the dark-haired man by about ten years, and he has the attitude of aPakhan. The boss.
His left cheekbone and temple are a mass of scar tissue, and silvery scars disappear into his dark hair. As he turns his head, I see the edges of a tattoo on the side of his neck.
He makes a beckoning motion with his hands at us and speaks in a deep voice. “Come out, my jewels.”
I can’t hear anyone moving. No one wants to be the first. Swallowing my hatred of our captors and keeping my face carefully neutral, I step out of my cell and stand just beyond the door, staring straight ahead. One by one, I feel the other women emerge from their cages and line up beside me. Some are fidgeting. Others are shaking.
Elyah comes down the row with a box under one arm, passing out bottles of water and cereal bars. My mouth is parched and my stomach rumbles. When he reaches me, Elyah twists open the bottle of water and holds it up. “Would you like water, Lilia? Or would you prefer a cup of coffee?”
