Chapter One
Nadia
Drip,drip,drip.
Eight hundred and ninety-two, eight hundred and ninety-three, eight hundred and ninety-four.
The incessant drips echoed throughout the small, dimly lit room as I swayed back and forth, matching the beat of the tiny sink in the corner. The sound of the drops hitting the metal basin was the only thing that broke the eerie silence. The air was thick with musty, damp smells, and I couldn’t help but shiver as a chill ran down my spine. I had lost track of time, but the dim light that enveloped the room made it seem like an eternity had passed. The only things I could feel were the cold mattress on my feet and the dampness seeping through my clothes.
I just knew when my body was tired, when it was ready to be awake, when I needed to eat, and when it was full—which was exceedingly rare.
I didn’t remember the last time my stomach felt full or distended. Now it was concave. I could easily count my ribs, and my hip bones were nearly piercing through the skin. The one thing I was grateful for was that there was no mirror. I couldn’t imagine what my hair and face looked like.
I rubbed my nose, feeling the cold drip of liquid trying to fall to the upper part of my lip.
All those times my parents sat me at the table when I was young in our small apartment—telling me to eat my beans, the sweet potatoes with butter and brown sugar—that some poor starving person would love to gobble this meal up in a heartbeat seems really silly right now.
I’d scold that little girl who sat there all those years ago.“Yeah, you will be the one starving down the road,”I’d tell her. “You will be the one wishing for this moment. Get some meat on them bones, girl. Savor every bite.”
I sniffed; my nose was still runny despite wiping it. As I breathed out, my glasses became foggy, and I had to take them off to wipe them clean.
Eight hundred ninety-nine. Nine hundred.
I continued to rock, no longer counting, just going along with the drips from the sink. I was tired of counting, tired of rocking, tired of sitting in this concrete cell every day. Most of all, I was tired of living.
They kept me alive just enough—just enough so that jerk wouldn’t break a promise to Mrs. Delilah. She wasn’t here now. She never wanted Master Shane Cunningham. Mrs. Delilah didn’t want him. I still heard her crying when I slept.
Her cries still haunt me.
My body topples over, my face buried into the soiled mattress filled with tears, sweat, and mold. I just wanted to help her, and I did. Then why do I still suffer? How did I get caught when I was so quiet?
The scraping of my nails on the mattress echoed through the silent room. I winced when they made a noise.
Shh, cannot make any noise.
My eyes darted to the door in panic. No movement on the other side came, no door unlocking.
I was safe, for now.
No one was supposed to notice this tiny mouse. It was mything.My mother gave me this cute nickname for her tiny daughter who would sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night and make an old Russian dessert. It was a family recipe of blini and smear it with chocolate and powdered sugar.
But this time I wasn’t so lucky. I pressed my luck and got caught in the biggest trap of them all. I didn’t outwit the hunter.
My teeth bit into my lower lip, piercing the chapped skin. Drafts had a hard time penetrating this room. The walls were cold, with no ventilation to bring in fresh air. The seals around the door were so tight it surprised me I could still breathe since the door had been shut for so long.
I didn’t need the whole door opened; I just longed for the slot at the base of the door. It was wide enough for a food tray, but even that slot had a lock on the other side.
Leaning over the side, I gazed longingly at it, my fingers twitching with anticipation. I flicked my finger, beckoning it to flip over and a tray to slide underneath it.Come on,I chanted in my head.Let today be the day.
If I had a concept of time, it was maybe five days since they fed me last. Master Cunningham must have given up now. His rescue mission had to have failed, or Mrs. Delilah refused to come home.
Not that I blamed her. I wouldn’t come back here. This place was hell. Drugs, weapons, parties. Thankfully there was nothing but consensual sex around here thanks to Mrs. Delilah, but still, this place was full of danger.
I was one of the lucky ones. No one dared mess with me, anyway. I had stayed in the shadows, stuck near the walls of the mansion, cleaned the rooms, dusted the chair railing, books, and unused rooms. I wasn’t one to be looked at, anyway. Not tall, too child-like, too small, to be anything beautiful for these men.
Master Cunningham sauntered down to the depths of the mansion and to my prison cell days ago. The light blinded me when he came inside, and I slid to the furthest corner away from him, hiding away from his imposing body.
He said he was going to find his wife and wouldn’t have me fed until he returned. He wasn’t providing me much, anyway. Just the scraps off the plates of his guests.
