Chapter One
ALINA
I’m not goingto cry. I’m not going to cry.
The silent mantra runs through my head as I try to keep the tears that burn in my eyes and clog my throat at bay.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t have my phone. I’m not wearing a watch today. All I’ve done is try to conserve my energy. No one answers my banging on the door or my cries and screams for help, to be let out, to get Ilya.
The water bottle sits next to the sofa. I’ve taken some sips to slake my thirst.
My stomach is too tied in knots and rocky to want anything like food. It’s feels like a hangover, but less pleasant, and that’s saying something.
But that could be because they knocked me out a second time with the old-school chloroform.
Since I woke on the sofa in a small box of a room, this one with only one door, only one way out, I’ve felt torn between wanting to cry, passing out, or screaming and banging on the locked door.
“At least,” I say, my voice a rasp, “they brought the water bottle with me.”
Or gave me another.
Maybe that’s part of their MO. Water bottle and ratty sofa in every basement prison cell.
I turn on my back. Stare up at the stained ceiling that sags in one area, where mold dots outward. So much for the view.
But sleep isn’t any better.
I’ve drifted in and out of the world’s lightest sleep. I’m not tired, but I ache and hurt inside.
And I’m so fucking scared that I don’t know what to do.
Albert drifts into my head for the millionth time. The poor little dog. All I can do is hope he’s okay.
“Keep it together,” I whisper, “and do not cry.”
Has Ilya noticed I’m gone yet? Is he even home? What if they’re holding off telling him?
No. He’ll know.
Svetlana was around somewhere. There’s someone on the staff always doing things inside. Of course, a mansion is a mansion, so if they were out back, in the laundry room, or even cleaning one of the many floors, then they might not have noticed straight away.
“There’s Albert. He’d bark. He’d?—”
I stop.
If he’s okay, he’d bark.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart pounding. Maybe Ilya’s working on a plan, getting ready to storm the building. Of course, he’d have to know where I am. But they took me and are keeping me alive for a reason, so maybe they told him.
He’ll come for me. If Demyan were here, he’d come for me, too.
I think of Max, my heart aching in a different way. I don’t feel guilty for thinking he wouldn’t come for me if he were alive. Max wasn’t that kind of man. He wasn’t a violent, ruthless person. He was far from the world I grew up in, which was one reason I fell for him.
But he’d do something, all right.
He’d spring into action to save me.
He would go straight to Ilya and Demyan, and he wouldn’t let up until they got me. I liked that about him, his willingness to go to those who had skills he didn’t. And he would choose Ilya.
