She moves a little further, hesitates, and then fully commits, wriggling out and sitting cross-legged a few feet away from me. A toss of her head, and she uses her whole palm to push her hair out of her eyes.
“Why? I don’t know you.”
“It’s complicated, honestly.”
Her eyes go to my bound wrists. “Are you scared?”
I smile. “No, I’m not. I have friends who are going to come rescue us very soon. And then the bad man will…he won’t be able to scare you anymore.”
A distant sound comes to us through the small barred window in the metal door—a clicking thud, as of boot heels on flagstones.
Yelena’s eyes go wide, and she throws herself back under the bench, wriggling and curling up into a tight little ball against the wall. She’s shaking all over, tears leaking from her wide, brown, terrified eyes. I move and sit with my back to the bench, putting myself between me and the doorway.
The boot heels click closer.
To the door.
It creaks and scrapes open, held by a short, swarthy man with khaki pants, sandals, and a knee-length tunic, wearing a scarf-like head covering and carrying an M-16. Through the door swaggers a second man, and this one I recognize.
Tall, slim, wearing a cream suit with a pale blue button-down, the top two buttons undone. As Yelena described, he does indeed have fancy hair, his blond hair expensively cut and styled. Clean-shaven. His eyes are so pale they’re almost white, and they radiate malice. Bad eyes, indeed.
“Apollo Karahalios.” His voice is silky, with an accent that makes his origins in the Southern US. Texas, maybe, or Tennessee. “How nice of you to join us.”
“Spaulding.”
He smirks. “You know me.” He seems pleased by this.
I wait. No point in acting as if I have any leverage to make demands, and nor am I going to act afraid of him.
He’s irked by my lack of fear and my silence; I think he expected theatrics, begging, bartering. “Your friends think they can find me.”
I don’t bother arguing.
He frowns, his brow tightening, jaw hardening. He swaggers closer—he’s wearing alligator-skin cowboy boots. “You fucked me over, Karahalios.”
“Dimitriou,” I correct. “I changed my name.”
A derisive snort. “Changing your name doesn’t change who you are.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at me. “I lost millions because of you, because of your little…game.”
“There was no game, Spaulding. And I didn’t do anything to you.”
“Oh, but you did.” His expression turns ugly, vicious. “You damn near ruined me. I had to comehere.” He gestures angrily at the walls around us. “Buyers vanished, supply vanished. Interpol on my ass. Youfuckedme.” He crouches in front of me. “And you’re going to pay.”
“If you think killing me is going to help you get your business or your money back, I have news for you—it won’t.”
“Kill you?” He rises, grinning. “Oh no, killing you would do me no good. You misunderstand, Karahalios. When I say you’re going to pay, I meanpay. Actually pay.”
I suppress laughter. “You could have approached me man to man, you know. Like businessmen. This is…unnecessary and isn’t doing you any favors.”
“Oh, just like that—make an appointment with your office and beg for minutes of your precious time? And tell you what? That you murdered at least half of my clientele and made it nearly impossible to find supply?”
“Supply,” I echo. “You mean human beings? Innocent girls?”
“Ah.” He turns away, hands in his pockets once more. “Now you’ll preach to me. As if your very existence, not to mention the wealth you grew up in, didn’t come from that same business. As if you weren’t spawned by one of the most notorious madams in all of Europe.”
“I’m not her, nor am I my grandfather. And even when I was…in the family business, so to speak, I never dealt in human flesh.”
“You’ll pay, Karahalios.” He stands by the door. Glances at me over his shoulder. “And if you think your little club of killers is going to come to your rescue…I have news for you: I’m ready for them.” He smirks, as if his use of my own words was especially clever. “Particularly that delicious little girlfriend of yours. I’m going to enjoy sampling her before I sell her, even if she isn’t really to my…taste.” A pause for effect. “I expect to get quite a pretty penny for the beautiful daughter of a billionaire.”
