I have to get out of here somehow.
I have to save Polly.
I promised her I’d protect her. How can I ever look her in the face again if I don’t? The thought that follows is even worse: what if I don’t even get the chance to ever look her in the face again? A low, guttural sob escapes my throat and I start struggling all over again, thrashing and moaning uselessly.
“Now, now. Let’s calm down, little lamb.”
I freeze mid-struggle. I’m not so far gone that I don’t realize that this voice is new. It’s deep and silky smooth, a voice I mistrust instantly. I peek to the side and catch sight of him.
He’s a tall man, though not as tall as Uri. His broad shoulders are covered in a silk shirt left unbuttoned to mid-chest, revealing an eerily hairless torso. He’s smiling, but it makes my skin crawl, a fact made worse by the unsettling patch of burnt skin swallowing the right side of his face.
I draw in a breath as he moves closer to my bed. “You’re Sobakin?”
He places a hand to his chest. He’s wearing a collection of huge, chunky rings. “Please, call me Boris. You must be the Alyssa I’ve heard so much about.”
He wears an air of sophistication about him. It makes you believe that he could be a civilized man. But I’ve been down here long enough to see through the fa?ade. No civilized man would lock women up in a basement like this. No civilized man would sell off a child into sex slavery. He can be as smooth as he wants—I’m onto the motherfucker.
“Where’s Polly?” I demand, pulling my foot away from him.
“Not here.”
I keep pulling at my restraints. “She’s a child. Don’t do this. Let her go.”
His smile just gets wider. “You’re attached to the girl. That’s precious. But unfortunately, it’s too late to change her fate now.”
He makes it sound inevitable. It’s the same way the doctors and my parents made me feel about Ziva’s diagnosis. I didn’t believe them then. And I’m not going to believe this creep now. I’ll take blind hope over cold acceptance any day.
“Take me instead. I’ll take her place.”
Boris raises his eyebrows. “That’s brave of you—but entirely unhelpful. The men at this particular auction prefer their purchases young.”
I cringe, my stomach twisting in disgust. I have to bite down on my tongue to keep the bile from rising. “You bastard,” I hiss.
“Ooh, I do admire the spirit. I would have thought you’d be much closer to broken at this point. Most other women are.”
I’m already cold, but my skin feels a few degrees colder ever since he entered. He’s done this before. No wonder this cell, the beds, the restraints—all of it feels so worn. The air itself is cobwebby. Like the ghosts and screams of all the women who preceded me here are still lingering between the walls.
“In any case, I would stop thinking about the girl and start thinking about yourself. I have plans for you, too. But don’t worry—I intend to make sure you enjoy yourself.”
I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my horror, but when his hand grazes my cheek, I can’t stop the instinct any longer. I start retching instantly. Boris jumps out of the way like a startled cat.
“Disgusting,” he mutters. That silky smoothness disappears altogether. Now, he just sounds pissed.
Despite the sandwich I ate, nothing comes out of me but a few trickles of spit and blood. I collapse onto the mattress, my whole body wracked with shivers. I don’t give myself much time to wallow before I look at him, determined to fight as hard as I can if he so much as takes another step towards me.
Boris is still standing at the foot of the bed, far enough away to avoid the splatter of my vomit. Those brown-gold eyes of his are narrowed with distaste. “Are you going to be difficult about this?” I open my mouth but he holds up a hand. “Don’t bother answering. I’m not prepared to wait for you to decide one way or the other.”
As I watch, he pulls something out of his pants pocket. It takes me a moment to focus on the instrument he’s holding up to the light.
Is that a… syringe?
“No!” I gasp, pulling my knees up toward my chest as high as they can go. “No, no, no.”
He strides around the bed as I start struggling again but the restraints are making it impossible for me to do much. I see his hand rise toward my neck. “NO!”
But it’s too late. I feel the sharp pinch as the needle breaks the skin. Almost immediately, my head starts to spin and my vision goes blurry. It’s like black snowflakes falling over my eyes. The world fades, one pixel at a time, until there’s nothing left but darkness.
I can still feel, though, at least for a while. Boris’s hands undo the buttons of my blouse one by one. The cold sneaks in to nip at me like little rats.
Then he stops.
“Well, well, well… is that what I think it is?” He clucks his teeth. “You’re pregnant.”
Even if I could talk, I don’t know what I would say. Lie? Don’t? Would it matter? Would he care?
“Uri Bugrov’s woman and his baby. I really have hit the jackpot, haven’t I?”
I wish I could see. Or move. Or do anything but sit here behind this veil of darkness and listen to the most monstrous beast I’ve ever encountered murmur under his breath about my baby.
And then…
Wish granted.
I hear a huge bang. Like the world being ripped apart at the seams. I smell smoke and debris and Boris’s surprised intake of air. Then another huge explosion and the keening wail of a bullet.
Screams. Thumps. Splintering wood and billowing smoke. It’s all happening just on the other side of this drug-fueled shadow. I don’t know who the hell is coming—someone worse?—until a familiar scent hits my nostrils.
Scotch and cinnamon.
It’s Uri.
Never have I been more relieved, more grateful, more overjoyed to see someone—well, to figuratively see him—in my entire life.
“I warned you about touching my woman, Boris. I wasn’t joking.”
“I was just—”
I’ll never find out what Boris was just about to do, because before he can finish his thought, I hear the swish of Uri storming across the room and the violent crunch of fist meeting flesh. It rings out a dozen times or more, accompanied each time by a grunt or scream from Boris, until he isn’t making any noise at all anymore.
One more bang. The final bang.
Then… silence.
I feel Uri’s fingers stroke my face. “I… I can’t s-s-see…” I try to say. I’m not sure if my lips move or not.
“It’s okay. Hush now. You’re safe.”
Hearing those words, feeling his arms around me, breathing in that deep, oaky scent of his—it’s all too much. I try prying open my mouth to thank him and only a big, ugly sob comes out. I shouldn’t be feeling so much relief right now. Not when Polly’s still gone. Not when she’s in imminent danger.
I need to tell him. He’ll go back to hating me, but I have to tell him. Except, every time I open my mouth, another sob comes out.