And just as I’m reliving the last Christmas we all spent together, I hear the sound of the door opening.
They’re here.
I don’t have to pretend I’m asleep. I don’t have to pretend anything. I’m terrified, and my sister would be, too.
What I am, however, is surprised.
There aren’t half a dozen masked men wearing gloves in black ready to carry me off.
There’s one.
And when he steps into the moonlight pooling at the bottom of the bed, I blink and stare at him. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a wiry, thin, rat-like man like the one reportedly hauled into jail a few months ago, or his greasy, hefty counterpart. This man looks nothing like them at all.
When I meet his gaze, a shiver shudders through me. His blazing, ice blue eyes are frigid. Ruthless. He has short, tousled, sandy blond hair and the hint of dark scruff on his firm jawline. High, sharp cheekbones, and full lips twisted into a sadistic smile. Tattoos lace up his neck and shoulders, the black ink still visible under the thin, white t-shirt he wears stretched over his powerful form. Muscles ripple when he moves toward me. He’s strong and powerful, with arms as thick as trees. Capable of hurting me, and I know before he says a word that he will.
That’s why I’m here.
He’s come in unmasked, as if he doesn’t give a damn who’s going to see him. As if he has a right to get me.
“Hello, Calina.” He says in English, his voice sharp and acerbic.
You’d think after twenty-four years of being a twin I’d get used to hearing someone call me my sister’s name, but you’d be wrong. It still feels weird.
I swallow. I need to play this right, but I will go with him.
“What do you want?” I whisper. “Who are you?” I know exactly what he wants, but he’ll expect me to act surprised.
“You,” he says simply, stalking over to my bed. I wasn’t sure if he’d speak to me in English, but apparently he wants to be understood. “I knew it was bullshit they had you locked in here,” he says in a thick Russian accent. “I knew you were far more intelligent than they let on.”
I feel the sting of what he says. He’s right, but not because of what he thinks. It’s better he doesn’t believe I’m as brain damaged as Calina, because I can’t feign her mental capacity with authenticity. But as my mind turns this over, the knowledge that he came in here to abduct my sister makes hatred pulse through my veins.
His sharp tone cuts through the quiet. “I can tell with one look in your eyes you know who you are, where you are, and why I’m here for you.”
I swallow.
I way underestimated how this would go down.
He bends down and reaches for my hair, twists it around his hand, and pulls hard. I gasp from the pain, my heart racing. “Tell me,” he says in his deeply accented voice.
“Tell you what?” I whisper, genuinely confused. The grip he has on my hair is painful and tight and I want it to stop, but I can’t make him. So I go still. If I don’t move, it doesn’t hurt as much.
“Tell me why I’m here,” he whispers in my ear.
I want this over with. “I stole your money,” I whisper. “And you’ve come for revenge. Just take me, then. Kill me. Just get it over with.”
He releases my hair and places his hand at my neck. His mouth comes to my ear and he whispers, “It won’t be that simple, kitten,” he chides. “You have much to answer for. Reparations to make. So this is how it will go.”
I listen in silence.
“You will stand,” he says. “You will come with me. We will go to the hallway, where our easiest, least trackable escape route lies, and you will do exactly as I say. Am I clear?”
I nod and swallow. I expected I’d be carried out or something. Hell, I don’t really know what I expected, but this man’s calm control of the situation wasn’t it. He doesn’t manhandle me or drag me out of here. He doesn’t need to. His very presence warns me of his utter control.
He walks to the door as if we’re going for a mere stroll in daylight.
“Those who would stop us have been temporarily neutralized,” he says in his thick accent. “We will walk out of here as if we were meant to. You will cause no disturbances. You will come with me like an obedient little one. Understood?”
I nod, once.
To my surprise, he leans in and pinches my chin between his thumb and his forefinger. It’s an almost intimate gesture, a dominant one that commands my undivided attention. His voice lowers to just above a whisper. “When I address you, you will say ‘yes, sir.’” He gently nods my head up and down like a puppet’s. “I will not tell you again.” With his hand still on my chin, he makes my head bob up and down in a nod. “Nod.”