Winter
Present
“Mikhail?” I called, trailing down the hallway.
I’d woken up, hearing his nails clicking on the hardwood floor.
Music played in the house, and I could hear some people downstairs, moving freely, as well as cars driving up to the house. What was going on?
After the bath, I’d locked my door, slipped on some clothes, dried my hair, and repacked my escape bag, counting my money again and making a mental list of where I could go, just in case. I knew I wouldn’t run, because that would put others at risk, but I needed something to keep myself occupied.
And then stupidly, I’d fallen asleep, the worry, the fright from this morning, and the bathtub making me crawl into a ball on my bed and sink far away.
I needed another plan. One, I thought, that involved Damon’s old friends. They could stop him.
They would stop him for me.
“Mikhail?” I said louder.
My phone was still downstairs—hopefully fully charged, given that it was almost eight at night—but I heard a whine and veered into my father’s room, instead.
I heard the faucet run in the master bath, but I didn’t give a shit if Damon was in there or not.
“Mikhail.”
My dog’s wet nose hit my leg, and he breathed happily, licking my fingers.
I knelt down, smiling and relieved. “Hey.” I petted and hugged him, the dreariness of the last couple of days gone all of a sudden.
Thank you, thank you, thank you…
I’d been pretty sure Damon wouldn’t have taken him out and had him shot, but tears sprang to my eyes, so happy he wasn’t gone for good.
“Why were you in here?” I scolded in a playful tone, taking his collar in my hand and standing up. “Stay away from him, boy.”
“Ke nighg-ya,” an order came from the bathroom, Russian again.
Mikhail pulled out of my grasp and ran away, the nails of his paws tapping against the bathroom tiles.
“Mikhail?” I said sterner.
“The dog was a mistake,” Damon said. “He won’t protect you from me. I know how to handle him. I know how to get things to obey me.”
“Give him to me.”
“Sure,” he chirped. “Take him. If you can.”
“Mikhail,” I demanded, tapping my leg. “Mikhail, come here!”
But my dog didn’t move, not a single jingle from his leash or sound of his nails.
My chin trembled, but I refused to cry.
But before I got a chance to spin around and walk away, Damon grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the bathroom. I resisted, trying to pull away and noticing he was only in a towel as he pressed me against the sink and shoved a long piece of metal in my hands.
“What is this?” I asked as he wrapped his fist around mine, forcing me to hold it.
The scent of shaving cream filled the space, and the steam of his shower crawled into my pores.