“You don’t have to fear rape,” the man hisses. There’s a roughness in his voice but no mocking. He’s not lying. “Mischa can be cruel, but he never lets his men go that far.”
The man jerks his chin toward the rest of the room as if to say,See? Look.
I sneak a glimpse from the corner of my eye, surprised by what I find. Minutes after my arrival and I still haven’t drawn any more attention than a few guarded looks. Not out of respect, I suspect. More like…disinterest? Almost as if so many women have been locked within this cage that the novelty has worn off.
“You don’t have that to fear from him. He is insane,” the man beside the cage admits, “but not a monster. He will hurt you, though, if you do not give him what he wants. Donotmake him angry.” He stresses every word and taps the bars for emphasis. “He won’t fuck you, but he’ll still hit you.”
My arm stings in memory. Oddly enough, I can’t decide what I fear more: sexual violence or brutality? I’ve never had a choice between the two before.
“You want to ask something,” the man prompts, hissing out the words. “Ask it now. Get it over with. You already know the answer.”
“Will…will he kill me?” My voice trickles weakly in the shadow of his.
He’s right though. I already know the answer, even before he nods.
“Yes. He will kill you. But, if you obey and keep quiet, he will make it quick. Try to make a scene or challenge him and…” He drags his thumb across his throat. Slowly.
My eyes drift shut as I fight to suck in air.Keep breathing. It’s the one mantra that can save me when all else fails.Keep breathing.
But my ragged breaths are too loud, drowning out the muted noise coming from the rest of the room—and this is the one time when I need to focus. Gathering any and every clue I can is the only hope I have to…What?Perhaps just learn the motives of the man who will kill me.
“Y-your name?” I tilt my head back and strain my eyes through the dark, fighting to make out as much of my companion as I can.
He’s old. Maybe fifty. The gray speckling his cropped hair catches what few flecks of light enter the room. I can’t tell how well questioning him will go over. But I have nothing left to lose.
“What is your name?”
“Ivan.” He scoffs. “They call me Vanya. However, it will be better for you not to—”
“M-Mischa?”Thatname tastes strange on my tongue. Two clashing syllables, one soft, the other violent and harsh. “Is thathisname?”
Vanya scoffs again, shaking his head. The motion alone reveals that he didn’t mean to let that detail slip. “I suggest you not use that one, either—” He breaks off suddenly, cocking his head. Then he curses and kicks the side of my cage. “Hush. Keep quiet and look at the wall.”
He’s gone a heartbeat later, marching toward the center of the room while two sets of footsteps approach from an outside hall. The heaviest pair belongs tohim. Mischa. I know that even before I hear his voice, lashing like a whip that commands total silence in its wake.
“Out.”
The room itself trembles as fifteen men lurch into action like a well-oiled machine. Not all of them leave, however. One set of footsteps lingers behind the rest—they’re unsteady, betraying a slight limp on one side. From age or injury? I can’t tell.
Apart from him and Mischa, there is one other man. He comes closer to my cage than his leader, his footsteps light and lazy. “Is this the decoy?” he wonders as the back of my neck prickles beneath his unfamiliar gaze. He too has an accent I can’t place. “You must be slipping, Mischa. I didn’t think even Winthorp could ever fool you—”
“You have a job to do,” Mischa warns. “Do it.”
“In front of her?” the other man asks.
“She won’t live long enough to report anything of use to anyone.” There’s no malice in the threat. Mischa could be commenting on the weather for all the emotion his voice holds. Death must be that simple to him. That easy. “You have an hour. Vanya will watch you. I shouldn’t have to remind you, Xavier, that if you short me, I will kill you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of deceiving you,Pakhan,” Xavier simpers, but even I recognize the careful way he melds the taunt with a hint of respect. He knows which lines not to cross.
Apparently, the display satisfies Mischa enough to leave without reinforcing his brutality. In his wake, the air thins. I’ve been holding my breath all this time.
“Make it quick,” Vanya says, apparently taking up the commanding role in his leader’s absence.
Despite his warning, I can’t resist the temptation to look. A furtive glance over my shoulder reveals that the two men are standing before the card table in the center of the room.
A light has been switched on. The weak glow casts enough illumination to make out the two men’s features. One is gnarled, with graying black hair and a scar along his jaw. Vanya. The other is younger. A pair of glasses rests upon his Roman nose, and he’s wearing a suit that does its best to convey wealth, but the fit is poor. It’s not tailored.Stolen, a part of me suspects.
That man places a briefcase upon the table which he opens. Even from this angle, I recognize the stacks of paper contained within. Money. A lot of money.