Pavel nods. “Can you remember anything about where you were being held?”
She frowns while cradling her teacup in her hands. Her expression twists with pain. “No, I just remember it was like a warehouse.”
“Did it smell like iron?”
Her frown deepens. “No, it just smelled like musky earth.”
He nods. “So, it’s not in Meatpacking.”
“I don’t know where we were,” she admits. “I would if I could. But just… it’s hard to remember, y’know?”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to remember everything right now.”
She trembles. “She’s pregnant, Liya. She’s carrying a baby. What if they…?”
I squeeze her hand. “We don’t know what he’s going to do to her.”
But that’s a lie.
I know exactly what he’s doing to her.
I just don’t want to upset Willow any more than she is right now.
She nods slowly and gulps. “I…I’m tired. Can I lie down?”
“Yes, of course. Let me take you upstairs.”
While sliding an arm under her shoulders, I notice the bruises on her neck and arms. I don’t mention them. I don’t stare. I know she’s been through a lot, and the last thing she needs is more reminders of where she just came from.
Once she’s safely tucked into a spare room with a few soft blankets, I drift into the hallway and stare at the staircase banister. The spiral steps make me want to hurl. I’m getting sick of this place, but I can’t leave.
Not yet.
Pavel rises from the foyer. “How is she?”
I shrug while glancing back at the door. “Upset.” I sigh and shake my head. “I wish she could tell us more.”
“She might remember more things tomorrow,” he whispers. “Tonight she needs to rest.”
“There are warehouses on both sides of the Hudson. She could be anywhere.”
“True.” He nods. “But we can make a good guess about where Zoya will be next.”
I dare to meet his gaze, understanding his implication. Since I heard the news, it’s been vibrating like a low note in the back of my mind.
I sigh and whisper, “A wedding.”
“Precisely.”
I look toward our bedroom door. It’s wide open, revealing the darkness inside. I shudder to think what lurks in there. All the memories I’ve tried to shove down resurface from those shadowy depths, reminding me of a fine-looking altar, a massive church, and the sting of a vibrating tattoo gun.
Zoya is getting forced to marry Cardona, I think while heading toward the bedroom.What’s she thinking right now? What’s she feeling?
I don’t answer the questions. Not because I don’t know the answer.
But because I don’t want torelivethe answers.
It won’t be much longer, I assure myself.As soon as this is over, I can leave.