Or perhaps some other reason. Or all of them. I need to find out.
I must do my job as gatekeeper and protect my cell.
Chapter Eight
Kira
Light filters in through the blinds. Maykl walks over and cracks them, revealing a breathtaking view of Lake Michigan. It’s bigger than I imagined, stretching as far as the eye can see–like an ocean. The water is grey-blue to match the winter sky.
He has an entire wall of windows. As he walks the length of it and cracks each of the blinds, it’s like he’s changing the distorted pictures in my mind.
What I expected to find of the Chicago bratva vs. what is actually here.
In Moscow, the bratva lived together, like here. They had a more clandestine location. An old pre-war brick hospital that had been converted to house them. They must have had money, but it wasn’t fancy, like this building. It wasn’t showy.
I remember going in looking for Anya once, and it had more of a crack house feel to it than a residence. Not disgusting like the place Anya lived in here, but underground.
There were random people drinking and doing drugs. Dancing. Having sex. Everyone was heavily armed and menacing.
There was a distinctly dangerous edge to the scene. It represented the seedy underbelly of Moscow. A place where teenage girls were taken to work off their father’s debts.
This place–at least Maykl’s apartment–seems like an ordinary residence. If ordinary means luxurious with a priceless view. The front lobby looked like the lobby of any luxury high-rise, with the exception of the heavily armed and tattooed doorman.
I’m not fooled–I know they’re criminals. Perhaps far more dangerous than the cell in Moscow. Certainly better funded and organized.
But the beauty makes it harder to judge. So does Maykl’s kindness. His sexiness.
It’s almost harder not to spill my guts to him than it would be if he was beating me and ripping off fingernails.
I know this is a different technique used with captives. Bond them to their captors. Somehow gain their allegiance and trust.
I have to be careful.
Everything’s so mixed up and jumbled for me because we were intimate. Because he helped me with Anya’s funeral arrangements.
The way he ruffled my hair after securing me to the chair did strange things to my mind.
It made me almost crave his attention. His approbation.
He ignores me for a while, washing the breakfast dishes, cleaning up. When he returns, he lifts a water glass to my lips and lets me drink from it.
I swallow several gulps down.
I want to interrogate him now. Find out what goes on in this building. If I’d been smart, I would have taken more time to cultivate something with him. Win his trust.
But I don’t have the time or the money to play a long game here. And I was blinded by my desperation and grief at finding Mika missing.
I guess my own anger with myself for not coming sooner–the moment I lost contact with Anya–made my behavior erratic.
Maykl faces me, leaning against the edge of his desk to consider me. He doesn’t seem angry. Nor does he seem turned on, like before. I sense something more like sympathy from him. He strokes my cheek softly with his large thumb.
“Who are you avenging, Valkiriya?” he asks softly. “Anya?”
The question takes me aback. That he would guess so astutely why I’m here. What I want.
I shake my head. “I’m looking for Mika,” I assert because it’s true, and sticking to the truth is my best bet.
“You think I lied? That we really have him?” He shakes his head. “There’s no one with the name Koslova here.” He raises his brows. “Did you think we had something to do with Anya? With her death?”
I continue to remain close-lipped.
“We’ve bought Russian sex slaves, yes, but to set them free. Some have remained as a choice. No women are imprisoned here, I promise you that, Kira.”
They bought Russian sex slaves. That statement shocks my nervous system. The way he says it so casually. Like human trafficking is something they see every day. Are a part of.
But, of course, he claimed they aren’t.
I attempt to digest the information without showing any reaction. They set them free after they used them? Like they took my sister to pay off our father’s debt?
Or did they buy them for the purpose of setting them free?
I chew it over, not sure what to believe. My past and everything I know about the bratva in Moscow tells me these men do as they please. If it makes them feel magnanimous to free slaves they never should have owned in the first place, they’ll do that.
They do have certain codes they follow.
Maykl stands over me, his beefy arms folded across his chest. “I have a hundred ways of making you talk, Valkiriya. Believe it.”
I give him a sullen stare.