Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
52
SASHA
Hours pass. I have no idea what time it is. But one thing is still the same—I’m still in a warehouse. Still being held as a prisoner.
This isn’t my first time being held somewhere I don’t want to be, but the difference in the situation is staggering.
I thought Gideon was evil, but I was always treated like a queen.
Even when I was trying to escape.
My heart lurches at the thought of him, but I push it away and try to take stock of my environment.
I’m no longer tied to a chair.
Now, I’m lying on a hard, cold floor. A memory of being untied and thrust to the floor flutters into my mind.
No food or water has been provided, and I’m parched and hungry.
My mouth feels like it’s filled with sand.
At least they haven’t started the actual torture. Right now, it’s all mind games.
I move to sit up, but that’s when I realize my hands are still secured together.
That’s right.
They allowed me to sleep on the floor but still tied my hands.
A faint noise seems to echo through the air. It’s so soft that at first, I think it might be nothing more than a figment of my imagination, but then it grows louder—footsteps brisk and deliberate.
Someone is coming.
My eyes dart around the room as I strain to see anything that could give me the upper hand. But I can’t concentrate over the sound of my thundering heart.
Every minute feels like an eternity, and every second brings with it a new wave of terror.
They didn’t hurt me. But that was before; will they hurt me now?
What do I do?
Defend myself in some way.
I scan around desperately for something—anything—that might be used as a weapon but find nothing.
Just then, the door swings open, and someone advances into the room.
The light from the tiny bulb flickers, and as the person turns in my direction, oxygen escapes my mouth.
Matt.
He found me, but how?
When I was taken from my apartment, he must have seen them. I had told him I was going to stop there, and he must have decided to meet me instead of waiting for me to come to him.
In the span of only a few moments, hope blossoms in my chest like a rose unfurling its petals.
“Matt,” I whisper out into the darkness.
“Shh,” he responds, crossing the space to get to me.
My head shakes back and forth. “The men—”
“The guard stepped out.”
“I—you found me.” I throw myself into his chest and cry tears of relief. “We have to get out of here.”
“I’ll get you out of here, Sasha. But I’m not going to lie, your life—” His words stop, and he pushes me back, looking down into my eyes. “You said on the phone that Roman stole money from them. Do you know where his money is?”
“I don’t have it. That’s the thing that no one understands. I don’t have this man’s money. I never did. Roman gave me nothing. Trust me, Matt—”
I wasn’t awake when they brought me here, but I doubt the Russian Bratva’s lair is easy to infiltrate.
“How did you get in here?” The accusation in my tone is tough to hide.
There’s no way a place likely well-guarded just allowed a detective to waltz in.
“I’m a detective, Sasha. I do this for a living. We’ve been watching this place for some time. I know the schedule.”
What he says makes sense, and I nod in understanding.
“Let’s get you out of here.” He unties my hands, and once they are free, I wiggle them around, trying to get the circulation back into them. “When we’re out—”
The sound of the door flying open has me flinching. Light streams in from the hallway. It’s blinding against the dark room.
Heavy shoes approach, and I realize it’s the man who wants what Roman stole again.
Shit.
He’ll kill Matt for trying to break me out. At that moment, Matt rushes toward him, but he’s too slow. There are too many men, and he can’t possibly fight them all off.
My fear becomes reality as they quickly overpower my friend.
I watch in horror as one punches him in the face, and then he’s thrust onto his knees.
A kick to the ribs.
The sound that emanates from Matt’s mouth makes my body tremble with chills.
“Stop! You’re going to kill him.”
Dima Markov steps forward, gun in hand. “That’s the point.”
He aims the gun at the back of Matt’s head. “Where is my money?”
“I don’t have it,” I cry out.
He cocks the gun. The click echoes inside me like a freight train. “I promise. I don’t know.”
“His death is on your hands.”
“No. Please. I don’t know. I don’t know. Please—”
A deafening boom slices through the air, ripping a sob from my throat. I feel like I’m being torn apart. Sob after sob pours out of me.
“Talk!”
The gun points at me. “I don’t know anything.” Tears stream down my face. Time passes, and my eyes screw shut as I wait to die, but after a minute, nothing happens, and my lids flutter open.