Chapter 32

Dalia

M y head is pounding like it’s got its own heartbeat as I slowly come to.

Blinking open my eyes, I'm greeted with pitch-black darkness. I let out a scream, but it sounds muffled, like I’m buried under layers of something thick.

“What the hell is going on? Where am I?” I ask out loud to no one.

I try to shift, to sit up, but I quickly realize I can’t move much—I'm tied down. Panic flares up inside me, wild and uncontrollable. I feel like a trapped animal in a cage. I’m starkly aware there’s no sign of anyone else around.

I force myself to take a few deep breaths—I have to keep it together for the baby. But staying calm is a monstrous task when you haven’t got the first clue about where you are or what’s happening.

The last thing I remember before everything went black was the sound of a gunshot and Alexei dropping to the ground. Is this all my fault? Did I put him in the line of fire by going to him for help?

I strain my ears for any sound that might give me a clue as to where I’m at. But all I hear is my own ragged breathing and the echo of my heart beating fiercely in the dark lonely silence.

There's something smothering my mouth, it feels like a rag, but I can't be sure. I bite down on it, tugging it into my mouth, chewing as ferociously as I can manage. It's a desperate move, but to my immense relief, the fabric starts to give way under the assault of my teeth, and I manage to rip it in half.

As soon as my mouth is free, I let out the loudest, most piercing scream I can muster. But I don’t even get to enjoy a full second of rebellion. Almost immediately, there's a rumbling sound that spikes my adrenaline—it's the heavy, unmistakable thud of someone charging across the room.

Before I can react further, a huge hand clamps down over my mouth, silencing me. The smell of vodka hits me like a wave, almost choking me with its potency.

Then, a voice, thick with a heavy Russian accent and dripping with menace, growls right by my ear, "Shut the hell up, girl, if you know what's good for you."

The threat sends a chill down my spine, but it also lights a fire in me. I bite down hard on the hand over my mouth, ready to fight back with everything I’ve got.

The man lets out a yowl of pain as my teeth sink into his flesh, but his reaction is swift and brutal—a hard smack across my face that sends stars exploding across my vision. Dazed, I blink rapidly, struggling to focus as he roughly yanks the cover off my head.

My eyes adjust to reveal a grim scene. I’m in a crummy, cheap motel room with the curtains drawn tight. A silent TV flickers ghostly images. I’m tied to a chair, and my company is a hulking man dressed in all black, his head shaved clean. The most distinct feature about him isn’t his menacing presence but the silver pistol tucked into his belt—the very same one that smashed into my forehead.

As soon as my mouth is free, I take a deep breath to scream again, but he’s faster. He grabs the cloth I’d been gagged with and stuffs it back into my mouth, silencing me once more. His actions are rough and practiced, like he's done this sort of thing before.

I glare at him, fury and defiance burning through the haze of pain. Despite the fear gnawing at my insides, my rebellious spirit isn’t quite snuffed out. If looks could kill, the glare I'm leveling at him would have him on the floor.

I might be tied up and gagged but I'm not beaten yet. No way I’m letting this guy think he’s got the upper hand for even a second.

He inspects his hand where I bit him, noticing the blood I drew. Muttering curses in Russian that would probably make my grandma blush, he stomps off to the bathroom. He’s so massive that every step he takes makes the tacky motel art on the walls shudder.

After a few moments, he comes back, hands washed but fury still on his face. I’m just gearing up to spit out the cloth he jammed back into my mouth when he pulls out that silver pistol again and points it straight at me.

The cold metal gleams under the flickering dim light of the motel room, and his next words chill me more than the weapon itself.

"You’re going to keep that in your mouth," he growls, "unless you want to end up like poor Alexei."

The threat hangs heavy in the air but I’m not about to let him see me sweat. Locked in a stare down with him, I force my eyes to stay steely and defiant.

A risky thought darts through my mind—they're not going to kill me, not after going through all this trouble to kidnap me. Emboldened by this realization, I decide to push my luck. With a defiant flick of my tongue, I spit the gag out onto the grimy motel floor right at his feet.

The man groans in annoyance, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You’re lucky you’re needed,” he snaps, his voice harsh. “If it were up to me, I’d have killed you in that parking lot.”

Ignoring his threat, I shoot back with my own demands.

“Where am I? Who do you work for? Why am I here?”

He pauses, eyeing me like I’m some kind of curiosity that’s both amusing and irritating. Then, to my frustration, he throws back his head and laughs—a deep, mocking sound that echoes off the cheap paneling of the room.

“You’re a damn fool if you think I’m going to answer your questions.” He shakes his head as if I’m a child throwing a tantrum.

I narrow my eyes at him, my heart racing but my voice steady. "If you don't start talking, I'm going to scream again," I threaten, hoping he'll take the bait.

He just laughs, a grating sound that echoes mockingly around the dingy room. "Go for it," he smirks, waving a dismissive hand. "This hotel is abandoned, owned by the guy who wanted you taken. None of the other rooms are occupied."

Frustrated but not deterred, I draw in a deep breath and let out a piercing scream, just to test his claim. Sure enough, he doesn't even flinch, just rolls his eyes at my effort.

He sighs, clearly annoyed now. "You really should shut your mouth."

I shoot back quickly, "And what are you going to do to make me?"

The smirk fades from his face, replaced by a wicked look that makes my skin crawl. He strides over, yanks off my shoe, then peels off my sock. I try to pull away but I'm tied too tightly. He then starts caressing my foot, and I feel bile rise in my throat at his touch.

"You have lovely feet," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on them with an unsettling intensity.

He then looks up at me, his expression darkening. "Every time you scream, I’ll take a toe as a souvenir," he says coldly. His twisted smile sends ice through my veins, the threat hanging heavy in the air between us.

"You're absolutely revolting.”

He just shrugs off my disgust, grinning like he's in on some sick joke. "What's that American saying? Different strokes for different folks?" he laughs, obviously enjoying this far too much.

Desperate for anything that might tell me what the hell is going on, I push harder. "Come on, you've got to give me something. Throw me a bone here."

But he just nonchalantly waves his gun in my direction, dismissing my demand with a cocky smirk.

"No, I really don't have to give you anything," he taunts, then flops down onto the bed, which nearly buckles under his weight.

He pauses, a sly look crossing his face. "However, I'll give you one clue. What's happening now, it's been brewing for a while," he says cryptically before turning to change the channel on the TV. “A long, long time coming. Yes, indeed.”

Then, with a menacing glance back at me, he adds, "And just remember, any noise from you means one less toe."

As he settles in to watch TV, ignoring me like I'm just part of the furniture, I'm left fuming and frightened in equal measure.

Is this really happening?

Trapped in this shabby motel room, tied to a chair, I can't help but wonder… will Lev and his crew make it in time?