22. Kat

22

The rest of the morning flies by in a blur.

Soon after Nik made the fatal mistake of challenging me, the personal shopper he said would be coming over to help me select my new wardrobe arrives.

Her name is Caroline, and she has impeccable taste. She and I get along well, and I have a great time for the first hour of her visit. I sigh and squeal in pleasure as she helps me try on all her luxurious offerings.

But as the hours pass, I begin to feel weary. As I stare at the mirror, I physically feel the stress of the past couple of days catch up with me, even as I drool over my reflection.

"So lovely, right? Well, the dress is Chanel, these shoes are YSL, and the bag is Dior. Your lingerie, of course, is Agent Provocateur," Caroline says, smiling at me while gesturing towards the beautiful strips of lace and silk on the bed in my new bedroom—my jail cell.

"It's all gorgeous. I'll take it. All of it, obviously," I say, returning her smile.

Caroline nods, still grinning, before showing me the other gorgeous pieces she selected for me.

Once I have spent enough money to make even multibillionaire Russian mobsters pause, I'm secretly glad when Caroline says her goodbyes.

My relief is short-lived, however, as the doctor Nik mentioned earlier shows up mere moments after her departure. My distractingly handsome captor watches in silence from a distance as the physician examines my head.

As I predicted, my injury is very mild. The good doctor recommends rest and cold compresses, reassuring Nik that I don't have a concussion and should feel completely normal in a few days. The man leaves after reminding us to contact him if my condition changes. After spearing me with another glowering glance, so does Nik.

Glad to be left alone, I hurry to change into clean clothes. Once I feel the soothing touch of a fresh cotton t-shirt and shorts against my skin, I have to fight to keep my eyes open. I feel more exhausted than I've felt in years.

I waste no time getting under the enormous bed's covers. Their weight is comforting, and a sigh escapes my lips as my muscles relax.

Soon, delicious sleep starts to take over me. I don't fight it, slipping into a sweet, dreamless slumber within minutes.

It feels like hours—maybe days—pass as bone-deep relaxation makes all my worries seem far away. Somewhere deep inside my dark pit of unconsciousness, I'm vaguely aware of a presence. I can't say how much time goes by before I detect the soft pressure of warm lips on my forehead, followed by an impossibly gentle Russian whisper.

Yo postoyanno dumayu o tebe.

Deep within the grasp of my slumber, struggling to maintain my precarious grip on sentience, I will myself to memorize it. I don't want to forget it. I want to find out what it means.

The last thing I feel is a slight, warm touch against my lips. As it slowly traces its shape, I succumb to the darkness again. The irresistible peacefulness it brings me is welcome, as much as part of me yearns to linger and enjoy more of the pleasant touch.

At some point, I find myself in a long, cold hallway. It's dark and humid as water slowly leaks down the dirty, gray walls, and the harsh overhead lights flicker.

Faintly, I hear a woman cry. Her sobs and erratic breathing sound terrifyingly familiar. I can't pinpoint where her voice is coming from or who it belongs to. So, I inch closer to a metal door across the corridor from me. As I approach it, it becomes clear the weeping lady is on the other side of it.

A few feet away from it, I recognize the voice as A.J.'s. Her inconsolable cries echo in the hall as I run towards the door; I yank it open, preparing myself for the worst possible scenarios my mind can conjure. But there's nothing on the other side of it. Nothing but darkness.

My best friend's sobs grow more desperate, and I rush to cross the doorway. My surprised gasp echoes as my feet find no ground beneath them. Before I can react in any other way, I scream in horror as air rushes around me.

I'm falling.

Panicked, I flail my arms and legs in despair, reflexively grabbing a coarse rope that my right hand brushes against. Unseeingly, I grip it as hard as I can and manage to stop my free fall. The rough fibers of the rope bite the palm of my hand as my weight pulls me down towards the abyss. Frantically, as my heartbeats drum loudly in my ears, I use my left hand to secure my hold over the miraculous lifeline.

The muscles in my arms burn as I struggle to pull myself upwards towards the light. I glance up and see the doorway I fell through a few dozen feet above me. It's a luminous beacon in the darkness of the precipice. With a deep breath, I will myself to keep climbing, inch by torturous inch. Sweat makes my palms slippery, and I slide further down instead. It drips down my brows, burning my eyes, but I don't dare let go of the rope with either of my hands to wipe it away.

I look up again, screaming in renewed terror, when I spot the stronzo standing in the illuminated doorway. His gold rings reflect the overhead fluorescent light from the hallway. He is dressed in one of his expensive Italian wool suits, black in color. He sneers down his tan, Roman nose at me, contempt and malice burning in his pale blue eyes.

I try to ignore him as hard as possible, pushing forward and climbing towards the evil man blocking the door. My palms feel raw and wet as if the skin has been removed like a glove. But at last, I reach the doorway. With a grunt, I grab the edge, groaning in pain as my arms and shoulders protest while I struggle to pull myself up. My groan turns into a cry of pure agony as fine leather shoes crush my fingers.

My eyes meet the stronzo's when he cruelly smirks at me before delivering the final blow. He kicks me hard in the face, and I can't hold on any longer. With a scream, I plummet to what I know is certain death as his mocking laughter echoes around me.

Suddenly, my breath is knocked out of me as I sink like an anvil into deep, freezing water. The cold is so forbidding that I freeze into place, unable to move my limbs. Yet, I urge myself to kick my feet out and push towards what I hope is the surface. In the pitch-black darkness, it's impossible to tell.

My lungs burn with the need to breathe when I finally break through. With a frantic gasp, I inhale a chestful of air. But before I know it, the current grabs me, pulling me under again.

Again and again, I fight to keep my head above the water, but the current and the waves are stronger and relentless. My struggle is futile.

This is it. I'm dying. The stronzo wins.

Despair grows inside me, and I wail, knowing A.J. is soon to follow. I continue to fight, kicking and flailing my arms.

"Shh, shh, milaya." A soothing voice sounds impossibly close. "You're safe. I'm here. It's just a bad dream."

Scalding warmth embraces me. Somehow, I'm sitting up. It feels surreally impossible, but I blink my eyes open to find myself in a bed. As I regain my actual senses, somewhat in the back of my mind, it registers that night has fallen. The room is drenched in darkness and faint, pale moonlight.

Soft lips run over my hair and my forehead. Burning hot strength surrounds me everywhere. The clean scent of fresh linen and warm male envelops me. I can't help rubbing my face on it. My heartbeat calms down.

"Kiska," Nik whispers, his voice soothing me. "You're alright. You were having a nightmare, that's all. You're here with me now." His arms tighten around me as he continues to rain soft kisses on my head.

"I was drowning," I say, sobbing against his chest.

"Shh, kiska. You're safe now."

"I fell in the dark, and I was going to drown. She was going to die… she needed me, and I couldn't save her," I mumble as my tears soak his sweater.

"No one's going to die, kiska. It was just a dream. You're okay."

"You don't understand," I say between sobs.

"I'll always keep you safe. Nothing's going to hurt you ever again. I promise."

Nik's lips brush against my ear lobe, but his words make me cry harder. He shushes me again before rubbing my back and whispering Russian words against my hair. After a few more calming breaths, I realize that he's rocking me back and forth.

Too soon, Nik's Russian mumblings cease. A minute or two later, he says, "You need sleep, milaya." He leans back, shifting us into a lying-down position while gently holding me in his arms.

"No," I protest heartily. "I can't. I'll just go back to my nightmare."

"No, you won't. I've got you. You're safe. Sleep now."

I resist it, dreading the bad dream. Nik continues to hold me, tenderly rubbing circles between my shoulder blades. To my surprise, it doesn't take long for my eyelids to grow heavy. My exhaustion wins, and unconsciousness overtakes me again as I fervently hope for some dreamless sleep.

The next thing I know, I am burning hot. Awareness gradually creeps in, but I fight to continue sleeping. It is pointless. As sleep evades me, I grow increasingly uncomfortable and even start to sweat. With a sigh, I blink my eyes open and realize it's daytime. The sun glows through the massive windows in the bed chamber, waking me up with its brightness and heat.

After sitting up, I glance to my left, noticing a chair a couple of feet away next to the bed. It wasn't there when I went to sleep the day before.

Gradually, memories of the past night come to me. I recall the man who comforted me, drying my tears. I remember his gentleness and care.

In the broad daylight, it barely feels real. I'm half sure I've dreamed it all up. After the horrible nightmare, maybe my brain felt the need to compensate for that abject horror with a dream of blissful tenderness.

It is probably best to convince myself it was a dream. So, I roll to my side to get up from the bed. I desperately need a shower this morning.

With a frown, I spot something on the pillow next to mine. I reach for it and pick up a brightly colored plastic bag. It's a pack of hard candy. Before I can stop myself, I laugh in disbelief.

Life Savers.

To keep me from drowning.