Chapter 9

NINE

Hollis

I couldn't stay here in this fucked up situation. If I stayed here, there was no way to get out and get back to Olive, and that wasn't something that I could live with. When the warehouse door opened again, my breath almost stopped. He walked in after I'd made my decision. I wasn't sure if I was rushing things — if I was desperate. Of course, I was. He was my chance.

The men that entered were dangerous, their presence commanding and intimidating, but there was one – the one called Dimitri. It was instinct that had me standing and calling out to him. His hair was cut military short, shorn almost to the skull, tattoos even down onto his knuckles, intricate designs that spoke of a life steeped in violence. But despite his imposing appearance, I didn't get that sense in my belly that he'd hurt me even though he was here in this place. There was this disgust in his eyes as he looked at the other man and around at the women crouched on the floor. If there was any opportunity, this was it. Distrust gnawed at my gut, but I had to take the chance.

"Come," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Let's get out of here."

I glanced at the man named Rodriguez, whose smile was unsettling—a predator's grin—and then back at Dimitri. With no better option, I stumbled over my feet and followed, thankful he didn't grab me. At least when I walked out, it was of my own volition; otherwise, I wasn't sure I could bear it. The afternoon sun was blinding. The heat and humidity hit me like a wall, the air thick and oppressive, but the fresh air was a welcome change from the stifling interior of the warehouse. Where was I?

We reached a sleek black SUV parked nearby, its polished surface gleaming under the harsh sunlight. Dimitri opened the passenger door for me, his movements precise and controlled. I hesitated again, my mind racing with what might happen next. Was I jumping from one captivity to another? But the thought of staying in that warehouse was even worse.

I climbed into the SUV, the leather seat cool against my skin. Dimitri softly closed the door behind me and walked to the other side. He slid in with an effortless grace, his presence filling the confines of the space. The man he came with took the passenger seat, turning slightly to look at me with curiosity, interest, and — anger? The driver started the engine, which purred to life with a low rumble. As we pulled away, I looked back at the warehouse, feeling relief and apprehension, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me.

"Where is this? Where am I?" I asked, struggling to adjust the maxi dress down over my knees. The dress had seen better days, the cotton stretched and worn and, even worse, splattered in places with things I'd rather not think about. My voice trembled despite my efforts to stay composed.

Dimitri glanced at me, his eyes steady and unreadable, his jaw ticking. "Bogotá. We're in Bogotá, Colombia."

My heart sank further. I was thousands of miles away from home, from Olive. The thought of my little girl, alone and scared, fueled my determination to find a way out of this nightmare. I had to get back to her, no matter what it took.

"Wow, ok." I tried not to panic.

The streets of Bogotá blurred past us, a chaotic blend of colors, sounds, and smells. The air was thick with the scent of grilled meats and tropical flowers, a sensory overload that made my head spin.

I looked over at the man next to me. "What will you do with me?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it .

He didn't answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he stared out the window for a moment. "What do you think I'll do with you?"

"Jesus, fuck," the man said from the front seat. "Why did you take one of them? This is just going to complicate shit." He ran his hands through his black hair, tearing at it while he looked at me, frustrated. "Your brother isn't going to be pleased.

Dimitri's face morphed into anger, and he fired off rapidly in a language I didn't understand to the other man. Russian maybe? They had said Bratva in the warehouse. Weren't they like the mafia? Great. I looked at the floor.

"That's Luka. He's an asshole." Dimitri glared at the man in the passenger seat as if he could incinerate him in the seat. "Don't worry about him. He apologizes for his poor manners."

"Okay," I managed, keeping my hands together in my lap. If anything, Luka seemed oddly upset. I tried to puzzle it out. "Are you from the US?" I asked, trying to think through a plan. If I were in another country, how would I get home? I had no money or passport, not that I ever had a passport. I'd never been anywhere before. Tears threatened to spill over. Dimitri sounded Russian, which would be bad if he were from Russia and not the US. What if he wasn't going back to the US? What if I were stuck? I tried to breathe.

I'm okay. I'm okay.

"Luka and I are from the States. We will return there very shortly, and I promise to take you when I go. Look at me," he ordered.

Hardening my resolve, I pivoted towards him and forced myself to meet his eyes. I thought of Olive alone back home and forced myself to ask another question. "Where do you live?"

Dimitri's jaw clenched. "It's complicated. You are trouble — I do not doubt it." He raised one hand to touch my chin with a tattooed finger. "I will settle this business with this man, and then we will return to the States." He moved his hand, and I immediately pulled my body back against the seat, far away from his presence. He eyed me carefully and grudgingly said, "I live in Arizona, malysh."

The tension in the car was palpable, and a silent understanding passed between us. I felt a glimmer of hope for the first time in days: I would get back to Olive. This man was going to help me.

The streets of Bogotá were bustling with activity, a stark contrast to the grim interior of the warehouse. Vendors lined the sidewalks, their colorful stalls a riot of fruits, flowers, and handmade goods. People moved everywhere, and the city was alive with energy and noise, but I didn't like it. The city moved on outside the window, and my whole world had altered without my permission.

I finally broke the silence, my voice sharper than I intended. "So, what now? Are you just another trafficker, moving me from one prison to the next?" I didn't think so, but I wanted him to say it.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "No. I'm not a fucking trafficker." He was insulted, his brow furrowed, and his eyes darkened.

"Then what are you?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on me. "I am Bratva."

Well, that wasn't good at all. I read about them in my novels, but this wasn't a romance. The Bratva. The Russian mob. My heart sank, and I fought to keep my composure. "So, you're saying ... You're the bad guy?"

He glanced at me again, his eyes hardening. "Yes, malysh. I'm the bad guy, just a different kind. But I didn't have to take you out of there. I could have left you with Rodriguez. I didn't."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" I shot back. "I don't even know you. For all I know, you're just using me. "

His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond immediately. We drove in silence for a few more minutes, the chaotic streets of Bogotá flashing past us.

Finally, he spoke, his voice softer. "Make no mistake that we all use each other. You're using me, and I'm using you. But I need you to understand that I'm not your enemy. I'll help you."

"Help," I repeated, skepticism dripping from my voice. "What's in it for you?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Information," he shrugged. "I could only take one of you." That sounded like a lie, even to me. "You volunteered, malysh. You might know things that could be valuable to me. And in return, I can offer you protection. A way home."

I studied his profile as he spoke, trying to gauge his sincerity. There was something in his eyes, a glimmer of determination mixed with something else—maybe a hint of humanity, but that could be just a facade. He sat like he owned the world, an arm across the back of the seat, legs spread. Confident of his place.

"Fine," I said finally, my voice weary. "I want proof that you're not just another monster."

He nodded, his expression serious. "Fair enough. I'll do what I can to earn your trust."

We drove on in silence, the sounds of the city a constant backdrop. My thoughts drifted to Olive, wondering if she was safe and being taken care of. Would she ask for help from the neighbor? Would she call the police and tell them I was missing? The image of her blond curls and the perfect bow her mouth made when she was sleeping filled my mind, strengthening my resolve. I had to find a way out of this mess for her sake.

As we navigated the streets of Bogotá, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a long and uncertain journey. But for now, I had to play along, gather information, and look for any opportunity to escape. Because no matter what this man said, I couldn't afford to trust anyone completely.

As we approached the hotel, Dimitri glanced at me occasionally as if assessing my state of mind. The car came to a smooth stop in front of the entrance, and he quickly exited, walking around to open my door once more. His movements were swift, almost practiced, and I wondered about his life outside this moment.

Luka had already exited the car, standing close by Dimitri like they were in concert, his eyes darting around the street. It made sense, Bratva, always on the lookout for enemies. Somehow, I'd made the worst or best move of all time.

"Stay close," he instructed, his voice devoid of emotion, leaving no room for argument. His words hung in the air, their meaning like a poisonous cloud.

I nodded, my eyes darting around as I followed him into the hotel's opulent lobby. The architecture was beautiful and old. If I were on vacation, I would like to explore the area and visit the museums and churches. But I reminded myself I wasn't on holiday and this wasn't somewhere I would ever want to come. The cool air was a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. Sparkling like stars, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the pristine marble floors. The scent of fresh flowers, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the grimy warehouse I'd just left behind, filled the air, adding a touch of surrealism to the scene.

Luka and the driver flanked us, constantly reminding us of my precarious situation. Dimitri spoke to the hotel staff in rapid Spanish as we approached the reception desk, and they scattered with impressive and unnerving efficiency. He was obviously proficient in multiple languages, and I couldn't help but be impressed. I'd barely made it through two years of high school Spanish.

Once we were in the elevator, the tension in the confined space was suffocating. I glanced at Dimitri, hoping to glean some hint of our next move from his expression, but his face was a blank mask. My mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of our situation, but the answers remained elusive. The uncertainty of what lay ahead was almost unbearable. Why was he here if he wasn't actually a trafficker? Or was he lying?

The elevator dinged, and we stepped onto a luxurious hallway leading into the penthouse. I was too tired to fully take it in—the living space, the doors to suites. Dimitri led me to a suite at the end, pushed the door open, and held it for me. I stepped inside, and the plush surroundings starkly contrasted the warehouse's squalor.

"This will be your room," he declared, calm but authoritative. "You can freshen up and rest here. We'll talk more later." His words hung in the air, a reminder of my dependence on him, and I felt a shiver of apprehension run down my spine, but I was relieved that I was going to have a room of my own.

"We have dinner at Rodriguez's house later. You'll need to be ready," he said, ending any relief I had felt the moment before .

"Dinner?" I echoed, the word feeling foreign in my mouth after the chaos of the past few days. "That man?" He wanted me to eat with that man? The man who kept women in cages?

"Yes," he replied. "And you'll need to pretend. Rodriguez needs to believe the ruse that I've put forth." He eyed me carefully. "You wish to go home, right, malysh ?"

"Pretend how?" The thought of pretending to be with Dimitri made me nervous. But yes, I wanted to go home, and what I would do to make that happen was frightening.

"If I'd bought a woman, then I'd be fucking her. I wouldn't be arriving alone to this engagement with Rodriguez. He'd expect me to bring my new toy to show off." His eyes lit on me, scanning over my face and body as if he were assessing me for the first time. "If you feel you aren't capable, then we must adjust the plan."

"Fine," I said, my voice steadying. "But if you want me to help, I want a phone call and a promise that you'll take me home, please." Tears threatened, and I started to step forward but stopped myself. "Please. I want proof that you're not just another monster."

He nodded, his expression serious, his brown eyes scouring my face. "Fair enough. We can arrange a phone call if you would like to shower first. I'll bring food and clothing to you, and then we will get a secure line."

He left the room, closing the door with a soft click. I stood there momentarily, trying to process everything before finally allowing myself to collapse onto the bed. The soft mattress felt like a cloud beneath me, but I couldn't relax. My mind was still racing, filled with thoughts of Olive and how I could get back to her.

I forced myself to get up and explore the room. In the bathroom, I splashed water on my face; the coolness was a welcome relief. Rinsing my mouth out, I did my best without toothpaste and drank as much as my stomach could hold. I didn't bother looking at my reflection since I was sure that I looked like absolute crap. He said to shower, and my heart faded slightly even though I'm sure it wasn't criticism. Scrabbling in the cabinet, I looked for a toothbrush and toothpaste but couldn't find them either. Locking the door, I turned the water to its hottest setting and climbed in.

Since I'd been taken, I'd locked down my thought process on the terror of waking up in a strange place, the violation. Panicking, I brought my daughter's face to mind and finished washing my hair using every bit the tiny bottle had. I had no time to indulge in a breakdown.

I tried to formulate a plan as I changed into the robe on the hanger. I just needed to focus on that phone call. That was all. Taking a deep breath, I settled myself, stuffing the dress I had been wearing into the trash can. There was no way I could put it back on. Just looking at it made me want to vomit. I needed to gather information, play along, and hope these men were telling me the truth. Maybe I'd gotten lucky after all. If not, I needed another plan, but I was out of the warehouse, away from Miguel Rodriguez … sort of. For now, that had to be enough .

Despite everything, I collapsed on the bed, wrapping myself tightly in the comforter, watching the door, hoping Dimitri would return with a phone. When I woke with a violent start, thrashing in the blankets, the room was bathed in the soft light of early evening. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and looked around. He was seated in the armchair by the window, his gaze fixed on the view outside. Dimitri turned when he heard me stir, his profile in sharp relief. I wasn't sure how I felt about him being in my room.

Panic swept through me for a moment. Starting to hyperventilate, I tried to find a way to ground myself. Finally, I settled, focusing on the linens, the smoothness of the fabric, and the folds. It was clean. White. Doves were white, so were veils and peace …

"You're safe, malysh ," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. He had a deep, growly voice that settled something inside me. I didn't even care what he was calling me. It made me feel cared for.

I nodded, still unsettled. "Yes, I'm okay . "

He stood, walking over to the small table where a food tray had been placed. "You should eat something. You need your strength."

I eyed the tray, my stomach rumbling despite my anxiety. I hadn't eaten a proper meal in days. Sitting at the table, I picked up a piece of fruit and bit into it. The sweetness was a welcome burst of flavor.

Dimitri sat across from me, watching as I ate. "You mentioned a phone call?" He held out a cell phone just out of reach. "Who do you need to call?"

There wasn't much of a choice at this point. Perhaps he was worried that I'd call the police or something. I didn't have any power, though. I was nobody, and I desperately wanted that phone. "My daughter. I don't even know what day it is." Running a hand over my hair, I pushed it out of my face. He watched me with an inexplicable expression.

"It's Sunday, malysh the 26th. What day were you taken? "

I sat up straight, panicked. "Oh my god, Monday. It was Monday. It's been days. She was expecting me home." My hands started to shake. There wasn't even enough food in the apartment for that many days. "Holy shit."

"Focus, baby. How old is she?" Dimitri asked, his voice steady and calm as he leaned forward on his knees. "Where do you live?"

"She's nine. She's still a little girl," I sobbed. "Santee in California."

"Does she have a phone?" he asked, almost as if he were worried, but that didn't make sense. He handed me the cell phone. "Call." His mouth was set in a severe look.

I nodded. She did have one; it was a cheap model, and she wasn't allowed to use it except to take my calls or text me, but we didn't have a landline, and since I worked late hours and she took the bus, she needed one .

I dialed the number with trembling fingers, my heart pounding as the phone rang. Each ring felt like an eternity, and I prayed that Olive would pick up. The thought of her alone and scared made my stomach churn.

"Hello?" Olive's voice was a small, uncertain whisper on the other end of the line.

"Olive, sweetheart, it's Mom," I said, my voice breaking. Tears welled up in my eyes as relief washed over me.

"Mom? Mom! Oh my god! Where are you? Where have you been? I was so worried," she cried, her voice trembling. "Are you home?" I heard doors opening, and then she sobbed. "Mom? Where are you?" Her cries punctuated the line.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to leave, but I'm okay, baby. I'm safe," I tried to reassure her through my tears, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm sorry I couldn't call sooner. Something bad happened, but I'm doing everything possible to get back to you. "

"I want you to come home, momma," Olive pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion. "I need you to come home."

"I will, I promise," I said, glancing at Dimitri, who was watching me intently. "Just hang in there a little longer, okay? Are you safe? Do you have enough food?"

"Yeah, I've been eating the snacks you left," Olive replied, still shaky. "On Monday, when you didn't come home with dinner, I thought maybe," she sniffed. "That you had to work late, so I had some cereal and did my homework, but when you hadn't been home in the morning. I didn't know what to do." Her words trailed off.

"You must have been so scared, sweetheart." My heart was crumbling for her, alone and thinking I'd left her for nearly a week. Anything could have happened to her.

"I thought about calling the police or even Grandma," she whispered as if she were saying a bad word. "Instead, I went to school hoping you'd be home each day. It was hard to pretend," she sniffed. I couldn't even imagine her sitting at home alone in the evenings, trying to pretend everything was fine when her mother was missing, agonizing over what to do. "Mrs. Hooper saw me yesterday at the park. She invited me to dinner." Olive cried harder into the phone. "I told her you were working a lot, but I was hungry."

"You did good, Olive. Mrs. Hooper is a good lady. I'm so sorry," I repeated. How could I ever make this right? "Can you stay with her for the next few days?" I asked, my voice thick with emotion as the tears slipped down my cheeks. "But I'm coming home. Just a couple of days." I looked to Dimitri, injecting every ounce of conviction into my voice. Come hell or high water, I was returning to my daughter.

"She said she'd stay with me and make me something to eat," Olive said.

I felt a wave of relief. Mrs. Hooper was a kind, older woman who lived next door. She had always been fond of Olive and often looked out for her when I worked late. "That's good. Mrs. Hooper is a very nice lady. I'm glad you're with her."

"She made me dinner yesterday, and she said she'd make me dinner tonight, and she helped me with my homework," Olive continued. "She said she could stay as long as I needed her to."

"That's wonderful, baby. I'm so grateful to her," I said, tears streaming down my face. "Can you put Mrs. Hooper on the phone? Is she there? I want to thank her."

"Okay, hold on," Olive said. I heard her footsteps as she went to find Mrs. Hooper.

A moment later, a warm, familiar voice came on the line. "Hello, Hollis. Is that you?" Mrs. Hooper was the perfect grandma, the sort of neighbor you see in your apartment building every other Wednesday. She'd bring you half a lemon cake or a small plant on Mother's Day. Both Olive and I liked her and tried to make a point of inviting her for a meal once a month. I knew she had family back East, but they were estranged.

"Yeah, it's me," I replied, my voice shaking with gratitude. "Thank you so much for looking out for Olive. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"Don't mention it, dear. You know I love Olive. I couldn't leave her hungry," Mrs. Hooper said warmly. "But, Hollis, where are you? Something happened?"

"It's... complicated," I said, glancing at Dimitri, still watching me with curiosity and concern. "I got caught up in something dangerous, but I'm safe now and doing everything I can to return to Olive."

Mrs. Hooper sighed. "Well, you just focus on getting back safely. Olive is fine. I'll stay over at your apartment until you get back. I had no idea you weren't home. That girl is such a firecracker she didn't even let on. She's strong, but she misses you terribly. "

"I miss her too," I said, wiping my tears. I'll be back as soon as I can. Please tell her I love her, and I'll call again when I can."

"I will, dear," Mrs. Hooper promised. "And don't worry about a thing. We made a trip to the store and have the cupboards full. I think she conned me into some sugary cereal you wouldn't buy, but I couldn't say no. Olive is safe with me. Take care of yourself, Hollis. We'll be here when you get back."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hooper. I can't tell you how much this means to me," I said thick with emotion. There weren't words to express how much it meant that Olive was safe and cared for. I didn't trust my mother. Our relationship was too complicated, but I would have called her. This was better.

"Just come back safe," she replied softly. "Goodbye for now, dear. Call again if you can."

"I will. Goodbye," I said, ending the call and returning the phone to Dimitri. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but I was having trouble containing the sobs, so I just let myself break down to pieces.