Chapter 14

Chapter

Fourteen

"Some nights are made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness."

― Poppy Z.Brite

Sofiya

Still groggy from the restless sleep I'd fallen into during the long drive, I stretched my arms and rubbed my heavy, itchy eyelids. The wind tousled my ponytail and caressed my cheeks, drying the tears from my yawns.

I wiped my mouth, just in case there was really any drool left. I knew he was lying about me snoring, but a faint insecurity still crept in.

Secretly, I hoped my snoring had been loud enough to ruin his ride.

Suddenly, the morning's events replayed in my head.

When Dasha entered the room, her arms were laden with clothes I refused to wear, demanding my own belongings. Her conflicted eyes softened my anger, and I seized the moment to coerce her into divulging information about my parents.

I proposed a deal: if she answered three of my questions, I'd wear the clothes and leave the room, likely to face retribution for my defiant confrontation with the lunatic beast last night.

Rolling her eyes, she made sure I knew we were dealing with questions, not wishes.

"I'm not the green genie, Sofiya," she said, raising her hands in annoyance.

"He was blue, actually, but that's not the point."

She glared and urged me to continue.

I sat there in silence, weighing which questions might yield useful information and a potential escape from this hell.

"Hurry up, or he's going to kill us both," she urged, glancing at her small golden watch – a gift from her mama.

"Where's my mom?" I felt my chest tighten as I waited for her response.

She turned away, sitting on my unmade bed, her hands trembling.

My heart sank with each passing second of her silence.

"Did they do something to her?" My voice wavered as I steadied myself against the desk, trying to fight the dizziness.

"That's two questions, my love."

"And not a single answer!" I shouted, frustration boiling over. "If you don't want me wandering the streets of Moscow butt naked, you better pick up the pace, Dasha."

"You wouldn't," she said, narrowing her eyes .

"I swear I would."

I wouldn't, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If my freedom or my mama's depended on it, I'd summon the courage for a walk of shame down Arbat Street.

"Alright, alright." She scanned the room anxiously, then motioned for me to come closer. She whispered in my ear, "I don't know exactly where your mama is, but I know she's alive."

Her words hung in the air, mingling with the thunderous beat of my heart.

"Why are you whispering?"

"He hears everything."

Memories of Volk's sinister smile, shadowed eyes, and tempting lips filled my thoughts, accompanied by a surge of self-loathing. Of course, he had ears like a wolf.

Judging by Dasha's nervous trembles, devices hidden somewhere in the room to spy on us didn't seem far-fetched.

"Is she in here?" I whispered, fearing my voice might conjure him out of thin air.

"Is that your third question?"

Rage simmered within as I willed myself to remain composed. I needed to think clearly. Morning wasn't my strong suit; all this nonsense should be banned until at least 10 a.m.

"No."

Locking eyes with her, I took slow, calming breaths.

Okay. I can do this.

"Is my papa truly alive?"

She tilted her head, her gaze heavy with regret. "Yes, he is."

Her answer took me by surprise, and I couldn't hold back a sob as I covered my face, trying to conceal the tears streaming down my cheeks .

My father was truly alive?

Hope began to flutter in my heart, but I quickly composed myself.

Could I trust her? What if she was lying to make me comply?

Gosh, in less than a week, they've already managed to push all the right buttons and send me spiraling into madness.

"How can I be sure you're telling the truth?"

She sighed. "You asked three questions, and I answered them all."

She then handed me a black dress and a pair of sheer black tights from the bed that I reluctantly accepted.

"If you're wondering whether I'm telling the truth or not, I understand, but you have to believe me, Sofiya."

Raising my head, I took a step back just as her hand reached out to wipe the tears from my face.

"I won't lie to you about your papa." Her hand hesitated before dropping back down. "At least, not anymore."

"Not anymore?"

Speechless and shaken by her revelations, I struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. A profound sense of betrayal chilled my blood and pained my heart. Our eyes locked, and I could see in hers that she wasn't lying, that this time, she was telling the truth.

Whenever she used to have information about my mama's whereabouts or the secret hiding spots for my favorite snacks in the house, she would always deny knowing anything. But her eyes would dart from left to right, and the corner of her mouth would quiver slightly under my persistent gaze.

After numerous complaints and promises, Dasha would eventually give in and tell me everything I wanted to know .

"You certainly have a way with words, munchkin," she once admitted, revealing a small box hidden under her bed.

It was the same box my mama had asked her to use as a hiding spot for my brand-new, very first iPhone. This all came about when, at the tender age of 13, I had dared to express my disdain for homework while we sat at the kitchen table, working on complicated math problems.

Dasha was busy preparing shrimp linguini pasta nearby.

I told her that I despised homework and saw no point in revising something that refused to stick in my head. The heat emanating from my mama's furious eyes indicated that I had indeed crossed a line.

She wordlessly extended her hand, demanding my phone, which she then spirited away, not to be seen for days.

Nostalgic and still a bit disoriented by the dramatic turn the conversation had taken, I asked Dasha if I could at least have some clean undergarments.

A heavy silence hung in the room as I made my way to the bathroom.

There, I undressed and let the hot water soothe the ache in my heart. After my shower, I returned to her room, wrapped in a large towel.

Avoiding her eyes, I hurriedly donned the clothes she laid out, then sat on the bed to zip up a pair of tall black leather boots nearby. Surprisingly, they fit perfectly.

Whose clothes they were didn't matter to me; I didn't want to know.

A chill ran down my spine as I imagined the grim possibility that they once belonged to another abducted girl. I stared out of the window, mist still clinging to the glass from the early morning fog, memories and fear swirling in my mind .

Dasha brushed my hair, and I asked for a hair tie to keep it out of my face.

She checked her watch anxiously, tapping it twice, her face paling. It seemed like she was either worried about being late or about something far worse.

Her uneasy gestures made my own anxiety spike.

Questions flooded my mind, and I couldn't help but ask her what was troubling her so much. She waved me off and hurried out, returning with a luxurious black fur coat.

As we walked through the hallways and down the stairs, Volk's irritation was evident in his gaze. He sighed softly when our eyes met, guilt flooding me as I remembered the harsh words I'd thrown at him the night before. An unusual warmth pooled between my legs and tinged my cheeks as I reminisced about his lips on my neck.

Last night, while the world slept, I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, longing for sleep that never came.

Frustration bubbled up inside me as I kicked the covers aside, feeling a weight settle in my chest.

Our conversation in the library left me restless, craving something intangible.

Something sinful.

I stole another glance at him, impeccably dressed in his dark suit, his presence striking. It dawned on me then that I didn't want to hurt him anymore; I just wanted out of this mess.

The reasons for my predicament eluded me, his role in it unclear, but one thing was certain: I shouldn't have lashed out at him, no matter how justified my anger was.

Pride kept me silent as I examined the plush burgundy carpet beneath me, marveling at the house's impeccable design.

Ignoring him, I felt his gaze like invisible arrows grazing my skin, adding to the tension. But one arrow pierced my heart when he cruelly insulted me, calling me a whore.

I clenched my fists, refusing to show him my hurt as I left the room.

Grabbing the furry coat from Dasha, I stepped into the wintry wind, raindrops brushing my cheeks. The cold air made it hard to breathe, my throat tightening.

I always believed in honesty, but cruelty masked as honesty was despicable, fueling my loathing for him with each step.

He's such a prick.

I made my way toward the black SUV, where a tall man with short brown hair and piercing blue eyes, dressed sharply, smiled at me.

" Dobroye utro, Sofiya. Good morning, Sofiya. " His respectful greeting caught me off guard.

I stood there, perplexed, wondering if he could be a part of my family.

"Are you my cousin?" I asked doubtfully.

There were no physical similarities between us; we were complete opposites. But who knew? Maybe that was why he was being polite.

He laughed heartily, his Adam's apple bobbing, a genuine smile on his lips. He shook his head and gestured for me to take a seat.

"What's your name?" I asked as I fastened my seatbelt, peering at him through the rearview mirror.

He hesitated, furrowing his brow and scratching the side of his neck. " Dve. "

"Two? Like the number?"

He chuckled as I leaned against the window, my eyelids drooping.

I didn't hear his response. In fact, I heard nothing as I drifted into sleep, serenaded by the faint whispers of his voice.

But I was rudely awakened by the car's jolts and the noise of tires against the road.

Stepping out, I walked toward what seemed like a smaller version of a house or a cabin in the middle of nowhere, keeping a distance from the Volk and Dve who were busy talking in Russian.

Most trees had shed their leaves, the remaining ones a vivid spectacle of red and orange hues fading due to the cold. Sunlight filtered through the clouds, casting a mysterious glow. It felt like a scene from an animated movie; I half-expected to see deer greeting us.

The cabin, made of wood, emitted smoke from its chimney and was surrounded by tranquility and silence. As I twirled, trying to capture the beauty around me, a squirrel gathered chestnuts nearby.

The two men moved toward the cabin without looking back, allowing me to approach the creature. I crouched, my heart racing with anticipation, offering chestnuts to the squirrel. It watched cautiously from a branch, sniffing the air.

"Come here, buddy," I whispered, reaching out. "These are for you."

Confusion flickered in the squirrel's tiny eyes, and I felt a bit foolish for persisting.

Deep down, I knew I lacked the strength to climb the tree alongside it.

" Kto ty? Who are you? " A cold object pressed against the back of my neck, and an unfamiliar voice startled me.

Fear shot up my spine as I dropped the nuts, screaming and stumbling, crashing face-first into the mud.

Pain shot through my ankle, and I prayed I hadn't broken anything as I crawled desperately. The mud impeded my progress, and the pain intensified, making movement nearly impossible.

On the ground, I raised my hands in surrender, staring at the terrified squirrel.

I heard footsteps drawing closer, tears mixing with the sludge on my cheeks.

This was it.

Volk had brought me here to kill me.

I would never see my mama or Dasha again.

Strangely, her betrayal didn't sting as much now. It felt like the perfect moment for my life to flash before my eyes.

Regrets flooded my mind.

Then something seized my ankle, and I heard a bone crack. I shrieked, kicking at the assailant until a menacing growl filled the air.

" Ostanovis', ili ya pristrelyu tebya, tupaya suka! Stop or I'll shoot you, you stupid bitch! " a man spat out savagely, his gun clicking. He hoisted me up, causing sharp pain to shoot from my ankle.

Still struggling, I sobbed uncontrollably.

He shoved me against a tree, pressing the gun beneath my chin.

" Otpusti yeye. Let her go, " Volk's voice cut through my fear, and I blinked my eyes open.

The man took a step back, sliding his gun into his coat pocket, and left me alone against the tree.

He then turned around, his hands raised in surrender as he faced Volk and Dve.

The stranger appeared to be in his early forties, towering over me with a bald head and a thick, long black beard. His stormy blue eyes locked onto mine, radiating pure hatred as he let out a loud snort. He carried some extra weight, his hairy stomach peeking out from beneath a brown plaid flannel shirt that seemed a size too small. His oversized green hooded coat hung low, mud dripping from it.

I glanced at Dve, whose eyes betrayed astonishment and disbelief. He quickly assessed me from head to toe before turning his gaze to Volk.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, I took a deep breath, but a sharp pain gripped my chest, and I felt my lungs tighten as I coughed.

My humiliating fall must have caused more damage than I initially realized.

When our eyes locked, the anger in Volk's gaze turned me into a statue, as if a sudden deluge of ice-cold water had been dumped over my head.

He took a step closer, his hand grabbing my chin as he examined my face closely. Then he scrutinized my body, fixating on my injured knee, where my black sheer tights were torn and blood seeped out. I winced and attempted to step back, but he suddenly seized my arm, halting me in my tracks.

"What the fuck happened, Sofiya?"

" Volk, klyanus', ona upala, i ya khotel yey pomoch', no… Volk, I swear, she fell and I wanted to help her, but... "

With his grip still firm on my arm and his body just inches from mine, he retrieved the gun hidden under his coat and swung around, aiming it at the man's head.

" Zatknis'. Shut up. "

He then turned his attention back to me, the gun still pointed in the other direction. His dark eyes bore into mine as he tilted his head slightly as he gently wiped some mud from my cheek. My vision blurred again, and his face appeared like a haunting shadow, shifting with every blink.

"Please," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Don't kill me."

He frowned, confused.

Our gazes locked once more, and I found myself fighting the urge to reach out and pull him closer for some comfort. His hand grazed my cheek absentmindedly, and with a look that seemed to pierce right through me, he waited for an answer to his burning question.

Taking a deep breath, I mustered my courage. "I just wanted to feed a squirrel," I stammered, wincing from the pain in my leg. "And then, before I knew it, I felt a gun against my neck and…"

The gunshot erupted with a deafening roar, sending shockwaves through my body and nearly making me sick.

Trembling uncontrollably, I collapsed to my knees, hands clamped to the sides of my head, trying to dull the pain in my ears. I tore off my coat, hands smeared with mud, while my hysterical cries echoed through the empty forest.

Another scream joined mine, snapping me out of my trance.

I saw the stranger writhing on the ground, clutching his leg tightly as a red stain spread across his pants. He was the one who had been shot.

Relief washed over me, and at last, I managed to draw a deep breath.

"Take her to the car." Volk's voice triggered something in me, and I found myself avoiding his gaze, feeling embarrassed about what had just happened.

Absentmindedly wiping my forehead, I brushed off leaves stuck to my dress. I knew I looked like a total mess, but I tried not to let it bother me as I headed over to Dve .

I followed him to the car, still feeling Volk's intense stare burning into my back.

Once Dve opened the car door and gestured for me to take a seat, he knelt in front of me, concern etched across his face.

"We didn't know he was out there," he explained, removing a leaf stuck in my ponytail. "We came right after we heard you scream."

"So, he didn't pay someone to kill me?" I asked, still uncertain.

" Nyet ," Dve chuckled as another scream broke the silence, followed by another gunshot. "If he wanted you dead, he'd take care of it himself."

Anxiously, I glanced behind me and saw Volk walking toward the car with determination, stashing his gun back into his coat.

He looked up at the sky as though seeking answers among the drifting clouds.

If he wanted you dead, he would take care of it himself.

As Volk settled beside me, he pulled a white embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed it on my knee. It struck me then that what he had done was his way of seeking vengeance for me.

Despite my resentment towards him, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude because he had just saved my life.