34. Sasha

CHAPTER 34

SASHA

I'm huddled in the corner of this dank basement, weak and hungry, my back against the wall and my eyes are tired from the bare light bulb. My stomach growls, begging for some sort of sustenance. It's been ages since I had that disgusting sandwich Kolya—with his flinty eyes—brought me. The lack of windows makes it impossible to tell how much sodding time has passed.

Could be hours.

Could be days.

Could be weeks.

No, not weeks , I reel myself back from hyperbole in my head's refuge. No person can survive this long on a single sandwich and a single bottle of water. Especially not someone as bloody pampered as me.

Yes, I’m having a moment of truth while in captivity, learning some interesting facts about myself. Mostly that I’m a wimp and a coward.

"Blimey," I mutter under my breath as I shift my gaze from one end of the room to the other. The dusty complexion of rusty pipes crawling uninterrupted across the ceiling becomes maddeningly familiar; they're ever-present yet useless in terms of an escape plan. Anything that might help me to gain an upper hand seems nonexistent in this room. Then, there's Kolya. He’s a statue of muscle, just standing there. His mere presence deadens any flicker of hope for liberation.

He does leave. Twice. The keys he’s carrying on his belt rattle against the metal as he locks the door. He probably retreats to eat, piss, and sleep. Somewhere a lot more comfortable than what I’m offered in this room.

No one else shows up. Not even Shtyk.

Time ticks by and stretches into a continuum of nothingness and I’m starting to go crazy. Where’s my brother? Does he know I’ve been taken? What about Logan? And then I think about Alfie and his guts and brains flying across the parking lot of my former uni in London and I realize that I deserve this—whatever is coming. Yes, I deserve this. I’m the reason my best friend is gone. And dying to make up for it, for this tragedy, is okay.

But on the inside, I’m still scared.

Kolya is gone again and when he returns, I’m barely hanging on. I’m thirsty and hungry and my only thought is food and water. There’s this cloud inside my head. But Kolya doesn’t bring anything with him. Except for the keys and the gun.

"Hey, mate, do you know where we’re at?" I call out to him in English.

Arsehole only glares at me and continues to be a monument.

"I thought I was getting more food," I supply.

Nothing.

I wait a few minutes, then try to strike up a conversation about weather. Less triggering topic. Maybe he’ll speak.

Kolya just stares at me with those weird eyes while I continue asking him random questions. College education, desert flora, latest fashion from London.

"You don’t fucking speak any English, do you?" I take a wild guess when I run out of things to talk about.

He doesn’t react.

I give up for a while, wondering where Shtyk found this bloke. Vlad could definitely use someone with this set of skills. I even laugh a little in the privacy of my mind. But that doesn’t alleviate my anxiety. Is this how cows feel before they are taken to slaughter?

If I get out, I’m going full vegan… I think.

To confirm my suspicion about Kolya, I resort to calling him nasty names in English, but the bloke never says anything. I mean, if you’re ordered not to speak to the prisoner, but the prisoner calls you a "cunt," you’ll want to get him back for this. But Kolya doesn’t seem to recognize any of the words.

Instead, Kolya leaves again.

Probably to take a nap and a shower too. He’s gone for a while and when he’s back, it’s clear my well-being isn’t in Shtyk’s plans—arsehole didn’t bring anything with him again. Not even a fucking handful of peanuts.

Fine. But my need to get out refuses to wane. And if that means engaging with the enemy in his language, so be it.

"Aren’t I supposed to get another sandwich?" I ask in Russian, watching Kolya's face for any sign of recognition. His cold eyes meet mine, and I see that he understands me now.

"I’m hungry," I explain.

He shrugs. "Not my problem."

I shake my head, feeling another wave of dizziness coming up. "So, how much are you getting paid for this?"

"You better shut up," Kolya mutters.

"My brother will double it if you let me go," I try.

Silence.

Okay, fine. Money isn’t that important for this bloke. Maybe we can try to seduce him with something else. I just don’t know what yet. I don’t have much to offer. And then a thought flashes through my mind, dark and disturbing. It triggers a gag reflex, but I hold it in. No time to be choosy. Whatever gets me out of this room. Because those eyes of his—always on me—tell me certain things.

"Hey," I call out after a while. "You think I can get some water maybe?"

More silence.

"Look, I’m not feeling well, mate," I explain. "I’m bloody spoiled. I’m not going to survive this, and if I die before your boss goes through with whatever plan he has for me, it’s your neck."

Kolya’s expression shifts. My guess is he’s thinking.

"Look, at least can I have some water?" I’m literally begging on my knees.

Need to make it real.

Need to make it real.

Need to make it real.

"Boss didn’t instruct me to give you more water," Kolya says from across the room.

"Please." I bat my eyelashes at him, testing him out a little. Is he going to call me a faggot too like Shtyk or is he going into a full-on denial?

Kolya doesn’t comment on my clearly submissive behavior. His silence is like smoke, thick and heavy, filling the space between us with a tense and suffocating weight.

"Come on," I drawl.

"Stop whining, eh?"

"Look, I’m just asking for a bit of water, not a goddamned kidney," I whisper, then wait a few minutes before letting the words out. "I have a proposal for you. You give me water and I’ll give you something in return."

Kolya punches up his bushy eyebrow. "You will give me something in return?" A dry chuckle leaves his mouth.

I nod.

His eyes flicker with a hint of amusement, "What do you have, patzan ?"

"I’ve got skills," I suggest. My stomach riots at the idea of what I’m saying to this arsehole right now, but this is the only way to escape I can think of. I just hope it works.

"What skills? Skills to drive me crazy?"

"No." I pause. "Skills to make you feel good."

There’s a long moment of silence. Kolya’s reaction seems to be lost somewhere on the way out. Finally, his face reddens. "What the fuck are you talking about, pridurok ?"

"You know what I’m talking about. I bet you got a hard-on from watching me beg, right?"

"Shut up!"

"I can take care of that. In exchange for water. No one has to know."

Kolya’s face is like one huge tomato all of a sudden. He bunches his fingers into a fist and points that fist at me. "I’m going to fuck you up if you say another word."

"I'm dying of thirst in here, mate," I keep on driving my point home, still unsure if Kolya’s even going to catch the bait. "Let me do you a favor you won't forget," I say, putting on my most seductive smile. It's disgusting, but what choice do I have?

Kolya strides across the room, his massive figure looming over me. "Say that again, faggot," he hisses out. His hand flies out to grab my hair. My scalp is on fire, eyes stinging.

"I swear I’m good at keeping secrets," I mutter through the forming tears, grabbing onto his meaty leg. "I may die any minute. Your boss has it out for me and my brother. I haven’t had cock in a while. I’ll suck you fucking dry. You’ll love it, mate." I’ve never felt so dirty and so used and so ashamed of myself as right now, but pain and hunger make you do reckless things.

Kolya pulls on my hair harder and I swear I’m about to lose my head when he finally whispers, "First you suck, then water."

He releases my hair and I flop to the floor.

"Come on." He gestures, fumbling with his zipper. I suppress the bile rising in my throat and get back on my knees. "Allow me," I offer, reaching for his belt. "I promise, this will be the best you've ever had."

He grunts, a non-committal sound.

Teeth gritted together, my mouth wages its own war against the surging tide of nausea. Desperate not to set free that river of vomit, I do what has to be done—unbuckling Kolya’s belt slowly and painfully, then sliding down his pants. The pungent scent of stale sweat mingling with the scent of mustard assaults my nose, and I seek denial in non-existence, at least for a beat.

But as soon as Kolya’s distracted, I make my move. I nick the gun from his holster and zero it on his leg. Logan's instructions from our time at the shooting range float to the surface of my mind immediately.

My fingers squeeze life out of the trigger.

You hesitate, you die.

Bam!

"Motherfuc—" Kolya swears in Russian, crumbling to the floor. His hands shoot out to grab me, but I slam him in the gut with the blunt end of the gun. There’s blood on the floor. His blood, spilling from the wound I inflicted. Only, there’s no time to think about what I’ve done. I snatch the keys from his belt and scramble for the door.

Freedom is just fingertips away now—I can’t allow anything or anyone to barricade this portal out of here. Not even my own conscience.

I’m a Solovey after all. Hurting people is in my blood, whether I want it or not.