Chapter 42

Kimberly

I t’s been almost three weeks now that I’ve been held captive, at least as far as I can tell. Time has lost all meaning here. The only way I know another day has passed is by Amelia’s daily visits, she could be coming more or less often than that and I’d have no idea. By now, despite my best efforts, the room I am in has become a stinking mess. I’m still wearing the clothes I had on when I was taken, they’re covered in grime and sweat. My hair is matted and dry. I yearn for a long, hot bath or even a cold shower, anything to feel clean again.

When the door opens, I don’t even bother to look up from where I’m lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, I’m so numb to Amelia’s cruel visits now.

“Get up,” a gruff man’s voice barks, catching me by surprise as I realize it’s not Amelia at all.

Not wanting to risk a beating or worse, I stand up, my movements slow and stiff from lack of exercise and feeling weak from lack of proper nutrients. Again, my mind immediately goes to my unborn child. What impact will these weeks of captivity have on my baby?

“Go,” the man grunts, gesturing toward the open door.

I stand frozen for a second, uncertain. I’ve never been taken outside of the cell before, is this a trick? A test of some sort? Suddenly, the prospect of leaving these four walls isn’t as appealing as before. Does this mean I’m being released? Or, more likely, I’m about to walk the plank and they’re finally going to kill me.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Fucking move, I haven’t got all day,” he barks, prompting me into action.

Feeling like a death row inmate taking their final long walk to the electric chair, I trudge down the corridor and up the stairs. Soon, we reach a door that, to my surprise, takes us into a supply closet. From here, we walk out into the grand marble foyer of a mansion. The space is so bright it causes me to wince, unused to bright light after spending so long in the dimly lit cell. The pristine white marble and sparkling chandeliers make me feel even filthier than before.

The marble floor feels cold under my bare feet as the man leads me across the foyer and down a corridor. Eventually, we reach two solid oak doors that open into an impressive office space. Inside, seated behind a large, ornate desk, is a man I don’t recognize. He’s probably in his early forties, he’s not an unattractive man, but his eyes are a little too close together, his nose a little too crooked, and his cruel lips too thin to make him conventionally handsome.

“Miss Walsh, it’s good to finally meet you, I’m Bogdan Sharkozi,” he says with a shark-like grin, revealing a wide set of sharp teeth. Unlike Yaroslav, who speaks English with a slight Russian accent, this man speaks perfect unaccented English, almost as if he was born and brought up here.

I stand there, unimpressed. I’m not about to pretend I’m a guest here, not a prisoner. He must realize I’m not going to respond as he carries on.

“Please, take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the one in front of him.

“I’m fine standing,” I state, not wanting to get too close to him.

“I insist,” he says cordially but his henchman forces me into the chair.

“You must be wondering why I called you here. Well, I have a proposition for you. In exchange for your freedom, I need you to do something for me,” he says, steepling his fingers and watching me intently.

“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him suspiciously.

“In exchange for your freedom and your life, I would require you to feed me back information about your beau, Yaroslav Volkov, and the whereabouts of a certain person he is holding captive.”

“So you want me to be a spy?” I ask, disgusted. “There’s no way Yaroslav wouldn’t see through it, and besides, even if he told me anything about his business, which he doesn’t, I won’t betray him like that,” I snarl. I refuse to be a pawn in this fucker’s game.

He looks amused, as though I’ve said something charming or cute. “I thought you might say that. Which is why I decided to have an added incentive for you.”

He flicks on the monitor screen on his desk to reveal video camera footage. In it, I see my grandmother, and my heart drops. She’s being kept somewhere in a room that I don’t recognize and most definitely isn’t the care home. However, to my relief, it appears comfortable, and she doesn’t seem hurt or distressed.

“As you can see, we have your grandmother in a secure location,” he states. “She’s unharmed and being well cared for, and she will continue to be… if you do as I ask.”

He’s won. There’s no way I’m going to refuse to do as he asks now, not with Gran’s life at stake. I drop my head, defeated.

“What do you need me to do?”

He nods and flashes another predatory smile. “Good, I’m glad we could come to an arrangement. We’re going to set up your rescue. Once you’re back in Yaroslav’s inner sanctum, you’ll get as close as possible to him and find out everything I ask. I will provide you with all the required comms. If you try to betray me or reveal to Yaroslav what I’ve asked of you, we will know. We have people far closer to him than you might think,” he warns.

“Yaroslav isn’t stupid, he won’t fall for this,” I retort.

Though inside I’m worrying about what he means, are there spies in Yaroslav’s organization?

“For your sake, let’s hope he does. If you’re not convincing, it’s your life on the line, Yaroslav won’t hesitate to kill a spy and traitor, even one as ravishing as you. And if you’re dead, so is your grandmother,” he states menacingly.

There’s nothing left for me to say. He’s won. Besides, I stand a better chance of saving myself, my unborn child, and my grandmother if I get out of here. Surely whatever Bogdan has planned for me is better than the fate Amelia promised. I listen, feeling numb as he explains what he wants from me. Once he’s done, he flings some clothing at me.

“You’ll need to change into these.”

The clothes are skimpy and worn, there’s a stained crop top and a minuscule skirt that will barely cover my ass. He also hands over a pair of sky-high stripper heels. Clearly, his plan involves me looking like a crack whore.

“There’s no way I’m wearing that,” I insist.

“You will put it on, or I will have my man here put it on for you,” he states calmly.

The man leers at me, looking as though he’d enjoy stripping me down. I shudder at the thought as his eyes hungrily roam my body.

“Can’t I at least shower first?” I plead, hoping I can clean up and change somewhere alone or even find an opportunity to escape—though I realize with a sinking heart that isn’t an option now, because then they’d hurt my Gran.

But he shakes his head. “No. It would ruin the overall effect. Now, hurry up and change, we haven’t got all night.”

“Right here?” I squeak, mortified at the thought of undressing in front of these two strange men.

“Yes,” he states, his tone offering no room for debate. “As Yaroslav’s little whore, don’t pretend to be the sweet Virgin Mary, girl. Trust me, you’d rather it’s just us looking. We could do far worse if you were so inclined, make our little sex slave plot a whole lot more believable if we both fucked you raw,” he adds.

I can tell he’s excited by the prospect and the last thing I want to do is give him time to think more or act on it. I quickly change, trying to cover myself as best as I can. My legs shake as I do so. Of all the horrendous things that have happened to me here so far, the thought of how vulnerable I am, how these men could do whatever they want to me terrifies me. I don’t think I could live with it. Bogdan’s man steps forward, a monstrous glint in his eye as he reaches out and pulls down the tube top, revealing my bare breasts and giving them a painful squeeze with his giant pawing hands.

“I’m gonna enjoy splitting you in half, bitch.”

Without thinking, I strike out at him, slapping him across the face. That only seems to excite him more as he smiles and grabs onto both of my wrists pressing his erection against me. He smells of stale sweat and cigarettes. I spit in his face and try to pull away.

“Get off me!”

“I like it when they fight back!” he exclaims as he grabs me around the throat, using the other hand to unbuckle his belt.

I can’t breathe as he grips my throat so tightly, yet I still desperately try to fight him off, but it’s no use, he’s too strong. Bogdan, who has been sitting watching quietly and calmly this whole time, finally speaks up.

“Enough, Tolya. Let her go. You can have one of the other whores to fuck. We know how carried away you get, and we need this one alive. At least for now.”

Reluctantly, Tolya obeys releasing me and I take huge gulping gasps for breath. Now, despite my initial concerns about Bogdan’s plan, I’m willing to do anything if it means getting the fuck out of here.

As I’m about to leave the room, Bogdan leaves me with some parting words of wisdom.

“Kimberly, I want you to remember this if you think you won’t be able to fool Yaroslav and that returning to the Volkovs is dangerous. Don’t get any ideas about trying to escape. In America, you have the expression, ‘Out of the frying pan, into the fire.’ In Russia, we have a similar one, ‘I ran from the wolf but ran into a bear.’ Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can run from this. I will find you.”

***

Hours later I’m sitting shivering in the dark inside a shipping container with ten other terrified and filthy young women, most of whom don’t speak English. The emaciated faces that stare into space are either numb from the horrors they’ve witnessed or from the drugs they are clearly on. No one speaks, and all of my attempts to start conversations are ignored. I can only imagine what these poor women have been through. It gives me the strength to keep it together. My ordeal is far from over, but neither is theirs. None of these women will ever be the same again. Most are far from their home countries with little prospect of ever seeing their families again or living a normal life.

At least I can hope that once I am back with Yaroslav, I will be able to find a solution, to protect my gran and help him, too. I can’t let Sharkozi win. Thinking of how I will soon be reunited with Yaroslav and trying to remain strong for our unborn child help to get me through these long, cold hours waiting to be rescued.

After what feels like an eternity, there’s the sound of voices outside, men shouting, “Police!” Then, we hear the door of the locked shipping container being opened, and the bright light of day floods inside, making me wince.

After this, it’s all a bit of a blur. Kindly police officers and paramedics free us, taking us to a nearby hospital to be checked over for injuries before the police can interview us. As we’re led away in the commotion, some of the girls resist, terrified of their rescuers, perhaps not trusting that the system can protect them any more than a pimp. I numbly do as I’m told, not taking anything in.

At the hospital, I allow them to check my vitals, but I refuse the rape kit. The sympathetic nurse with the sorrowful eyes doesn’t push it, I’m sure she assumes I’ve been through enough already and am too traumatized. She’s not wrong, but thankfully I’m traumatized for a different reason than the one she thinks.

I’m relieved to hear that my baby is still healthy, despite everything. Aside from some dehydration and malnutrition, I’m otherwise fine, too.

When the police question me, gently probing while making me drink a cup of too-sweet hot tea from the hospital canteen, I answer their questions, following Bogdan’s script of how I was kidnapped and drugged. I lie and say I have no recollection of who took me or where I was held before now. The police seem disappointed but unsurprised. I imagine most of the other victims weren’t forthcoming either. When asked if there’s anyone I want them to call for me, I say no. I know Yaroslav will find me but that it would be foolish to bring him to the attention of the police.

Once they realize they aren’t getting more out of me, the police finally leave me to rest. A short while later I’m discharged. The kindly nurse takes pity on me, giving me some too-big sweatpants and an old tee from the lost and found, to leave in. I’m so relieved that I don’t have to put on the revealing hooker outfit again that I burst into tears.

“Thank you,” I choke out between sobs.

She waves away my thanks, “Don’t mention it, honey. Now, you take care of yourself, you hear?” she says before handing me a card, “If you need help, contact Rose. She runs the women’s shelter here in Charleston.”

I thank her again and she gives my arm a little squeeze before heading off to help her other patients. As I shuffle out of the hospital in my one-size-doesn’t-fit-all hospital slippers, I start to feel anxious. Bogdan didn’t prepare me for this, where and how are Yaroslav’s men meant to find me? What should I do now?

I needn’t have worried. As I exit, I notice a familiar car, one of Yaroslav’s, parked outside. Artem climbs out of the driver’s side and my heart leaps as the passenger door opens. Finally, I will be reunited with Yaroslav. Just the thought of seeing him again makes me feel optimistic for the first time in three weeks.

But it isn’t Yaroslav that gets out of the car. It’s Vova.

Where’s Yaroslav? Why didn’t he come for me?

Bogdan told me he’s awoken from his coma and is back running the Bratva. Is he not here because he blames me for what happened? For Marta’s death? Does he hate me?

But then why would he send his men for me at all? Perhaps this means he doesn’t trust me, that Bogdan’s plan is going to fail, and Yaroslav knows it’s a set up. All of the possible reasons as to why Yaroslav wouldn’t come to see me in person race through my mind. None of them are good.

Which means I’m royally screwed.