Dangerous Games

13

Which is lucky, because that leaves the one who likes my boobs behind. If I’ll have a chance with anyone, it’s him.

I count to ten to make sure the other one has left, then knock on the door. “Hello? Anybody out there?”

The shuffle of feet. A cleared throat. I imagine him looking furtively around.

“I was wondering if you had a match or a lighter I could borrow. My candles have burned out.”

The silence stretches so long I don’t think he’ll answer, but then my heart leaps when I hear his voice, low and close to the door.

“I can’t talk to you.”

“I understand. I won’t tell anyone. We don’t have to speak again. It’s just . . .” I make my voice wavering and thin. “It’s so dark in here. I don’t like the dark.”

A heavy exhalation, or maybe it’s the wind. After an eternity, he says, “Don’t make me sorry I did this.”

I look down. He’s pushing a red plastic disposable lighter under the door.

I kneel down and snatch it before he can change his mind. “Thank you!” I whisper. “I’m so grateful to you!”

A noise like a satisfied grunt.

“What’s your name?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he says, “Vlad.”

Like Vlad the Impaler. How apropos. “Oh, that was my father’s name! It’s my favorite!” Both lies. I hope my voice doesn’t sound as brittle to him as it does to me.

When he doesn’t respond, I think our conversation is over. But then he says, “What’s your name?”

I drop my voice an octave, trying to sound winsomely vulnerable and scared. “I’m Evalina.”

He repeats it, a husky note in his voice. He’s thinking of my boobs.

I say breathily, “Thank you again, Vlad. You’re an angel. I won’t forget you helped me. When I get out of here, if there’s anything I can do for you, I will.”

That grunt again, as if he’s already compiling a list.

“What’re you doing down there?”

His companion’s sharp voice carries from however far off he is, returning from relieving himself. I stand abruptly and hold my breath until Vlad says, “Thought I heard a noise. But it was nothing.”

He lies much better than I do. His voice is casual and untroubled, as I imagine his expression to be as well. The other man says, “It doesn’t matter if she screams her f*****g head off—it’s none of our business, you hear?”

“Yup,” says Vlad easily. The subject is closed as his friend starts bitching about the cold.

I slink back down the staircase with my prize clutched like a cross in my hands, my head buzzing with all the ways I might use Vlad’s appreciation to my advantage, never guessing such an innocent everyday item as a disposable lighter could bring such disaster crashing down onto my head.

It begins, as many nightmares do, with a crack of thunder.

I jolt upright, startled out of a deep sleep by the sound of an approaching storm. I’d been dreaming of Naz, of chasing after him on a deserted beach, crying out his name in vain as he ran faster and faster ahead of me, until he disappeared into darkness without ever looking back.

It takes a moment for me to reorient myself, even less than that for me to realize I’m not alone.

Dimitri and the two bodyguards stand at the bottom of the staircase, staring at me.

His voice so mild it’s almost disinterested, Dimitri says, “Ah. Sleeping Beauty awakens.”

A viper coils around his words, flashing sharp fangs.

I pull the blanket close to my chest, my blood quickening in my veins. The guards are tense, too, their faces wary, their fingers white-knuckled around the stocks of their machine guns. My mouth turns as dry as bones bleached in desert sand.

Whatever this is, it’s bad.

Stepping forward, Dimitri smiles. He’s wearing a beautifully cut suit of black silk—always, always black silk—and the ubiquitous black tie. He looks refreshed and in utter control, all that nasty gunshot business put firmly out of mind.

I’ve never known another person with such a high tolerance for pain.

Except, I realize with skin-crawling distaste, myself.

“So how are you faring down here in your cozy little space, my love?” Dimitri lifts a corner of the blanket, fingering it idly as he speaks. “Comfortable? Finding everything you need?”

As if on cue, my stomach grumbles. I keep my face blank and my gaze on Dimitri’s polished shoes. “I need food.”

“Ah, yes,” he answers thoughtfully. “Since all the other basics are covered. Shelter. Water.”

His pause feels dramatic. I glance up at him, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.

He lets his gaze wander around until it lands on the candle flickering in the niche over my bed. His smile widens. “Fire.”

Vlad shifts his weight from foot to foot. I want to scream at him for his stupidity.

Dimitri sits on the end of my bed, crosses his legs, and drapes one wrist over the other as if he’s on a social call in a fine parlor waiting for a maid to hand him a cup of tea. Every line of his body is relaxed.

Only his eyes give him away, that burning cold glow of glacial blue.

He says, “Evalina, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Solicitous. Like a concerned parent.

It’s obvious he knows about the lighter, but this little game delights him. Thrust, parry, feint, stab and stab at your opponent until they bleed to death from a thousand cuts while you spin away, laughing.