Book 2 Four-1
2327 Words
I shot her to save her because if I didn’t, Zoey or Adrian would have, and their shot would have been fatal. But it doesn’t seem to make a difference because now, I’m just as much of a prisoner as she is.
Day 40I HAVE NO idea of the time. Or day. Or where I am, for that matter. I feel neither here nor there. One thing is certain; I’m wrapped in silk sheets that smell of lavender. A strange thing to notice, but my senses are on high alert because I’m smelling something different from the past few weeks.
No longer the open sea.
The fact I can’t feel the subtle sway to the waters has me guessing I have finally arrived where I was always destined to end up.
I’m on land. I’m in Russia.
Through my fuzzy brain, I try to think back to the last thing I can remember, but all I feel is pain—literally. My left shoulder feels as though red-hot pokers have pierced it, and my whole body aches.
With the slowest of movements, I gradually open my eyes, blinking rapidly to clear my blurred vision. It takes a few seconds, but when I eventually focus, I can’t deny my surroundings are quite a sight.
I’m clearly in a bedroom, but this room looks like it once belonged to royalty.
A gold wallpaper ingrained with blue and gold flowers covers the walls. The high ceiling is domed, I think, and covered with the same wallpaper. The wooden furniture has red velvet cushioning. Thick silk drapes the king-size bed I’m lying in, and the color scheme matches the wallpaper.
Regardless of all the gleam in this lavish and comfortable place, it’s still a prison—just with shinier bars.
I try to sit up, but my head spins, and I groan, falling back down onto the pillow and rubbing my brow. When the door opens, and a young woman enters with a jug of water, I can’t help but shrink back. “W-who are you?” It takes me two attempts to speak, but she understands me perfectly fine.
“Oh, you’re awake?” She has a definite French accent.
“Where am I?” My voice sounds like I gargled glass, and that pitcher she holds suddenly has me wetting my very dry lips.
She closes the door gently and walks over to the bed. “You’re in Russia. At Aleksei’s home,” she explains, reaching for a glass on the bedside table and pouring me some water.
Even though she confirmed what I already knew to be true, my stomach still turns at the thought.
“My name is Sara.” She passes me the water, and I am far too thirsty to care if it’s drugged or not. I reach for it and tip back my head to drink it all down. It gurgles in my empty belly.
“How many days have I been here?”
“Two.”
My exhausted brain attempts to do the math. Remembering Saint said we were roughly three days away from Russia, that means I’ve been unconscious for five days.
What the hell happened?
“Where is the man I arrived with? Saint,” I ask, hoping she knows who I’m talking about. But more importantly, hoping I did, in fact, arrive with him in tow.
When she averts her gaze, I sit up, ignoring the pain shooting straight through me. The blankets pool around my waist, allowing me to see I’m in a white nightgown. I can also see a bandage poking out of the collar where my shoulder is strapped.
Memories crash into me, followed by a deafening BOOM! Instinctively, I reach for my shoulder…the one Saint shot me in. My mouth pops open because the image of me being manhandled by Zoey before she was seconds away from blowing out my brains comes to life.
I would be dead by now if not for Saint’s bullet, which is ironic in every sense of the word. He shot to wound, not to kill. But I don’t understand why I’ve been out for five days. Unless Saint is playing down his gunshot wound to the shoulder, then something else caused me to be comatose for the past five days.
“I don’t know where he is,” Sara explains, placing the pitcher on the table.
“Has he come to see me?” I ask, but it’s in vain. I know the answer.
“No.”
“Why have I been unconscious? I don’t remember coming here.”
Sara frowns. “Aleksei, he made me do it.”
“Do what?” I ask slowly, sitting against the headboard.
“He told me that I was to keep you…comfortable.” Her pause has me guessing that means he did to me what I did to him.
He drugged me.
“I need to leave.” I’m about to throw the blankets off, ready to flee this prison once and for all, but Sara’s eyes widen, and she latches onto my forearm.
“Please, don’t! He will kill me,” she pleads, and I see the truth in her eyes.
I owe this woman nothing, but I can’t help but feel sorry for her. She’s being held captive by Aleksei as well.
“Why are you here?” I ask, needing to know what role she plays, and if she can be trusted.
Sara looks similar in age to me with long dark hair. Once upon a time, I would have guessed her dull and lifeless light brown eyes sparkled. “I’m a prisoner too,” she says. Even though she doesn’t know my situation, it’s evident I’m here against my will.
“Alek has me working off my father’s debt. He borrowed money from him but couldn’t pay it back.”
She doesn’t need to continue. I can fill in the blanks.
The inevitable looms. “Is he…?” I gulp, unsure how to even phrase this. “Is he your master too?”
She nods slowly, her large eyes filling with tears.
I don’t understand any of this. If Alek has ample women at his disposal, then why does he want me?
However, when I think of my purpose, that I’m to take over for Zoey, his number one, I assume that Alek parades one “special” girl around to all his friends like a prized pig while the others, like Sara, are there to scratch an itch when he gets bored.
Judging by her clothes, which look like something Cinderella would wear when scrubbing the floors, she serves as his slave in every sense of the word. We all have a purpose to Alek, chess pieces to move to win the game.
“Zoey has been in here.” My blood turns cold when she shares this with me. “Be careful of her. She will do anything to make sure no one takes her place. You aren’t the first girl.”
Her confession leaves a bad taste in my mouth as those other girls were “trained” by Saint.
“At first, Alek makes you think he cares, but his true colors will eventually shine through.” She tugs at a loose thread on the duvet, betraying her guilt. “We’re all just his property to do with as he pleases.”
Saint was right. It sounds like Sara fell victim to Alek’s charm too.
“I want to see him. Alek,” I add, and she turns a ghastly shade of white.
“He’s attending to some business. He won’t be back for an hour or so.”
“Well, in that case”—I kick the blankets off and turn my body, placing my feet on the soft carpet—“I want to see what my cage looks like.” Because that’s what this place is.
Sara must read my determination because she quickly offers her hand to help me. I feel like a ninety-year-old woman as I come to a slow stand. My legs wobble, but once I gather my bearings, I commence a slow shuffle toward the door.
However, when I see an en suite, I make a beeline for it as I’m desperate to use the toilet and brush my teeth. Sara gives me privacy to do my thing. When I look at my reflection in the oval mirror, I almost fall backward as I don’t recognize the person staring back at me.
The dark circles under my eyes look almost bruised. My skin is a sickly white, and my hair is a knotted mess. But appearance aside, the sparkle has gone. When I look at myself, I see a stranger. I have lived her life, but I no longer see the Willow Shaw I once was.
This person is angry and intent on revenge. She will do anything to make sure those who hurt her pay.
A red toothbrush in a wrapper sits on the marble counter as well as toothpaste. I make use of both. As I’m brushing my teeth, I open the drawers and am disgusted when I see all the things you’d expect to see in any bathroom.
But I don’t want any of the expensive makeup or perfumes. The drawers are filled with lotions, as well as brushes and other beauty implements. I slam the drawer shut and spit out my toothpaste.
I wash my face with water, which will have to do for now. I’ll take a shower after I take a look around.
Sara waits for me by the door. “We have to be quick. Alek didn’t give me permission to let you out of your room.”
I can’t stop my eye roll. “Permission? Screw him. I don’t need nor do I want a minder.”
Sara looks saddened by my claim. “Willow, you will soon learn that here at красная долина, we don’t have any choices.”
What the hell is красная долина?
“How long have you been here, Sara?” I ask, her sorrow palpable.
She straightens out her white apron, eyes downcast. “Thirteen months.”
I gasp in horror. “How long until your father’s debt is paid off?”
“I am enslaved to Alek for the rest of my life.”
I don’t know what to say because I want to say so much. “That must be some debt your father owes.”
She doesn’t reply.
I don’t press because Sara may be my only ally in this place. We walk, or I hobble, toward the door as I know she will be my shadow from here on out.
When we step out into the long hallway, I stop in my tracks to take it all in. Countless doors branch off the corridor. The carpet has a Persian design, and the same wallpaper as in my room covers the walls.
This doesn’t appear to be a simple house but, rather, a mansion or a palace. As we continue our journey, I gape at my surroundings. When we walk out into the foyer, I extend my neck as far as I can to study the domed ceilings. They are painted with artwork like something you’d see in the Sistine Chapel.
Sara gently coaxes me along as she clearly worries Alek will return soon.
We venture into the living rooms, dining rooms, ballrooms, and kitchens, and each one is more elaborate than the one before it. Artwork complements the gold décor, and it seems no expense is spared. But Alek can afford it. He enslaves people and profits from their exploitation.
“Who is Alek?” I ask, more to myself. Saint said he’s the most powerful man in Russia, but what does he do to obtain his wealth?
“He’s a drug lord,” Sara explains, filling in the blanks. “But to the unsuspecting, he’s just a businessman with connections all over the world. Not much happens in this country without Alek’s consent. The government are corrupt, and together, they have unrivaled power. He’s untouchable.”
A shiver passes over me because this is a lot worse than I thought.
“Who are The Circle?” I ask, remembering Saint mention this ambiguous group.
Sara slams her hand over my mouth, eyes wide as she shakes her head. “Never say that name.”
But I don’t listen. “Why not?” I shrug from her hold, refusing to be silenced.
Sara backs up, appearing as though she’s seen a ghost. “Because they don’t exist.”
It’s futile to ask who they are because it would go against her entire claim. “Where’s the front door?”
Sara looks at me as if I’ve just asked her to give me her right arm. “You can’t just walk out.”
“Watch me,” I challenge, deciding to find it myself. I don’t care that I’m barefoot and traipsing around in a nightgown. I want to draw attention. Hopefully, my disheveled appearance will alert law enforcement so I can tell them all about the vile monster named Aleksei Popov.
“Willow, please.” Sara runs after me, yanking on my arm. I understand her fear because if I leave, she will suffer because of my actions. However, if I…
Without a second thought, I turn around and slap her cheek—hard. She staggers back, cupping her cheek in horror.
I flinch but don’t regret my actions. “Now you can tell him I knocked you out and escaped while you were unconscious.”
She blinks once—whether admiring my courage or mourning my death, I’m not sure—but I don’t plan on sticking around to find out. I run through the house, intent on finding a way out. Door. Window. I don’t care. I just need an exit, and I need one now.
- Writer
