One hundred reasons to leave

Chapter 4

The man reluctantly agrees to my terms and goes out the door. I run to the wardrobe and start changing.

I put on a top, tie a white shirt in a knot at the waist, and put on light‑blue jeans. White sneakers — and I’m ready. I pack everything I need into my bag: my phone, a wallet with money I’d been saving for several years, and my documents.

A couple of minutes later, the man bursts into the room like a bullet. He looks me up and down, then smirks.

“Got ready in advance?” His expression changes from mocking to cold and even angry. “There’s no drugs there.”

I swallow loudly. I start shaking with fear — not of the man, but at the thought of staying here. He won’t help me, and no one will.

“What do you mean, there’s no drugs?” I ask quietly. “I… I saw it myself right before I came down…”

The man steps close and grabs my jaw. Not painfully, but firmly, forcing me to look him straight in the eyes.

After a few seconds, a satisfied smile appears on his face.

“Relax, I was joking.”

I nervously break free from his grip.

“You’ve got a problem with your sense of humor, mister,” I sniff in response.

“Are you out of your mind? I’m only ten years older than you.”

“Really? You don’t look it!”

“Keep your tongue behind your teeth more often, or I might change my mind,” he grins, and I flinch as if from a slap. I immediately lower my head and look at the floor.

“That’s how you’ll go out. Scared, beaten down, and not sarcastic. Let Moroz think I didn’t go easy on you either.” He takes my bag from my hands and interlaces our fingers. His hand — hot and rough — holds me gently but firmly.

He leads me into the kitchen and seats me next to him at the table.

My husband looks at me with hatred and disgust, while the people with my saviour look at me with pity.

“Your wife’s not much, to be honest. And she acts strangely… I was thinking — does she use anything?” the man asks, putting salad on his plate. *What the hell is he talking about?*

“Nah…” Moroz growls and starts looking at me closely. “Can’t be — she’s clean, I checked myself…”

“And you?” my saviour asks indifferently.

Moroz flinches; his gaze starts darting from side to side.

“I… I just smoke weed, just for my nerves. An American doctor prescribed it!” he blurts out.

“Who’s your weed supplier?” the man asks calmly, leaning back in his chair.

“R‑Roman Vitalyevich, I don’t even remember anymore. I bought it a long time ago, when…”

“Don’t try to sweet‑talk me, Moroz,” his voice stays calm, but his tone turns harsh. “Let’s be straight. You know I didn’t come here for nothing. Or do you think that if you offer me your sweet wife, I’ll get soft? I’m giving you a chance to get out of this alive. He leans forward. “You shut down your drug den and that f*****g business of selling virgins, pay me compensation, and get the hell out to Khabarovsk. Got it? And if not — you know about my private cemetery outside the city.”

I watch, mesmerized, as Moroz’s face turns pale. I try to hide a triumphant smile, covering my mouth with my hand. *Serves you right, you half‑baked pimp!*

“And I’m taking your b***h as an advance payment. She’s got some pretty good holes — you haven’t tried them all yet, have you?” He’s openly mocking my husband. But a bitter feeling remains in my chest, because he’s saying this filth about me.

“Rom. We have rules. We don’t touch other men’s women…” the guy sitting nearby trails off after a look from Roman.

“He gave her to me himself. I’m not breaking any rules here.” He gets up from the table, takes me by the elbow, and leads me toward the exit.

His entire entourage follows us. Everyone gets into the car. I watch with a smile out the window as I leave that hellish place behind.

“Can you drop me off at the airport?” I ask, turning to Roman, who’s been studying me intently and with interest.

“No. You’re the advance payment. You’re mine now. Didn’t you get that yet?” he says seriously.

“Is that another joke?” I raise my eyebrows and look at the man angrily.

“No, girl. This is the truth. You’re my advance payment now.”

“But that’s not what we agreed on!” I shout hysterically.

“Really? And what *did* we agree on? You helped me in the house, and I helped you get out of there, just like you asked. We didn’t discuss any details.”

“But I… but… you can’t do this to me! Just let me go. I’ll leave, and that’s it,” I whisper, wiping away tears.

“I can’t, damn it! When will you get it? Moroz will look for you, and if you’re not with me, he’ll take you back — and then he’ll definitely kill you, but first he’ll torture you.” He speaks confidently, leaving me no reason to doubt his words.

“Then what should I do?”

“You’ll stay with me until I get rid of him,” he declares coldly. *Get rid of him? You mean kill him?*

“Y‑you’re going to kill him?” I ask quietly.

“Do you feel sorry for that scumbag?” he asks, smiling wryly.

“Well, he’s still a human…”

“He’s a moral monster. He sells drugs and girls — even minors.

I cover my mouth with my hand. How horrible. My parents clearly didn’t know who they were giving me to.

“That’s the kind of husband you’ve got, girl. And how did you even agree to all this?” he asks with contempt and turns to look out the window.

“I didn’t agree! I was just sold! My own parents gave me to him. My father lost a ton of money in his casino. And my mother didn’t want to give up her rich lifestyle — so she offered me instead of cash. They pulled me out of university and married me off. My mother said I had to please him, obey him, and do whatever he says! That crazy woman even wanted to send me to blowjob classes!”

The man looks at me in surprise, and I can’t hold back anymore — I burst into loud sobs.

“And I said ‘no’ to the registrar… he choked me… and beat me… and…”

It turns out I’d been holding it together all this time, suppressing the pain. And now it’s all coming at me like an avalanche.

“I barely remember what happened that night. At some point, I just passed out, and in the morning I woke up in intense pain all over my body. He cut my back with a knife…” It feels like I’ve said everything, and I feel a bit lighter. I wipe my tears and turn to look out the window.

“Slava, turn right at the intersection,” he says calmly to the driver.

“To the clinic?”

“Yes.”

And then I suddenly remember we’re not alone in the car. Besides the driver, there’s another man sitting in the front seat.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to throw a tantrum. It just came out… everyone has their own problems, and I don’t want anyone to pity me… I just want to be understood.”

Roman looks at me differently now — with some kind of respect. He takes my hand and squeezes it.

“You’re right — everyone has their own problems. Each of us has gone through something terrible, and maybe even worse things await us in the future… You can survive anything except death. Some people cope, others don’t. You’re strong, I see that. Your life is just beginning, so don’t burden yourself. Every person has faced violence at least once in their life. You’re not the only one.”

I squeeze his hand in return, then press it to my cheek, closing my eyes.

“Thank

The man smiled warmly in response and gently freed himself from my grip.

The car stopped.

I glanced at the man questioningly, then looked out the window — the huge building had “Private Clinic” written on it.

“Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

The man clicked his tongue. He got out of the car and opened the door for me. I got out too, and he pulled me by the hand toward the entrance.

“I’m fine, really! It barely hurts anymore. A couple of days and everything will be all right…”

“Just stay quiet and do what I say — for once. This is about your health, after all.” I pressed my lips together but agreed with him.