Chapter 35
Lennon knew he needed to keep his wits about him, but he couldn’t refuse Kuznetsova’s offers of vodka and he couldn’t get away with pretending to drink. Not with her being right in his face and all but forcing it down his throat. He pretended to be much drunker than he was, swaying and slurring and laughing like a maniac. The vodka was helping to dull the pain from his injuries, but if he wanted to survive, he needed to be able to think.
His captor finally managed to let him stop after the sixth or seventh round. Lennon had stopped counting. Maybe he’d lost the ability to count. Who as keeping track anymore? Not Lennon. All he knew was he could finally move again. It wasn’t a lot, but he’d gotten a little more play in his hands. He had to do something, though—oh, right. He had
