Chapter 3
1123 Words
MAYA'S POV
My head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Not just pounding – it was like my skull was cracking apart from the inside. Something was very, very wrong.
The air reeked of cigarettes, old and stale, mixed with something else I couldn't identify. Leather or something I couldn't name.
This definitely wasn't the club.
I forced my eyes open and felt my stomach drop. I was right. This wasn't anywhere I recognized.
Panic clawed at my chest as I tried to move, but my body wouldn't cooperate. I was sitting in a chair with my hands bound behind me. The material was tight, cutting into my skin. Duct tape.
"Who did this?" I whispered to the empty room.
Working at Johnson's had exposed me to plenty of dangerous situations, but I hadn't pissed anyone off recently. At least, I didn't think I had.
My thoughts were interrupted by voices outside the door.
"Inform the boss – she's awake," someone said in a deep voice.
Boss. The same word I'd heard before everything went black.
A few minutes later, the door swung open and a man walked in. The room was too dark to see his face clearly, but I could make out his silhouette. Tall. Broad shoulders. The kind of presence that sucked all the air out of a room.
"There she is," the deep voice from earlier said as its owner followed the first man inside.
"Boss," he added.
So this was the boss. The one Sarah had been terrified of.
"Good job," the boss said. His voice was cold enough to freeze blood.
He moved closer to where I was sitting and I got my first clear look at him. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Eyes that looked like they'd seen too much violence and decided they liked it.
He was younger than I'd expected. Maybe early thirties. And handsome in the kind of way that probably made stupid women forget he was dangerous.
I wasn't stupid.
"Hello, Sarah," he said.
My heart stopped. "I'm not Sarah."
He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Of course you're not."
"I'm serious. My name is Maya Carter. You have the wrong person."
"Maya Carter," he repeated, like he was tasting the words. "Interesting choice for a fake name."
"It's not fake. It's my real name."
He pulled a chair over and sat down across from me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. Expensive. Everything about him screamed money and power.
"Sarah," he said again, ignoring everything I'd just told him. "We need to talk."
"I told you, I'm not—"
"My brother is dead." His voice cut through my protest like a blade. "Someone put a knife in his chest three days ago. The hotel receptionist identified you as the last person he was with."
My mouth went dry. "I don't know anything about a hotel. Or your brother."
"Randoff Ivanov." He was watching my face carefully, looking for some kind of reaction. "Ring any bells?"
I'd never heard that name in my life, but something about the way he said it made my skin crawl. "No."
"He was found in an alley six blocks from where you work. Bleeding out like an animal."
"I'm sorry about your brother," I said, and I meant it. "But I didn't kill him. I don't even know who he was."
The boss – Ivanov, apparently – leaned back in his chair. "You know what I think? I think you're very good at lying. But not good enough."
"I'm not lying."
"Everyone lies, Sarah. The question is why. What are you protecting? Who are you protecting?"
"I'm not protecting anyone. I'm telling you the truth."
He stood up and started pacing around my chair like a predator circling prey. "Maybe you didn't mean to kill him. Maybe it was self-defense. Maybe he tried something and you fought back."
"I wasn't there."
"The blood evidence says otherwise."
"What blood evidence?"
He stopped pacing and looked at me. "You're very calm for someone who's been kidnapped."
That was true. I should probably be crying or begging or having some kind of breakdown. But panic had never been my style. When bad things happened, I got quiet. I got focused. I survived.
"Crying won't change anything," I said.
"Most people would at least try."
"I'm not most people."
He studied my face for a long moment. "No. You're not."
The silence stretched between us until it felt like a living thing.
"Where is she?" he asked finally.
"Where is who?"
"Sarah. The real Sarah. Where is she hiding?"
"I don't know."
"When did you last see her?"
I thought about lying, but something told me he'd know. "Tonight. Before my shift."
"And?"
"And nothing. She asked me to cover for her and left."
"Cover for her how?"
"We switch sometimes. Same height, same hair. In the dark, people can't tell us apart."
His eyes got very cold. "So you're telling me you were dancing in her place."
"Yes."
"And she knew my men were coming for her."
I didn't answer that, but I didn't need to. We both knew the truth.
"She set you up," he said. "Used you as a decoy so she could run."
The worst part was, I was starting to think he might be right. Sarah had been terrified tonight. Desperate. And she'd practically begged me to take her place.
But I wasn't going to admit that to him.
"Sarah wouldn't do that," I said.
"No? Then where is she?"
"I don't know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
He leaned down until his face was inches from mine. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where is Sarah?"
I met his eyes and didn't flinch. "I don't know."
For a moment, I thought he might hit me. His jaw was clenched and there was something dark and violent flickering behind his eyes.
But he didn't touch me.
Instead, he straightened up and walked toward the door.
"We'll continue this conversation tomorrow," he said. "Maybe a night in here will help you remember something useful."
"Wait," I called after him.
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
"If you really think I killed your brother," I said, "why haven't you killed me yet?"
He looked back at me with an expression I couldn't read.
"Because I don't think you killed him," he said. "I think you know who did. And I think you're going to tell me."
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me alone in the dark.
I sat there listening to the sound of my own heartbeat and trying to figure out how my life had gone so wrong so fast.
- Writer
