2. Lacey
2
LACEY
The container lurches and my stomach drops as gravity shifts. Several women scream around me, their cries echoing off the metal walls. My hand instinctively goes to my throat, seeking the familiar comfort of Mom's necklace, but finds only bruised flesh. The loss hits me harder than the container's movement—another piece of Mom, gone forever under Sayanaa's heel.
A fan sputters to life somewhere above. The weak light filtering through its grate reveals what I couldn't see before: bodies. So many bodies. At least thirty women pressed together in this metal prison, their faces etched with terror and despair.
But one face catches my attention—those storm-gray eyes, that particular shade of blonde hair. She can't be more than sixteen, but the resemblance is unmistakable. My heart pounds as I make my way toward her through the press of bodies.
"Your mother," I whisper, careful to keep my voice down. "Is her name Polina?"
The girl's eyes widen. "How do you?—"
"I know your brother. Vadim."
She studies my face, wariness warring with desperate hope. "Brother?"
"Yes. What's your name?"
"Serena," she whispers back. "Serena Chambers."
"How did they get you?" I whisper to Serena, needing to understand.
She wraps her arms around herself, her voice trembling. "For days, this black Mercedes kept showing up. Outside our house, near my school. Mom was terrified but wouldn't tell me why."
"Then this morning, I was driving home from swim practice. These cars came out of nowhere. Forced me off the road near the bridge." Her fingers dig into her arms. "This tall woman with the most terrifying blue eyes got out. She said if I didn't come with her quietly..." Serena swallows hard. "She said she'd hurt Mom. She'd hurt Dad."
Olga . I realize, bile rising in my throat. The same woman who promised to help me escape. The same woman who betrayed me.
Of course, I should've seen it. How could I have been so blind? So stupid?
"She brought me to the docks," Serena continues. "And that's how I ended up here."
Her voice cracks and she falls silent, staring into the darkness.
I reach for her hand, offering what little comfort I can.
"What's he like?" Serena's whispered question catches me off guard. "My brother? Mom never... she won't talk about anything from before she met my dad. But I always wondered. I mean, there must be a past before me, right?"
I pause, weighing my words carefully. How do I explain Vadim to this her? How do I describe the complexity of a man who can order deaths one moment and tenderly kiss away my tears the next?
"What do you know?"
"I found this old photo in her dresser once," Serena pauses for a moment before she starts talking again. "She was holding a baby. She looked so young and beautiful. But when I asked her about it, she got really mad, changed the subject, and told me to never talk about it again."
My heart aches. I think of Vadim's pain whenever Polina rejects him, the way his eyes cloud with hurt before his mask slips back into place.
"Your brother is..." I trail off, searching for words that won't frighten her. "He's extraordinary. Brilliant and determined. When he sets his mind to something, nothing can stop him."
Like dismantling a human trafficking empire piece by piece. Like avenging every woman who's suffered at Kirsan's hands.
"He'll come for us," I say with more conviction than I feel. "He'll find us and get us out of here."
The moment the words leave my mouth, doubt creeps in. How could Vadim possibly track one shipping container? What if Kirsan kills us before he can reach us?
Or separates us?
I mentally shake myself. No. I've seen what Vadim can do. I've witnessed his power, his resources, his relentless drive. If anyone can find us, it's him.
"Really?" Serena's voice is small, hopeful. "You're sure?"
"Yes," I say firmly, squashing my earlier doubt. "I'm sure."
The container jerks to a sudden stop, throwing us against each other. Metal groans and squeals as the doors are yanked open, and our prison is filled with the earthy smell of rain.
My heart drops as Sayanaa's silhouette appears, flanked by men with raised guns.
"Get out," she orders, her voice hard as iron. "All of you."
Nobody moves. The women around me press closer together, as if our combined fear might somehow shield us. Sayanaa's lips curve into a cruel smile.
"Ugh, Tuvans." She barks at them in a language I've never heard before. One that sounds nothing like the rolling rhythm of Russian.
The women still don't move.
Sighing, Sayanaa nods to one of her men. The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space. The woman by the entrance crumples, blood blooming across her chest. Screams erupt around me, echoing off the metal walls.
Sayanaa's voice cuts through the chaos like a blade, speaking that unknown language at them.
Finally, women start scrambling out, pushing and shoving in their desperation to get away from the corpse beside them. Beside me, Serena's hand tightens around mine, her grip almost painful. I look down and see those storm-gray eyes—so like Vadim's—wide with naked fear for the first time since I met her.
I squeeze back, trying to offer what little comfort I can even as my own terror threatens to overwhelm me. The familiar weight of Mom's necklace is gone, crushed under Sayanaa's heel, and with it any illusion of safety I might have clung to.
"Bring those two to me, Grisha." Sayanaa points at me and Serena. "They're my special guests."
A mountain of a man with a nasty scar across his face steps forward at Sayanaa's command. One of his eyes is opaque and blind, giving him a wild cruel appearance. My instinct is to pull away, but Serena's trembling hand in mine keeps me rooted. I won't abandon her.
Sayanaa's eyes drift to where Serena's fingers are intertwined with mine. A cruel smile plays across her lips.
"So precious. The little thief protecting the little kitty." She traces a manicured nail down my cheek. "But holding hands won't save either of you from what's coming."
Movement catches my eye. I turn and my blood runs cold. Men are herding the other women toward a concrete building like cattle, rough hands shoving anyone who moves too slowly. One woman stumbles and is yanked up by her hair, her cry of pain echoing across the yard.
"What are you doing to them?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
Sayanaa's smile widens. "I'm preparing the merchandise for market." She leans in close, her breath hot against my ear. "We need to teach them their new reality. Break their spirits. Crush any lingering hope they might have of rescue or escape."
Her words hit me like a physical blow. I want to scream at her. They're not merchandise! They're people! Daughters, sisters, mothers. Each one with dreams and hopes and lives that are being systematically destroyed.
"Some fight it at first," Sayanaa continues, clearly relishing my horror. "But they all break eventually. They all learn their place." She turns to the big man who dragged us out. "Go and join your friends, Grisha, and have fun. God knows you've earned it."
Grisha's heavy footsteps fade as he lumbers, grinning, towards the building. My stomach churns at what is happening inside. Sayanaa's predatory gaze rakes over me, lingering on the bruises Vadim left on my neck.
"Follow me," she purrs. "And don't make me ask twice."
Serena's hand trembles in mine. I squeeze back, trying to project a strength I don't feel. But we have no choice as Sayanaa directs the two of us toward a cellar door set into the concrete building's foundation.
The door groans open on rusted hinges.
"Come along, little thief." She gestures down the dark stairs. "And keep that scared kitty by your side. Wouldn't want her getting lost, would we?"
I draw Serena closer as we descend into hell. Each step takes us deeper into darkness, the wailing echoes all around us above. The dank air reeks of fear and despair.
The heavy cellar door clangs shut behind us, sealing us in darkness until fluorescent lights flicker to life. My heart pounds as I take in our surroundings—it's jarringly mundane. Like any warehouse office a single desk, a few old filing cabinets, and a water cooler in the corner that has seen better days.
Only the muffled screams of women above us remind me this is anything but normal.
"Sit." Sayanaa gestures to two chairs in front of what I assume is her desk.
I help Serena to one of the chairs, keeping my grip on her hand. She's trembling now, and her palm is cold and clammy against mine.
She's just a child. She shouldn't be here. None of us should.
"Vadim will come for us," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "He'll tear this place apart to find us."
Sayanaa's laugh is like breaking glass. "Oh, I'm counting on it, little thief." She perches on the edge of her desk, crossing her legs deliberately. "Why do you think I let him trace my location?"
My blood runs cold. "What?"
"Please." She examines her manicured nails. "Don't you think I know everything there is to know about my Vadyusha? About what makes him tick? About what makes him lose control? I wanted him to come here." Her predatory gaze fixes on me. "What better way to draw him out than dangle the two of you as bait?"
The screams from above grow louder, punctuated by a man's rough laughter. Serena flinches beside me. I squeeze her hand tighter, fighting back nausea as I realize we're not just prisoners—we're pawns in Sayanaa's twisted game.
"Daddy wants his book back." Her smile widens as she leans forward, her voice dropping to a low hiss. "But I want what's mine."
"Vadim will never give you what you want," I spit out. "You're delusional if you think he'll?—"
Sayanaa's hand shoots out, and slaps me across the face hard enough to send my ears ringing. "I'm talking now, little thief."
I gasp, tasting blood in my mouth.
"You know," she continues, "I had an epiphany in that cathedral, watching you stand where I should've been standing. I realized this whole time that I was chasing the wrong prize all along."
I keep my mouth pressed in a line, letting my silence goad her into revealing more.
"All this time, I thought I wanted Vadyusha." She moves to perch on the desk in front of us. "But the truth is, I wanted the Stravinsky bratva." A cruel smile plays across her lips. "And there just happens to be another Stravinsky brother available. Useless as he is."
I know who she means. Slava .
"That poor shell of a man." She laughs at my expression. "Unable to feed himself, unable to speak, unable to get out of that hospital bed, let alone run an empire. But that doesn't matter." She leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "I just need his cock to work. All I need is for him to give me a child. A single legitimate Stravinsky, and everything I want becomes mine."
"You're sick," I can't hold back anymore.
"Funny. That's exactly what Vadyusha said." Her eyes flash with rage as they drink in the bruises around my neck. "But tell me, little thief. What's sicker? Accepting that you are the monster people make you out to be? Or pretending to be some noble crusader while you follow the footsteps of the monster you claim you are not?"
I feel my stomach turn and the bruises around my neck seem to burn. Sayanaa's eyes glitter with malicious delight as she catches my reaction.
"His heart is too soft," she purrs, running her fingers through my hair. "He's so desperate to prove he's not Pyotr's son when he should've embraced the strength his father had."
She grips my hair in her hand and forces me to look at her, as she pulls out her phone. Nimble fingers tap three times on the screen.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" The dispatcher's voice crackles through the speaker.
"Help!" I shriek as loud as I can, my voice raw and desperate.
Sayanaa's smile widens, and her cold eyes gleam with satisfaction. But she makes no move to stop me. Instead, she taps the screen, and I see the mute icon appears.
That's when I realize.
She wants me to scream.
She wants the dispatcher to hear the panic, the fear, the desperation in my voice before she cuts me off.
She's letting them trace the call, letting them hear just enough to draw them here.
To ambush Vadim.
Serena trembles besides me. I want to tell her it'll be okay, that Vadim will save us before Sayanaa's trap can spring shut.
But I don't know if I can believe that anymore.
"Ma'am?" the dispatcher calls out on the other end. "Ma'am, are you there?"
Seconds tick by like hours. Then, with a satisfied smirk on her face, Sayanaa ends the call.
"When Vadyusha comes charging in here, all rage and righteous fury to save his precious wife and sister, he'll make this whole operation look like it's his. " Her eyes gleam with savage satisfaction. "And the only witnesses who might dispute his account?" She laughs. "Merchandise too brutalized to talk, assuming if they can even find anyone who can translate Tuvan. And the two of you, I suppose. Not nearly enough to overturn the overwhelming evidence. Especially if they find daddy's book."
My heart pounds as she continues, "Poor Grisha." She sighs theatrically. "At least he'll get one last good fuck before Vadim puts him down like the dog he is."
The casual way she dismisses her own men's lives makes my skin crawl. These are people who trust her, who follow her orders, and she's throwing them away like pawns in her twisted game.
This woman isn't just evil.
She's the literal fucking devil.
"Daddy never understood," she muses, and for the first time, a hint of vulnerability seeps into her voice. "He never appreciated what I could do. All he ever saw in me was just a pretty face to dangle in front of potential allies."
Her eyes harden, as she takes a shuddering breath before she continues, words dripping with venom from years of resentment.
"Just another merchandise to be sold like the rest of you worthless whores."
Slowly, she removes one of her earrings, and uses the pushback to pop the SIM card out of her phone.
"And by the time he sees his mistake."
The tiny card glints between her perfectly manicured fingers before she drops it to the floor.
"It'll be too late."
The sharp crack of her heel against it echoes in the basement office.
The motion is identical to when she destroyed Mom's necklace, and fresh tears spring to my eyes at the memory.
"Oh," she soothes, cupping my face with a gentleness that terrifies me more than her violence. Her thumb wipes away a tear. "Don't cry, little thief. This isn't goodbye forever."
Her lips brush my cheek in a mockery of tenderness. I try to jerk away but her grip tightens, holding me in place as she whispers against my skin:
"We'll see each other again very soon. And when we do, the three of us are going to have so much fun."