Break Me (Enslaved #2)

2 EMMA

Something rumbles beneath me, loud and uneven, yet familiar and soothing. A train, I realize, finding comfort in the knowledge. I love riding the night train. Trevor and I have been doing that a lot on this trip through Europe. But something’s off. Something in my body. My joints ache as if I’ve been lying in the same position for too long, and it seems I’m on the floor instead of a mattress. Something digs into my wrists and ankles as I try to move. Rope, I realize to my horror. My wrists are tied up behind me, and so are my ankles. I try to stretch out my legs, only to realize a third piece of rope is connecting the two bindings behind my back, keeping my legs folded.

My eyes fly open, and I blink against the sharp light of a brightly lit passenger car. Old red seats, brown curtains framing windows blackened by the night outside, and a single passenger. He’s leaning back in his seat beside me, feet up and a phone in his hand—the man from the bar. From my hotel room. Humor lights up his hazel eyes as he sees me watching him.

I try to say something, but my mouth is stuffed, and all I manage is nonsensical sounds.

“Sorry, no soundproof walls on the train, so I had to gag you,” he says.

Swallowing against the dryness in my throat, I scream, but the fabric takes half the sound.

He huffs a laugh. “No one’s gonna hear that. It might not be soundproof, but we have the whole car to ourselves.” He waggles his brows. “VIP.”

I scream again, this time so hard it hurts my throat. The sound morphs into a dry cough that has me heaving and writhing as I struggle not to choke on the fabric. But it’s impossible. The scratchy sensation keeps me coughing, and panic has me jerking against my restraints as I draw the fabric deeper, making my gag reflex stutter.

My face heats, and tears pool in my eyes as I stare up at him with desperation.

Taking his sweet time, he gets up and sinks to his haunches beside me, grabbing my chin to hold my face still. “Do you promise not to scream if I remove the gag?”

I nod frantically as I jerk and strain, feeling like I’m about to choke on either the fabric, my shallow breaths, or my own vomit when I lose control of my gag reflex in a few seconds.

He rips the tape from my mouth and pulls the fabric out, and I buck forward, heaving for air but barely getting any.

“Easy there.” He presses a hand to my arm to keep me from squirming too much. “You’ll pass out if you don’t calm down.”

I barely hear his words. Panic has me in a vise, and the sensation of choking keeps me coughing and gagging.

When he wraps his fingers around my throat and squeezes, I go even more wild. But instead of blocking my airway, he’s pressing the sides. A dizzy sensation descends over my mind, sucking out my strength in an almost pleasant way. The panic recedes as my mind blurs. I’m drifting on the verge of consciousness when he releases the pressure and grabs my chin instead. Leaning down, he gives me the full force of his commanding gaze. “Breathe,” he says, a long, assertive word that spurs instinctive obedience, making me draw in a large gulp of air. “Again,” he demands, making me go a few more times until I can breathe somewhat calmly on my own.

“Good girl.” He pats my cheek in a gesture that’s more like a few soft slaps. Reaching behind him, he grabs a water bottle and unscrews the cap. “Drink.” He helps me lift my head as he holds the bottle to my lips. Half the contents drip down the sides of my mouth, onto my pink T-shirt, as I drink, but all I care about is quelling the raw feeling in my throat.

Once the bottle is empty, he lowers my head back to the floor. I just lie there for a while, breathing heavily as I stare into space. When I finally recover and my breaths work on their own, I stare back up at him. He’s still on his haunches, leaning an elbow on the seat beside him. The sight of him brings my heart to a thrumming rhythm, and my eyes flicker to the other end of the car as I consider screaming again.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, reading the thought on my face. “I’ll stuff your mouth again, and this time, I won’t take out the cloth until you’re choking on your own vomit.”

I gulp, clamping my mouth shut.

Keeping his eyes trained on me, he gets up and sinks back into his seat. After a few minutes of watching me distrustfully, he turns his attention to his phone, glancing back at me every now and then as I squirm on the floor, trying to get more comfortable until I realize it’s not possible.

“Who are you?” I ask once I feel somewhat certain he won’t gag me on a whim.

“Mikhail,” he says without lifting his gaze. “But you can call me Sir.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Looking up from his phone, he cocks an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to know?”

I stay quiet. Because I don’t think I do. I’d rather close my eyes and enjoy sweet oblivion for as long as I can.

But terror keeps hovering at the edges of my mind, and before long, I’m pulled back to the room and my terrifying reality as someone enters the car. An urgent need to act rises within me as I see a fat, balding conductor stop just inside the door.

Mikhail gives me a warning look as I stare back and forth between him and the conductor.

“Ten more minutes, Mr. Pavlov,” the man says in broken English and roams his gaze over me.

I beg him with wide eyes, not daring to say a single word as I feel Mikhail’s watchful attention on me. But the conductor doesn’t show a flicker of compassion. If anything, all I find in his face is hunger.

He turns and leaves, and a scream hovers at the top of my throat, waiting for me to breathe life to it with a sharp gust of air as I try to decide whether it’s worth it.

Mikhail’s expression darkens, and he straightens as if preparing to jump up and block my scream. I don’t dare to release the sound, but it hovers in my throat until the train slows down and he sinks down beside me with a roll of duct tape in his hands.

“You look like trouble,” he says as he rips off a piece and slaps it over my mouth. “But I don’t want you choking when we get off, so we’ll stick with the tape.” He proceeds to cut the rope that connects my bound hands and feet. Then he hoists me into the air as the train stops and throws me over his shoulder.

Staggered groans form in my throat as I bounce against his shoulder while he carries me out of the car and jumps off the train. Whipping my head from side to side, I search for help—or any hope to cling to—but I don’t find any. We’re at the very end of the train. Any people that might be on it will be a long car away and won’t be able to see us back here in the pitch-black darkness of the night. Even if they do catch a glimpse of our shadows, they won’t be able to make out enough to know something’s wrong.

The train screeches on the tracks as it starts rolling, and help slips away as it picks up speed and disappears into the distance.

I should have screamed when I had the chance.

The moon casts an eerie glow onto our barren surroundings. All I see are empty fields, tall trees, and imposing mountains as he carries me across the tracks.

Lifting a hand to my mouth, he pulls off the duct tape. “You may scream all you want now. No one but the bears are gonna hear you out here.”

I don’t even have it in me to form a small cry anymore. Defeat is a tight band around my chest as the hopelessness of my situation sinks in. All I can do is try to steady my breaths as I bounce limply against his shoulder. I barely even move when he puts me in the trunk of a car. I just lie there, staring at the starry sky as he cuts the ropes, arranges my limbs steadily in front of me, and places cushions around me to create a sort of buffer against the hard edges.

The trunk slams shut and darkness descends, total and complete. It numbs my mind, and I finally sink into the empty oblivion I sought on the train.

The car bumbles down empty roads, and I’m grateful for the pillows as I jostle about. The ride seems to go on forever, and I sink deeper into the dark nothingness, not daring to think a single thought or move a single muscle, afraid it will hurl me straight back into stifling panic.

When the car finally stops, my mind is numb, my body the same.

The trunk pops open, and the starry sky once again greets me. So does Mikhail, who hoists me back onto his shoulder. The sudden movement sends waves of pain coursing through my body. Every muscle and joint screams in protest, having endured a long train ride on the floor and being constantly jostled against the hard bottom of the trunk. Tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision. The world is nothing but vague shadows of thick trees and a looming building that resembles an old castle.

The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine trees as he carries me toward the building. I groan and whimper as we descend a long flight of stairs. Every step makes my stomach bounce painfully against his shoulder, pulling at my sore joints and sending pins and needles through my aching head.

Closing my eyes tightly, I succumb to my grief. The tears flow faster as I weep, and I try to lift my hands to dry my nose and eyes. Heavy steps thud and metal clanks in the distance as we enter the building, and the scent of dry stone and basement fills my senses. But I don’t look. I don’t dare to.

Eventually, I have to, though. When he sets me down on a cold, wet floor, I focus on the room to get my bearings. And that’s when the grief truly hits. My sobs deepen as I’m confronted with four barren stone walls and a green metal door that shuts with a heavy clank as a new man enters. I only catch a glimpse of an imposing figure and a bald head before a coarse hood comes down over my head, saturating my world in blinding darkness. Then Mikhail ties my hands anew.

With my aching legs trembling beneath me and grief shuddering deep in my bones, I can barely stand. I stagger as he releases me, yelping as I slip on the cold stone. The ropes catch me as he lifts my bound hands, and I cry out as they dig into my wrists. He secures them to something in the ceiling, stretching my arms above me, and I grab onto them as I struggle to keep my legs straight.

Something cold and thin connects with my skin as Mikhail shoves it beneath the hem of my pajama pants. A knife, I realize as the sound of ripping fabric repeatedly fills the air. I jump with each cut, the shock sending jolts of pain through my aching muscles.

I want to beg him to stop, but I can’t seem to form the words. All I can do is cry out and jerk as he proceeds to cut off my panties and T-shirt.

With each item of clothing I lose, it’s like losing a chunk of my humanity, and I feel like a piece of meat as I stand there naked and bound. I should be grateful for the hood that hides my runny nose and teary cheeks, but it’s a cruel symbol of the object I’ve become. They don’t want my face. Only my body.

“Hose her down,” Mikhail says.

An icy cold spray of water knocks into me, shoving me off my feet. I grip the ropes tighter, and the room fills with a sick mix of screams, sobs, and desperate sounds I have no name for as the water keeps coming. It knocks into me, hard and unforgiving, hurling me back and forth as the man with the hose walks around me, spraying me from top to toe. The only thing he avoids is the hood.

The water stops, and soft hands soap me up with rough motions before the water hits again. Up and down my body, on my backside, on the front, and finally on my head. Water soaks the hood, and I struggle to hold my breath to keep the water out of my airways.

When the water shuts off, I heave in a deep breath. But no air enters my mouth—only the coarse hood. I heave again. Still no air. No oxygen will penetrate the wet material. I writhe and jerk as I, for the second time tonight, am about to choke. I lose my balance, my feet skittering through the pools of water as I dangle from the rope like a pig up for slaughter.

Someone rips the hood off, and I gasp for air, dragging water in along with oxygen. I’m heaving and coughing over and over as one of the men steps in front of me and presses my head into a shoulder and wraps the other arm around my waist. The gesture almost seems comforting, but I know it’s meant to immobilize as the other man shoves my hair off my shoulder. I don’t get the time to react before something stabs into the back of my neck, sinking deep into my flesh. A syringe. Pain radiates from the point of entry, spreading like fire. My delayed scream comes with a tearing force as pressure erupts beneath my skin as they inject something into me.

Someone cuts the ropes, and Mikhail hoists me into his arms.

“What have you done to me?” I whimper as he carries me out of the room. “What was that?”

He doesn’t grant me an answer as he carries me down a long hall that looks like something taken out of a horror movie or a KGB museum.

I feel utterly broken as he discards me on a mattress in a cell, and I weep like a child as I curl up around myself, chattering my teeth, and spasming from the bone-deep cold, unable to get control over anything.

He throws a rough, but thick blanket over me. “Try to get some sleep. I doubt Dax will go easy on you tomorrow.”

The lights turn off, and a heavy door clanks, sealing me in, alone in this barren cell with nothing but my own cries to keep me company.