Chapter Thirty-Eight
In which Scarlett finds herself in an all-white prison.
Scarlett…
A man who may or may not have been a medical professional was let into the room and looked me over, asking a couple of questions about headaches and blurred vision, put some butterfly strips on the cut on my temple and left again.
Walking around the room, I checked everywhere for cameras, including the bathroom. Some freaks get off on watching people on the toilet, or enjoying the sight of their victim stripping down. Oddly, there aren’t any. Kholodov seems like the type who’d love a home video or two.
“You know the funny part?” Murder Mittens is sitting on my backpack, watching me intently.
“The funny part is that I learned about checking for cameras because of that true crime documentary about Airbnb’s.
Being a mafia princess only taught me how to shoot a gun and evade a kidnapping, though that last one didn’t pan out for me. ”
Chuckling bitterly, I crawl under the bed, checking for anything that could be used as a weapon. There’s nothing there but a little ball of dust in the corner.
The room is beautiful, high ceilings with elaborate molding, with a stately four poster bed. There's a big antique armoire on the wall facing the bed, and a gracious little grouping of a table and chairs by the windows looking out onto a dead garden.
Just like my mother’s garden on Beacon Hill.
The longer I search, the more unsettling everything around me becomes. The beautiful oriental rug covering much of the floor is white and pale gray. The oak floor has been bleached white. The pillows and bedding are white and cream colors.
Curtains. White.
Upholstered furniture, white.
Same for the towels, the tiling in the bathroom, all the walls.
It’s horrifyingly clinical in the most elegant old English mansion way.
And worse, I can’t find anything I can use as a weapon.
The mirror in the bathroom is some kind of unbreakable plastic and there’s a big clawfoot tub but no shower, so no glass to break there.
Even the toilet lid is glued to the tank so I can’t crack off a piece of the porcelain and use that.
The only potential weapon is the window glass, but they’ll know immediately if I break it.
That’s my last resort, then.
“No lamps to hit them over the head…” I’m circling the room restlessly, searching. “The furniture is too heavy to break off a piece…” My keys and phone are missing from the front pocket of my backpack.
Based on what I’d seen as I was dragged up the stairs and the surroundings outside my window, they’re holding me in one of those gigantic country estates that the ultra-wealthy love to buy to pretend they’re reconnecting with nature by carpeting it with money.
There’s a tall iron fence surrounding the estate, at least, from what I can see of it.
Guards patrol in twos, not bothering to hide the rifles strapped on their backs.
Sitting down on the floor, I hold out my arms for Murder Mittens.
“I’m sorry, baby. I should have never asked for the backpack.
You would be safe and Wallace would have found you.
And poor Gio…” I bury my face in her soft fur.
He was already shot. He staggered out of that smashed hunk of metal, still trying to draw his gun and protect me. “I’m so sorry, Gio.”
I realize Murder Mittens left a little trail of black fur behind her on the gleaming white floor and my heart skips a beat. In a room this… white, it would be hard not to notice.
“MM, if you’re not on my lap, you have to sit on my jacket, okay?” I spread my dark green coat on the floor on the other side of the bed. “If anyone comes in, you go under the bed.” I stroke her back, kiss her little furry face.
She showed up on my bedroom windowsill one night, right after I came home from the hospital, staring at me with her big gold-green eyes and refusing to leave.
We’ve spent nearly every moment together since.
She puts a paw on my chest, looking up at me seriously.
“You can’t make any noise. No matter what happens. ”
I understand scars. I appreciate them.
That’s why everything is so white. So that the blood will stand out.
Shuddering, I kiss her again. “No matter what.”
I’m watching the sun sink lower in the horizon when the key in the door’s lock turns and I frantically shove Murder Mittens under the bed.
It’s Russo with a dinner tray. A new guard I haven’t seen before stands at the open door.
“You need to eat and get cleaned up,” she says, putting the tray on the table by the window.
I glance down quickly to make sure MM’s tail isn’t poking out from under the bed.
Crossing over to the armoire, she unlocks it and pulls out a long white dress, thin silk with delicate straps that tie into a halter neck and a slit up the side.
“I’m not putting that on,” I say. “I don’t know what sick game your buddy Xavier’s into, but I’m not playing.”
“Eat your dinner. Take a shower. Get dressed.” She’s speaking slowly, like you would to a slightly dim child. “No underwear.”
I know women aren’t more noble than men. Not in the crime world. Most brothels are run by women, and they play a key role in human trafficking. But Russo is standing here, telling me to get ready for something bad. For something a man will do to me that’s unspeakable.
“Is this really how you envisioned your life going?” I whisper. “You’re strong, obviously smart. You know what he’s going to do to me.”
“Oh, it’s not rape,” she says indifferently. “Personally, I think it’s much worse, but everyone’s breaking point is different. You might survive it for a while.”
I feel hot, then cold, dizzy, a chilly sweat runs down my back. “Is this who you really are?”
Examining me for another moment, she shrugs. “Apparently so.”
The door shuts behind her and I close my hand over Morgan’s necklace tightly. Wallace will find me. He will.
Wallace…
“I know where she is.”
There are twenty people crowded into the great room, Alec, Michael, Roman and Dmitri, Cormac and Dougal… and standing in front of me, Morgan, vibrating with fury.
I’m staring down at my mobile and the red dot on my screen pulses tauntingly. “Just outside of Windsor. She’s being held in one of those old estates with a feck tonne of land surrounding it.”
“How do you know?” Morgan grabs my wrist, trying to look at the screen.
“I put a tracker in the necklace ye gave her.” I look at her and there’s something in my expression that makes her flinch. “Ye told her to never take it off.”
Kai and Logan burst into the room. “We’re here. With guns,” Kai pants. “Catch us up.”
Cormac does the job for me. “Someone used an AI app to recreate the surgeon’s voice who’s caring for Alastair.
It’s a voice Scarlett would recognize. He told her that Alastair had regained consciousness.
She was so excited that her bodyguard barely had time to scramble together a security unit for the trip.
“They were…” he gives me an empathetic glance, “they were hit ten minutes from the clinic. An armored truck crashed into her car, killed the driver and her body guard while two other vehicles shot up the chase car. Three of the men look like they’ll make it. It took less than two minutes.”
“Feck,” I rub my eyes. “Gio, all those men.”
“If you know where she is, then let’s fucking go!” Morgan pulls at her hair. “Why are you standing here?”
“Our tech team is going through all the city records, trying to find a layout of the house,” Alec says.
“They’ve gone through all the historical records, applications for new remodeling permits, there’s nothing.
The house is surrounded by nearly a kilometer of bare ground. No trees, no kind of cover.”
“We can try an aerial assault,” Michael runs his hands through his hair. “Flashbang grenades. We’ll run a thermal scan first to see where everyone is. Attack, disorient, extract.”
“Kholodov has to know it won’t take long for you to find him, even if he doesn’t know about the tracker,” Dmitri says gravely.
“He can’t get what he wants - his American empire - without Scarlett.
He’s going to target all his manpower on killing you first.” Blowing out a deep breath, he looks me in the eye.
“But if he can’t, he’s… Kholodov is different.
He’ll kill her if you can’t get to her in time.
He’d rather die himself than lose the game. ”
“Who can we take from his bratva to hold hostage?” I say, staring out the window. The flame twirling inside me is pushing, looking for weak places to push through. It wants to set the world on fire. “Fecking take them all. His sisters, brothers. Is his mother alive?”
“He doesn’t give a shit about them,” Roman says bleakly. “He’s killed half of them himself.”
No time, no time notimenotime…
Xavier Kohlodov is a carver. And he could be starting in on my Scarlett at any moment.
“Everything. We bring in every fecking piece of firepower, we-”
My mobile buzzes. An unknown number. I send it to voicemail.
Michael’s mobile goes off. He checks it before putting it back in his pocket.
Then Dmitri’s. He picks up, listening with a frown. “You need to take this, Wallace.” He puts it on speaker, handing it to me.
“Let’s make an agreement, MacTavish.”
“You fecking b-”
“Ah, ah! Talk first. Threaten later. Do you want your wife back or not?”