6. Escape
Chapter six
Escape
T here were six men in the room, all wearing black ski masks. Tatianna had woken with a terrible pain in her head, so much so tears dripped down her swollen cheek. She didn’t want to know what she looked like. Chances were makeup wasn’t going to cover the bruise.
She watched them, her captors, with her hands tied in front of her. They were all Russian but with a slang tone in their connotation. One of them had a limp, and another was missing an arm, but they were young from the sound of their voice and their bickering. They talked as if she wasn’t even in the room, swapping war stories from Afghanistan. Three of them had lost their brothers and their fathers. They said it like a badge of honor. Though hundreds of thousands of Russians were dead because of it, Tatianna was never interested in it. Her family was excused from the draft, much like every family in the Morozov circle. Only the lower class was sacrificed, which meant these men were hired.
Who would come after her? And why?
Tatianna played with this thought in her head. She was not from a top-tier mafia family. Her family had no enemies. She wasn’t the heir or due for any inheritance. If whoever stole her was going after Fedor, they would have waited until they knew if he was the heir to the Utkins fortune before snatching her away.
This was ill-planned, whoever it was.
Her captors glanced at her, checked the time, and continued their conversation. “Where am I?” The man with a limp was in charge, and he ignored her. “Excuse me? I’m talking to you. Where am I? Hello!”
With annoyance, they left the room.
“Wait, I’m thirsty! I want some water.”
The door shut on her, and she was alone. She looked further around the room, recalling the checklist she had been given if she was ever kidnapped. She thought it had been such a funny day with the tutor as he spoke about how to cut through duck tape and zip ties. At ten, she giggled. At eleven and twelve, she listened to it intently. But at thirteen, the hope of being kidnapped to see what kind of badass woman she could be was deflated. No one was going to steal the daughter of a sad widower. She couldn’t recall all the times she put herself in harm’s way just to see what would happen.
Now, at nineteen, she knew what these men could do, and fear was plenty.
But fear wasn’t going to save her.
There was only one exit and no windows. It was a cellar, cold, damp, and from the rings on the floor, that moved out storage to keep her contained here. To escape, she would have to barrel through them, and she wasn’t sure she could contend with war veterans.
I’m pretty positive I can’t. Doesn’t mean I won’t try.
The door opened, and one man came through. He was smaller than the others, probably younger, too, with all his limbs intact. Which meant they didn’t see her as much as a threat and sent her the most feeble to give her a drink.
“Hi,” Tatianna whispered. “What’s your name?”
“Drink,” he held out a cup. His hand trembled just a little.
“You know-” She took the cup between her hands. “I think a man in a mask is very sexy.” She ran her eyes over him, a smirk developing on her lips. He said nothing, but she didn’t need him to. “I’ve got this terrible itch I’ve been dying to scratch. Could you help me?” She handed him the cup.
“You want me to scratch you?”
The adorable response made her giggle. He had to be no more sixteen. It wasn’t nice to play with his heart, but his innocence was bendable. Tatianna pulled at her dress, revealing her leg. Further and further, it climbed, and the boy watched with intensity. Past her knee, she pulled it. “It’s right under here.”
Tatianna snatched the knife strapped to her thigh and attacked, pressing it into his shoulder and pinning him to the wall. “Where am I?”
He groaned and shifted, crying out when it tore more muscle. “You’re under the church on Levick Street.”
“Who are you people?”
“We’re mercenaries.”
“Who hired you?”
“I don’t know.” Tatiana pushed harder, and he cried, “I don’t know!”
Based on his rank, she believed him. Tatianna pulled back, and his blood sprinkled the ground. She used the bloody knife to saw through the rope, watching the boy. He sat on the ground, holding his shoulder and focusing on breathing. He pulled his mask off to get more air, but she didn’t know his face. She was right to assume he was a teenager. Her captures believed her so incompetent to take care of herself, not only did they not frisk her to make sure she wasn’t carrying a weapon, but they thought a teenager would be able to keep her compliant.
Men.
Tatianna limped back. The pain in her calf had come alive when she stood. Blood dried down her leg and caked into her toes. She had somehow lost her other shoe in transit. “How do I get out of here?”
The kid scoffed. “I ain’t telling you shit.” A temper came with the pain, and he glared at her.
“Aw, are you embarrassed a woman beat you?” She taunted, pointing her knife down at him. They hadn’t even given him a gun. She should be embarrassed that they thought so little of her. Tatianna peeked out the door. The hallway was long, but it led to some stairs. She would have to bypass another room, and the door was wide open. The sound of the men was loud and boisterous. They had no worry that she wouldn’t stay where they left her.
“Get up,” she ordered.
The kid wiggled up the wall, panting as he did so.
His patheticness annoyed her. “Can you stop? I just stabbed your arm. You’re not dying.” She shoved him in front of her, “Is there another way out of here?”
“Why would I tell you?”
She gripped his shoulder, digging her nails into his skin, “Because otherwise, I’m gonna push you through that room, and all the men in there will know how you really thought I had an itch.”
Though there was some hesitation, the boy’s embarrassment won out. “To the left. There’s a secret exit that will take you through a tunnel.”
Tatianna patted him, “Good boy. Now you’re going to wait five more minutes, and then you are going to tell them a group of men came through those tunnels and stole me back. You followed as much as you could but were stabbed in a brutal brawl. Sound good?”
He bowed his head but ultimately agreed.
Tatianna slipped to the left. The hall was dark and got colder the further she went; on the left wall of the dead end was a piece of fabric covering a hole in the concrete. She pushed through it, feeling along the wall as she went. It was completely black, and she could hear her panting. She was terrified she wasn’t going to make it. Five minutes hadn’t been enough time, but she knew any longer, the men would come looking for the boy.
Tatianna picked up her pace. She could hear the echoes as the men shouted from the church. Up and up, she climbed till she came out through a hollowed-out tree. She didn’t know this town as well as she knew her own, but the best thing about Fedor’s estate was that it was on top of a hill and overlooked the city below. With a few turns, she found his house all aglow and ran.
Yakov watched Fedor pace for the third hour. He sat in the leather wingback chair with a glass of whiskey in hand. The phone was propped just an arm’s length away. Hour after hour ticked back, and Yakov, for the fifth time, blandly responded. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“What if they abuse her? Oh, my Tati. She’s too fragile. I can’t. If someone hurts her, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Yakov continued to observe him. He had no idea what kind of woman he was marrying, did he? It was sad, really, that he was so gullible. But it helped Yakov figure out why Tatianna was staying with him, and it made Yakov adore her even more.
What he wasn’t prepared for was when Tatianna entered the room. Yakov stood with his mouth dumbly open and his thoughts quiet. Her feet were covered in dirt. Her dress was torn and dirty, and her hands were stained red. She was disheveled but not exhausted. She smiled through the terrible welt on her face and watched Fedor continue his pacing. Though she had noticed Yakov, she didn’t acknowledge him.
“I’m okay.”
The words shot Fedor into consciousness, and he rushed to her, swinging her around. “Oh, thank God! Where have you been? I’ve had my men searching everywhere. I even called Mr. Morozov to aid me.”
Tatianna met Yakov’s gaze from over Fedor’s shoulder. She was calculating, but Yakov wasn’t about to give her anything. He shifted, grabbing his watch off the table and slipping it over his wrist. “Are you well, Miss Nevsky?”
Tatianna pulled back, but Fedor kept his hands on her hips, surveying the damage. “I’m fine. I managed to escape on a technicality.”
“Who was it?” Fedor asked, “Where are they?”
“In a church off Levick. They were all in black masks.”
Yakov took up the cue. “Allow me to take care of it, Fedor. I am well versed in retribution.”
Fedor nodded, careless, running a hand through Tatianna’s hair as he stared at her. “I’m such a fool to allow you out of my sight.”
Tatianna pressed a smile, but it was weak. She was surprisingly tired now. The rush of adrenaline was running out, and her leg throbbed. For a moment, the world spun, and Fedor was quick to whisk her off her feet, promptly setting her on the couch before he called for a doctor. He propped her leg up and yelled for a maid to clean her up.
The whole time, Yakov studied her. Perhaps she did love Fedor with how she batted his hand, laughed at him, assured him she was fine, and brought him in for a sweet kiss. It was vexing. It would take longer than he intended to get her by his side.
Yakov fixed the collar of his jacket before he began working the buttons. “I’ll be off now.” He turned to the other exit so as not to pass her, but Tatianna wasn’t about to let him leave without notice.
“Thank you, Mr. Morozov, for coming to my rescue.”
Yakov kept his back to her. “Anything for family.”
The way he stood was telling. Why not face her? “Please don’t venture out so late. I’m sure Fedor can find a room for you.”
Yakov waved a hand and left.
But he wasn’t about to go home. His car was waiting for him, and with a cigarette between his lips, he dived into the backseat as two of his men sat across from him. One lit his cigarette, and the other handed him a gun. After so many days of being the head of the family, he had gotten them well-trained to do what needed to be done without saying it. And those that couldn’t grasp it would find themselves doing bitch work that no one else wanted to do, like cleaning up bodies.
But there would be no need for cleanup tonight.
They pulled up beside the church, and his guard quickly opened the door for him. He blew smoke out as he climbed the stairs; a quick glance at his watch told him it was just after late-night mass, leaving it empty aside from one priest that stayed in case a stray wandered in looking for some forgiveness. Yakov waved a hand at him, and the man wisely dived out of the church.
Down the back stairwell and through a hidden door, he came upon the room full of black ski-masked-wearing men. There was a slight panic in the lot of them, and when he entered the room, they all got quiet and gradually shifted to the back of the room, trying to gain as much space as possible.
Yakov inhaled deeply from his cigarette as he eyed each of them, but he landed on the man with a limp, the leader, and blew out the smoke. “You failed.”
The leader pulled off his mask. The older gentleman, named Vlad, had a tattoo on the side of his neck, the symbol of their family line of gypsies. They may be Russian, but they were the cesspool of society, the ones that never adapted to the new way of life. People like Vlad were disgusting to Yakov because they had so much potential, but they refused to change, preferring to ‘live off the land the way God intended.’
“We stole her. You never indicated how long to keep her.”
Yakov suppressed a smile. The idiot was trying to wiggle his way out of his screw-up. Yakov despised him even more. “I had hesitation using gypsies. I figured your intellect was rather low. It appears I was right. Every mistake is a learning experience. Thank you for teaching me.”
Vlad glanced at his friends. He didn’t know what was going on or what he should say.
Yakov tossed several bills to the floor. “For your time.” He waved as he left, and his guard made sure to shut the door and slip a wedge under it. As he climbed the stairs, liquid fell out of red containers. The smell of gas became heavy and followed him. As soon as he was at the top, he turned back down and listened to them banging on the door. It was loud and vibrated the floor.
He tossed his cigarette and watched the fire slide down every step.
Their yells transformed into horrified screams.
Yakov turned away.