Chapter 19 #2
“No need,” I say, but the bartender already put down two glasses on the dark mahogany bar and is filling them up with amber liquid.
Luka raises his eyebrows at me.
“I don’t drink alcohol.”
Luka scoffs, bringing his glass to his lips.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, finding my voice. His reactions infuriate me. He tells me not to try any funny business but acts disappointed when I don’t fight back. He ignores my wishes but still has opinions about them.
“It doesn’t surprise me you don’t drink, that’s all.” I purse my lips, waiting for him to continue. “You’re vegan, you don’t wear makeup, you practically never leave the house, and you dress like Adam Sandler.” He shrugs. “You’re a goody two shoes. It just makes sense you don’t drink.”
This time, I’m the one to scoff. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He downs the whiskey and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before smirking at me. “Oh yeah? Did I get something wrong?”
“No. But it’s taken out of context.”
“What context? The context of the cushioned, sheltered life you’ve been living?”
If only my eyeballs could emit high-energy photons right now, he’d be dead on the spot.
“You know nothing about me,” I bite out.
“Or the life that I’ve lived. You might be keeping me hostage, but I won’t stand here and listen to you diminish my feelings or struggles.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom. ”
I start in a random direction, hoping to find the bathroom. He trails behind me, but I don’t bother looking back.
The nerve of him, talking about my life like he knows shit about it. Like he knows how hard it is for me to get out of bed in the morning, or force myself to eat, or take that damn walk because the outside world terrifies me. How hard I’ve worked to stop having nightmares and to get off medication.
And it was all pointless, since because of him, I’m back to square one.
Tears prick my eyelids as I try to train my breath and find the bathroom. It’s as lavish as the rest of the place, with a massive red velvet chaise lounge placed in the middle of the waiting room.
I enter the ladies’ bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
With my heart heavy, I approach the marble lavatory.
My vision is fuzzy as I look up in the mirror, so I splash some water on my face.
Thank God I’m not wearing makeup. The cool water grounds me.
I press a paper towel to my soaked skin, only to be startled by the sound of the stall opening.
Shit. Why did I think I was alone?
My face still covered, I inhale deeply before removing the paper towel. My stomach rises to my throat, my pulse reaching a worrying pace.
Instead of a wealthy woman in an impressive, expensive dress, a blond man stands in front of me in an intimidating suit, his skin almost translucent. His face is marred with tiny scars, but the scariest part about him is the smile he sports.
“What a lucky coincidence,” he says in a heavy Russian accent.
“I-I’m s-sorry?” I try to act like I don’t know why he’s here, but my voice betrays me.
“You must be Sophie. I’ve been looking for you.”
“I think you got the wrong person.”
I turn to head out, but he reaches for my arm, making me recoil from his touch. Lifting both of his hands in a surrender motion, he says, “You don’t have to be scared of me. I work with your father. He’s been looking for you.”
I don’t know what shocks me more. The idea of not fearing him, or the fact Dad is actually looking for me.
My eyes search the room, trying to find something I can use in my defense. The ceramic soap dispenser looks heavy, but it’s out of reach. “S-so what, you’re here to save me?” I stutter; my voice laced with suspicion.
“Well, yeah. Unless you’d prefer to stay with the Croats.” He says Croats like an insult and snickers at his own response.
Something about this man sends alarms through my nervous system. My palms are sweaty, and my primitive brain is screaming at me to run. But this is what I was hoping for, coming here tonight: friends of my father saving me from my captors.
Before I have a chance to answer, a loud bang sounds at the door. Then another. And another.
“Time to get out.” I recognize Luka’s voice, and my heartbeat picks up even more.
The Russian looks at me expectantly, so I respond, my voice breaking, “I-I’ll be right there.”
I exhale a relieved breath, because I managed to get that out. But the relief is short-lived because Luka barges in, almost knocking the door off its hinges.
His eyes darken, noticing the Russian, and in an instant, he yanks my body flush to his. I bounce off his hard chest, but he keeps me close, his other hand trained on his gun, which is now pointing directly at the Russian.
In the midst of the chaos, I realize the Russian has also taken his gun out as I stare down the barrel.
Spots appear in my vision as my legs grow weaker.
It’s happening again.
And this time, I won’t be surviving it.
“Careful there,” Luka says, his voice too calm for the circumstances. “You don’t want to hurt your bargaining chip.”
The Russian flashes us another smile, one that sends chills down to my bones. “You think I care who I hit? We’ll just tell Landers you killed her.”
As expected, these guys don’t care about me. I’m a trading piece, just an object they use until I’m no longer necessary. I feel my legs giving out, but Luka holds me up, wrapping an arm around my waist.
“You wouldn’t do anything here. Not with all these people around,” Luka bites out, his voice echoing in my head.
“Wouldn’t I? Maybe not there, in the open. But Ms. Landers gave me a shot in this secluded space. Pun not intended.” He laughs at his joke before cocking the gun. Luka’s weapon clicks next to my ear, and I’m pretty sure that even if these guys don’t kill me, my heart is going to give out.
I’m fully limp in Luka’s arms, my vision blurry when I notice something flying toward the Russian’s head.
Luka’s gun connects to the stranger’s forehead, and he lets out a loud grunt.
I don’t see more because I’m already turned away, a massive body covering mine.
A hand snakes behind my knees, lifting me off the ground and carrying me out of the bathroom.
We enter the kitchen, where the flabbergasted cooks rush to get out of our way. Metal clanks as they drop their utensils to the floor. A few of them open their mouths to protest, but I guess Luka’s expression shuts them up.
“Grab my phone from my pocket.” I barely make out Luka’s words. “Grab my phone from my pocket,” Luka repeats, louder this time, and I listen.
Shaky hands slip into his chest pocket, taking his phone out. It’s an old flip phone, which surprises me, even under the circumstances. “Dial Ivan and put it to my ear.”
I find Ivan’s contact, click the green handset, and press it to Luka’s ear.
His voice is rough and loud as he screams at Ivan in Croatian. Before I know it, we’re stepping outside into a deserted alley, where a single server is taking his smoke break. He dumps the cigarette on the ground, desperate to get inside.
Car brakes screech on the asphalt, and a dark figure gets out to open the back door. Luka pushes us both inside, closing the door behind him. We peel off in a hurry. I take a second to realize I’m shivering.