Chapter 40
Sophie
A loud noise jolts me toward the door. Any hope that it’s Luka is quickly squished as the barrel of a gun points to Marko in the armchair and fires.
There’s no time to react before Marko’s body thumps to the floor, the sound echoing the walls. I gasp as the crimson goo pools around him, waves of memories rushing back to me. My breath is stuck in my throat, while my eyelids flutter with shock.
My gaze lifts to the large figure wiping his gun. He seems familiar. He steps aside to let the other guy in, and I realize where I know him from.
Luka’s uncle enters the room, looking at Marko’s body with disgust. But as his gaze connects to me, the small beady eyes get a certain gleam in them. One that makes chills crawl up my spine.
“Miss Landers. I come bearing good news,” he says in a thick accent, his lips turning up.
“Where’s Luka?” I ask, trying not to look at Marko’s body. He was a guard, yes. But in the two months I’ve been here, I started seeing him as a friend.
Something flashes in his eyes at the mention of Luka’s name. Something like annoyance. “He’s busy at the moment. That’s why he sent me.”
His words make little sense. He just shot one of Luka’s men. But he obviously underestimates my intelligence. And I won’t be the one to tell him otherwise. “Why did he send you?”
“I’m here to set you free.”
My brows furrow. “Set me free?” Hope flutters inside of me, my heart already seeing freedom, but my brain is looking for the catch.
“We made a deal with your father. Luka made it all happen.”
My eyes widen, and he shoots me another unsettling smile. My heart beats a steady rhythm as I try to keep my emotions in check. Could it be?
“W-why would you shoot Marko?” I ask.
“Not everyone would agree with the deal we made. But my nephew was adamant about setting you free.”
He promised to get me out. Could it be that it’s happening now?
Why would he send his uncle? Why not do it himself?
Because of what you said, a voice in my head taunts.
He was freaked out by my little love declaration. And how couldn’t he be?
It’s why he didn’t say it back.
I swallow around the lump in my throat.
This still doesn’t make any sense. But I need to play my part until I know more.
“Are we going now?” I ask, my voice cracking.
Toma glances at the massive guard, who checks his watch. “Not yet. We’re waiting for everything to be ready.” Another smile. His promises of freedom do nothing to calm the hair on my neck that still rises.
I dip my head, sitting back down on the bed.
The old man sits in the armchair next to the table and proposes, “How about a game?”
The stale scent of tobacco permeates my nostrils as he flashes his yellow teeth.
My head spins, and I drop into the chair across from him.
I hope Luka is okay. He turns the board so that I’m playing white, grossly underestimating my capabilities.
The pieces turn blurry while I stare at them.
He shifts in his chair, his belly overflowing.
“Stupid gun,” he mutters to himself before extracting it from the holster and placing it on the table.
The mere presence of it is distracting, sending anxious flickers to my extremities.
It also grinds my gears that he regards me so low, so harmless that he doesn’t mind placing a gun within my reach.
You need to let him win; the voice taunts again. He’s a fragile man with a fragile ego and whatever the hell is going on, the last thing you want to do is piss him off.
I don’t fucking want to! I wish to scream right back. I want to checkmate him so fast that he spends the rest of his pitiful life wondering how a weak little girl outsmarted him. But I value my life more than my pride. I take a steadying breath and slide a pawn to E4. Time to stall.
He smacks his lips in victory, making his next move, and I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.
What helps is keeping a part of my attention on his goon disposing of Marko’s body.
First, he rips the newly replaced shower curtain, which is obviously a go to for disposing of a body.
Then, with a grunt, he rolls the body onto the plastic tarp.
Flicking my eyes back to the board, I realize I’ve been moving in circles. I’ve been so focused on figuring out his game, I forgot to play mine. Shifty eyes land on my face in a way that screams suspicion. Time to step up. I capture his bishop, and he cackles.
His lackey lets out another grunt, dead lifting the body, but Toma stops him from moving with a slight wave of his hand.
“Pogle’. Ona misli da je njegova kraljica,” he says in Croatian, sending my brain into overdrive. “Ali oboje su samo obi?ni pijuni. A ja sam taj koji ?e pobijediti u ovoj igri.” Another cackle, one that chills me to the bones.
He waves for his guard to leave. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” the goon nods before exiting the room carrying the corpse firefighter style.
I faintly register the sound of him locking the door behind himself.
I’m busy replaying the words in my head, trying to connect them with the ones I know.
Ona misli da je njegova kraljica. Ona means she in Russian.
Kraljica is the queen. It’s what Andre taught me.
Obi?ni pijuni. Pijun is the pawn. Is that plural?
A ja sam taj koji ?e pobijediti u ovoj igri.
Pobijediti means to win. Igra is a game.
Realization settles over me like a cool breeze on a summer night. Surprising, but far from shocking. I’m the pawn. Thinking she’s the queen. But he’ll be the one to win the game.
A weird sense of calmness wraps around me. For someone who lives choked by anxiety, the calmness is new, but I welcome it with open arms. Another breath to steel myself, another attack on my senses by the pathetic man in front of me.
“Come on, don’t give up yet,” he taunts me with a disturbing smirk. He thinks he has me.
My focus turns laser sharp, staring at the board to memorize pieces. I rotate them in my mind, trying out different outcomes, until I find the one that makes me win. I clear my throat, doing my best to feign innocence. “What if I told you I could checkmate you in four?”
A deep laughter rumbles out of him, broken by a fit of coughing. “Are you crazy?”
I look back at the board, doing my best to flutter my eyelashes. “You’re right. It’s impossible.”
He snorts like the idea of me winning is absurd. After all, he has more pieces, my previous moves barely making a dent. He’s also threatening my king with a practically inescapable checkmate.
But he doesn’t know who he’s up against. It won’t be an easy feat, but losing is not an option.
And then I make my move.
My knight to G4. Check. He protects his king, but I check him once again. I’m moving only one piece, but I don’t need more, anyway. No, I’ll mate him using only my knight, while my queen protects the diagonal.
Because even if protecting the king is the goal, the queen is the most powerful chess piece. She’s the one who can move in any direction, threatening you from the other side of the board. And that’s what she does, restricting his movements until I bite out, “Checkmate.”
His eyes widen, rage overtaking him. “This is impossible,” he yells, his face now beet red.
But it’s too late. Because I used the moment of distraction to grab his gun. My hands grow clammy against the cold metal as I point it at him.
One of the strategies I tried in dealing with my crippling anxiety was shooting range training.
I threw up as soon as we got to the practical part and they handed me the gun, but I kicked ass at theory.
Meaning, in theory, I know just what to do with it.
I guess. Panic rises in my throat, leaving an acidic taste behind.
The pathetic man in front of me is more anxious, though. He lifts from his seat, squirming in place, and I wouldn’t bet against him peeing himself in fear.
“Wha-what are you doing? I’m here to save you.” He tries shooting me a hyena smile, but it ends up looking like a tick that overtook his face.
“I know what you said.”
His eyes widen to saucers, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“You must have misunderstood.” He opens his palms in front of himself, but his act doesn’t fool me.
“Yeah? How about you clear that up for me?” I lift the gun higher, pointing it straight into his forehead, and he squirms some more.
“I-I made a deal. But it’s a good deal for you.”
“Talk.”
“Your father… H-he works with the Russians. And I made a deal with them.” He tries on another smile, looking like it’s his first fucking day on planet Earth.
“What kind of deal?”
“To get you out of here.”
“And what do you get out of it?”
“Those are silly business details. You don’t need to worry your pretty head about them. The important thing is that you’re getting out.”
I cock the gun, and he whimpers. I can practically sense his fear. It smells of sweat and musty clothes and faintly of ammonia. “What do you get out of it?” I ask in a voice I don’t recognize.
He lifts his hand in surrender, rushing to answer. “They take care of my little problem.”
And that’s when it hits me. He did use plural. Talking about pawns, he didn’t mean only me. My lungs expand, every word out of his mouth fueling the rage inside of me. “What problem?” I have a feeling I know, but I need to hear him say it.
“I was supposed to take over after Matej died.” He points a shaky finger at his chest. “Me! But the boys…” He shakes his head. “It was my fucking turn!”
“So you made a deal with the Russians to get rid of them? To get rid of your own flesh and blood?”
My hands are steady on the gun as my anxiety gets replaced with determination. It swirls like a cold front through me, chilling my insides. He planned to kill his nephews to become the boss. He planned to kill Luka. My breath hitches in my throat, the thought piercing my chest.
Is he okay?
“He kidnapped you and locked you in here!” Foam is now forming at the corners of his mouth. “I’m trying to get you out.”
“He fucking saved me!” I roar, the butt of the gun connecting with his face.
I hear a disgusting crack, followed by a wail.
Blood follows right behind. This time, the blood doesn’t make me sick.
No, each drop that hits the chessboard where I beat him makes my shoulders and spine straighten. Fills my muscles with nervous energy.
For the first time in forever, I am not afraid.
The feeling only lasts a second before a loud smash on my left makes me cover my head.