3
“Are you okay?”
I shake my head and then quickly think better of it when it just sends a wave of nausea running through me. “No,” I whisper. “Can you help me get back to my table? Something’s wrong. I don’t feel right.”
“Of course, just lean on me. I’ll help you out.”
It never occurs to me to not trust her. I’m too busy being grateful for her help, but when we leave the bathroom and I see a man waiting for us, dread and fear replace the queasy feeling that I’d just been experiencing. A set of hard, dark brown eyes meet mine before my legs start to give out.
“What’s going on?” I ask, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. I sound drunk, like I’ve had several drinks instead of the two sips I’ve had.
The man ignores me and instead pulls a blonde wig over my head, roughly tucking away the loose dark strands that still stick out, and then he grabs my arm and slips it through the sleeve of a dark jacket while the waitress helps with my other arm. A heaviness takes over my limbs, but before I can collapse to the floor, he reaches out and wraps an arm around my waist, holding me up and tightly against him while he hands the waitress a sizable wad of cash. She takes it, walking off without a backward glance, and all I can do is let out a soft moan of protest as my vision blurs.
He doesn’t waste any time. Ignoring my moans, he turns us to the back exit and opens the door. I squint at the bright sun, disoriented and barely conscious, and it’s only his tight grip on my waist that’s keeping me upright. My head rests against his chest, and when we’re halfway down the dock, he stops and presses me up against the wooden railing. Cupping the back of my head, he leans in close, bringing his mouth to my ear. Anyone watching would assume this is a lover’s embrace, just a couple going for a walk on the dock who had to stop for a quick kiss.
“If you fight me, I’ll kill you, and then I’ll go back inside and shoot your entire family. Your mom, your aunts, your cousins—all of them.” The words are harsh, the accent is unfamiliar, and the tone makes it clear he isn’t making an idle threat.
I hear footsteps approaching, and when I try to scream and only a moan comes out, the man gives a carefree laugh and lets out a deep moan of his own while he kisses a line up my neck. I want to push him off me, to scream for help and knock him into the water, but whatever they drugged me with is fully in my system, and I’m completely at his mercy. It’s a terrifying thought, but when the footsteps fade away, the man quickly stops. Turning his head to make sure it’s clear, he grabs onto me, but this time he doesn’t bother trying to get me to walk, he just picks me up and gives another carefree laugh for anyone who’s watching and carries me to the end of the dock where a large boat is waiting.
As soon as he steps onto it, he carries me below, and a fear unlike anything I’ve ever known washes over me. There must be someone else on here with us because I hear the engine start right before I feel the boat move. I try to scream again, but he just laughs and tosses me onto a bed. I’m terrified he’s going to undress me, but he doesn’t. He reaches into my back pocket and grabs my phone and then quickly pats down the rest of my body, making sure I don’t have anything else on me. I give another protesting moan, but he ignores me. Shouting in another language, he walks to the stairs he’d just carried me down and tosses my phone up to someone. That was the only link I had to my family, and watching it disappear is horrifying. I’m truly and utterly alone, trapped on a boat with men I don’t know who are going to take me god knows where, and no one knows I’ve even been taken yet.
When the man walks back over to me, I can barely keep my eyes open The drugs are pulling me under, and the last thing I see is the cruel grin he’s giving me before everything turns black.
I don’t know how long I’m out, but when I wake, the first thing I notice is a sharp, pounding headache and a very strong need to vomit. Nausea hits me hard and it has me quickly rolling over in case I get sick. I’m surrounded in darkness and the concrete floor digs into my knees and hands as I cough and dry heave, but nothing comes up. My throat hurts, and my mouth is so parched I can barely swallow. Terror fills every part of my mind, and I quickly run a hand over my body, letting out a relieved sigh when I feel that my jeans are still zipped up and I’m still wearing my sweatshirt. Aside from my pounding head, my body doesn’t feel like it’s been used without my permission.
When I hear a door open, my first instinct is to scurry away from the sound. I have no idea where I’m headed or what might be waiting for me, but staying still isn’t an option. When the light comes on, I wince and shut my eyes, bringing my hands up to protect me from it, but the damage is done. Those few seconds brought my headache from awful to full-on migraine.
“I’m glad to see you’re awake, Talia.”
The man has the same accent as the guy who’d kidnapped me, and there’s nothing about his voice that seems familiar. It’s obvious he knows me, though, or at least he’s done enough homework to use the nickname my family uses. Everyone else calls me Natalia.
“What do you want?” I whisper the words through my dry, scratchy throat, desperate for a drink of water. As if he can sense my need, I hear his footsteps come closer before I feel a bottle of water tapping gently against my hand. I’m still cupping my head with my eyes closed, but I risk squinting up at him, wanting to see who it is that’s holding me captive. He’s tall, dark hair, dark eyes, and brown skin. The suit he’s wearing is impeccable, and the light stubble he has on his face just accentuates the sharp jaw. In any other circumstance, I’d say he was attractive, but right now he’s giving me a hard look and scaring the hell out of me, so all I’m seeing is a monster. I still take the water he offers because I’m not stupid. I need to keep myself alive long enough for my family to find me. They must be worried sick by now.
Unscrewing the cap, I take a big drink and then ask again, “What do you want, and who are you?”
“My name is Mateo Amaya, and my family runs a cartel. Your family was offered a deal.” He raises a dark brow at me. “A deal they should’ve said yes to.”
I take another drink while I buy myself some time. Looking around at the dungeon-like room I’m sitting in, I quickly decide that trying to fight my way out of here isn’t an option. He’s way bigger than me, no doubt armed and skilled at fighting, and I’m still so weak I can barely sit up. Instead of wasting my energy on a useless escape attempt, I ask, “And you thought this would make my dad more compliant?” I can’t help but let out a harsh laugh. “You clearly don’t know my family.” I look up at him, trying to reason my way out of this. “You have to know that he’s going to kill you for this.”
Mateo seems unfazed by my comment. He shrugs his broad shoulders and says, “Your dad loves you, and he’ll do anything to keep you safe. He’ll agree to our deal because he knows what will happen to you if he doesn’t.”
“What will happen to me?” I can’t help but ask.
He’s quiet for a second before he says, “Let’s hope for your sake it doesn’t come to that.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that he didn’t actually answer my question, and I take that as a very bad sign. Death is easy to threaten, and he could’ve easily given me that one-word answer, but the fact that he didn’t means that what will be waiting for me will be far, far worse. A shiver of pure fear runs down my spine before I finish the rest of the bottle and look back up at him.
“What now? Can I talk to them? Maybe I can convince them to do what you want?”
His full mouth lifts up in a slight smirk. “We don’t need your help negotiating. The photos we took while you were passed out will be incentive enough.”
My heart breaks at the thought of my family seeing those photos. My dad and brothers will be livid, and my mom will be gutted. Even though I don’t hold out any hope of Mateo actually telling me the truth, I can’t help but ask, “What are you going to do to me?”
He squats down so he’s no longer towering over me. His dark eyes meet mine, and I’m not expecting pity, so I’m not disappointed when I don’t find any. I am grateful to at least not see any sort of rage or depravity in them. At this point, I’ll take any good I can get. He may be a kidnapping cartel man, but I don’t think he’s a rapist.
“I’m not going to do anything to you, Talia. I don’t hurt defenseless women. Unfortunately for you, my men don’t have such qualms. We’re holding you until your dad agrees to our terms. If he doesn’t agree, we’ll have no choice but to force his hand.”
I refuse to cry in front of Mateo, so I keep my mouth clamped shut, forcing the tears to not spill from my eyes. He sees the inner fight I’m having, noticing the way I lift my face to his while I try like hell to appear brave. We both know I’m not fooling anyone, least of all myself, but I swear I see a glint of respect in his dark eyes at my attempt.
“Hang onto that fire, Talia. It’ll help you get through this.”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just stands back up and walks out of the room, leaving me alone, but this time he keeps the light on. I lean against the concrete wall and finally give in to the tears.
After I’ve cried myself out, I take a deep, shaky breath and force myself to get my shit together. I’m not bound, and they’ve left me alone. I don’t know how much time I have, but I know I need to do something. I can’t just sit on my ass and feel sorry for myself. Getting up, I brace my hand against the wall, waiting for another wave of nausea to pass. My legs still feel shaky and weak, but I force them to move. The room I’m in is like an unfinished cement basement or cellar, the kind of place I’d never want to step foot in because it’s creepy and instantly makes me think of all the horror movies I’ve seen over the years.
Keeping a hand on the wall, I slowly make my way around the room. Every ten feet or so my hands brush over a metal hook that’s embedded in the cement, and when I get to the only other door besides the one Mateo used, I look in to find a filthy toilet and sink. I ignore it for now, knowing I’ll need to be at the point of nearly bursting my bladder before I’ll use it.
The main door is locked, of course, and when I make my way around the other side of the room, it’s obvious that there is no way out of this dungeon. No windows, no door that I can open, and no way in hell anyone could possibly know I’m down here. I don’t even know where in the hell I am. Did they just take me down the coastline, or did they go somewhere else? Am I even in America? I have no idea, and with each passing second, I start to lose hope of ever being found. My family’s good, but there’s no way for them to track me, and I’m guessing the cartel has this place heavily guarded.
Sitting back down, I lean my head against the wall, my thoughts immediately going to my family. I miss my brothers. I’ve always had them around me, always had them to talk to, and I miss Wallace and the way he’d lay down in my lap and let me love on him anytime I needed a cuddle. I’ve never been on my own, and as much as Allie and I always dreamed about freedom, I quickly decide that I’d much rather be protected and coddled, because fuck this. Fuck creepy-ass cartel men and scary, mildew-ridden torture rooms. I want my overprotective Bratva family and a fenced in home with tons of bodyguards on duty to keep it safe.
I’m left alone for what feels like hours until finally the door opens, and a man I’ve never seen before walks in with a plate of food. The grin he’s giving me has all kinds of warning bells ringing in my still-sore head, and when I wrap my arms around my legs, trying to remain as small as possible, he just gives a soft laugh and steps closer. Stopping near me, he says something to me in what I now know is Spanish before setting the plastic plate near my feet with another bottle of water.
“Eat,” he says, giving the plate a nudge with his dirty boot.
When I don’t move, he growls the command again and then squats down so he can roughly fist my hair and tilt my head back.
“Eat the food,” he hisses at me, each word sharp and hard as he fists my hair tighter, pulling a pained whimper from me. He smiles at the sound and pulls my hair even harder before letting me go. He waits until I reach for the plate. The hard look he’s giving me makes it clear that I’m going to get way more than a sore scalp if I don’t do what he says. I pick up the plastic fork and use it to dig through the food. It looks like ground beef, rice, and beans, and when I lean closer and sniff it, the man laughs. It doesn’t smell rotten, and I know if they wanted to drug me, they’d just do it. These men don’t need to sneak it into food. They’d just give me a shot or force it down my throat.
“Eat,” he says again, and this time I fill my fork and take a bite, surprised to find it tastes good. I’d been expecting rotten, old food, and when I eat another bite, he gives me a smirk before standing up and taking a step back. He watches, waiting for me to finish everything, and as soon as I’m done, he grabs the plate and fork, not wanting to leave me with anything that could potentially be used against them, even if that weapon is plastic and could barely stab through the beans I’d just eaten.
Grabbing the water bottle, I take a long drink and then decide to save the rest in case I don’t get any more for a while. The man leaves without another word, and the meal we just shared quickly becomes our routine. Days must pass, but I have no concept of time. He brings me three meals a day, I eat them while he watches, I ignore the way he looks at me, and let out a sigh of relief every time he leaves. Aside from pulling my hair the first day I was here, he never touches me, and I live in a constant state of fear that my luck will change with that.
On what I think is my sixth day, I hear the door open and immediately freeze. Something’s not right. He’s already brought me my supper, so I shouldn’t be seeing him again until tomorrow morning. The smirk he’s wearing has me curling in on myself as he walks closer. Grabbing my wrists, he binds them with a pair of metal handcuffs, closing them tight enough to make me wince before attaching them to a chain.
He growls something to me in Spanish and then gives a hard tug on the chain, yanking me roughly to my feet.
“What are you doing?” I ask, struggling to stand and keep my balance when he gives another hard tug on my bound wrists.
“Shut up,” he hisses at me while dragging me towards the door. I follow him out, refusing to let the tiny spark of hope that’s starting to flutter in my chest take hold. I can’t help but wonder if my dad got in touch with them, though, and if maybe I’m about to be released.
When he drags me out of the room, I look around, but there’s nothing to see aside from a dark hallway and a stairway off to the right. It’s just as dark and dank as the room I was being held in, and when the man pulls me along after him, we don’t go far, just to the closed door that’s to the left of us. Opening it, he drags me inside, and panic races through me when I lift my eyes and see two large men chained to the wall. Their faces are bloody and beaten, and the hope that was sprouting in my chest dies a quick death as dread takes over. I know I’m next. Whatever they just did to these two, they’re about to do to me.
Pushing me closer, I slump to the ground next to one of the men while the chain I’m attached to is connected to the hook embedded in the wall above my head. Instead of just leaving, he squats down in front of me and grabs my chin, digging his fingers in hard enough to hurt as he forces my face up to meet his. He growls something in Spanish to me, and even though I don’t understand a word of it, the fierce hostility in his tone and the sick, leering look he’s giving me is enough to have me cowering before him.
I’m stunned when the man chained next to me yells, “Get your fucking hands off her.”
The man in front of me gives a soft laugh and looks over at the guy who’d just yelled while he trails his finger down my cheek, making my skin crawl at his touch. Tears fall, but I stay as quiet as possible as I try to turn my face away.
He strokes my face again and says, “I can do whatever the fuck I want with her.” He gives another harsh laugh and brushes my hair aside so I can no longer hide behind it. “Isn’t that right, puta ? And if Daddy doesn’t cooperate soon, then they’re going to give you to me, and I’m going to get to play with you all fucking night.”
His words pull a sob from my throat as I try to curl into a ball and the beaten guy next to me yells at him to leave me alone. My captor laughs and stands back up. Before he walks off, he spits on the ground near my feet and mutters another threat in Spanish. I’m terrified, more scared than I’ve ever been, and my instinct is to look over at the man who’d tried to help me. I have just enough time to see a handsome face that not even the beating he just took can hide and the most beautiful pair of grey eyes I’ve ever seen before the lights go out and we’re plunged into darkness again.
I let out another terrified whimper, and with the lights out, my soft sobs seem to echo around the room. I try to get myself under control, but I can’t. When I let out another muffled sob, I hear movement from beside me. The pitch black of the room makes it impossible to see anything. I’ve never been in such a dark place before. Even when the light is turned out in a room, there’s usually some sort of illumination—moonlight coming in from around the blinds, light seeping in from beneath the crack of a door, something, anything, but this is a darkness so thick that nothing can penetrate it.
When my breath hitches at the soft scraping noise, a whispered voice says, “It’s okay. I’m not trying to scare you. I just didn’t want you to feel like you’re alone.”
“I don’t want to die here,” I whisper back, voicing the fear that won’t leave me alone.
I hear him scoot even closer before letting out a soft, pained sigh. His voice is right next to me when he says, “You won’t die here.”
“How can you possibly know that?” As much as I want to grab onto the hope he’s trying to give me, I’m very aware of our situation and how precarious it is.
He’s quiet for a few seconds before saying, “Because you’d already be dead if that’s what they wanted. They’re keeping us alive for a reason. Have they hurt you?”
“No.” I wait a second and add, “I’m sorry they hurt you.”
I hear the huff of air that’s meant to be a soft laugh. “My cousin and I will be fine. Don’t worry about us. It’s good they haven’t touched you, though. It means they’re scared to.”
“What’s your name?”
“Max. What’s yours?”
Even though I’ve just met him, his presence is comforting in a way that surprises me. I feel like I’ve known him for far longer than the few minutes we’ve spent together. Maybe it’s my desperate need to feel a connection to someone, or maybe it’s the fear that’s slowly gnawing its way through my body. Whatever it is, it makes me close the distance and rest my head on his broad shoulder as I whisper, “Talia,” into the dark room.
Long fingers hit my arm as he blindly searches for my hand. When he finds it, he gives it a soft squeeze, the warmth of his touch making me feel like I can breathe for the first time since I was taken.
“Nice to meet you, Talia.”
I squeeze his hand back and savor the few seconds of peace I’m given before the door is wrenched open again and another man comes back to get me. I meet Max’s eyes once more before I’m dragged away and put back in my own room. The silence is heavier now, and I feel even more alone after being given a few precious moments with Max—a man I just met but who was kind enough to stand up for me and offer whatever comfort he could.
Pacing my small room, I try not to go stir crazy. I keep waiting for the door to open, for them to bring me back into the other room, but no one comes. Aside from my regular meals, I’m left alone for days while I worry about what’s happening next door to me, wondering if the man with the kind, grey eyes is even still alive.
My captor eventually comes for me, and when he binds my hands again and pulls me from the room, I keep my eyes on the floor so he can’t see how excited I am. It’s not happiness, but it is a strong desire to see Max again. I want to make sure he’s okay and that he and his cousin are still alive. I also selfishly want to see him again because he makes me feel safe. Even though he’s a prisoner like I am, there’s something about his presence that calms me, and I’ve been craving it since we were pulled apart.
Once the door to their room is opened, my eyes immediately dart around, and I don’t let out the breath I’m holding until his grey eyes meet mine. I see the relief on his face, and I know the same thing is showing on mine. We’re both still alive, but it’s obvious he and his cousin have been receiving regular beatings. Both their faces are bloody, bruised and swollen, and my heart races at the thought of Max not surviving this. He said it was a good sign that they weren’t hurting me, so is it a really bad one that he’s not getting the same treatment?
My captor pushes me to the ground, and a yelp escapes before I can stop it. There are other men in this room, and their pissed-off faces are enough to have me scurrying up against the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible. I watch as one of the men steps closer and points between Max and his cousin. His cousin quickly calls him a fucker, and I can tell by the look on Max’s face that he’s not happy about it. I don’t know what’s going on, but when his cousin starts making fun of the man in Russian and Max joins in, I can’t help but give a soft laugh.
Max quickly looks over at me. “Do you speak Russian?”
I nod while he whispers, “How did you end up here?”
Before I can answer, they’re hauling his cousin up and securing his hands to a hook that hangs from the ceiling. When the punches start, I quickly look away, unable to tolerate watching the brutal violence. Max quietly scoots closer, blocking my line of sight so all I can see is him.
“How did you end up here?” he asks again, sticking to Russian since I’m pretty sure our guards don’t speak it.
“I was at a restaurant with my family. The waitress drugged my drink and then some guy grabbed me when I went to the bathroom. They put me on a boat, and when I woke up, I was here. I don’t know what they want with me.”
He’s quiet for a second, and I know he wants to ask more, but I think he’s afraid of upsetting me, so instead he asks, “Is Talia short for Natalia?”
“Yeah.”
“I have a cousin named Natalya. My dad is Russian, but my mom is American.”
I can’t manage a full smile with the sounds of his cousin being beaten right next to us, but I give him as big of one as I can manage and say, “Me, too.”
“When our family comes for us, I promise we’ll get you out too. Okay? My dad and brother are searching for us, and if anyone can find this place, it’s them. Val and I have already been here for weeks. It can’t be too much longer before they find us.”
I nod, and I’m about to tell him that I think it’ll be my family that’s going to be doing the rescuing, but before I can promise to take him and his cousin with us, Val is dragged over and tossed down next to Max and all his attention goes to his injured cousin. I can see how close they are, how much it’s killing the two of them to watch the other get hurt, but there’s a strength in them, a fierce determination to survive and overcome this place. They remind me of my family, and that thought makes my chest ache from how much I miss them. My mind wanders to my brothers, missing the late-night conversations and the way we’d always joke around. I’m so caught up in memories that it takes me a second to realize they’re hauling Max up for his turn.
Nausea hits me full force as I watch his bound wrists being attached to the same hook that his cousin had just been hanging from. I want to look away, but I can’t, and when the punches start, I taste bile in the back of my throat. I try not to cry, but the tears come anyway, and when Val hears me, he looks over and whispers, “Don’t watch. He wouldn’t want you to see this.”
I wrap my arms around my legs, using my knees as a pillow while I keep my focus on Val. He talks to me, and I try my best to not look over at Max, but every punch, every sickening thud of flesh hitting flesh has me wincing. I can tell his cousin is in a lot of pain, but he keeps talking to me, asking my name and telling me about his pregnant wife. The pain in his eyes when he mentions her is enough to have my own eyes spilling over again. It’s obvious he’s in love with her, that she’s his whole reason for breathing and the only thing that’s keeping him hanging on right now, and all I can do is tell him that he’ll make it back to her and promise that my family will free the two of them when they come for me. I know it’s not much, but it’s the only thing I can give him.
His face is covered in blood, one eye is swollen shut, and there’s a glazed, feverish look to him that worries me. He’s not looking good, and I hope like hell that what I’ve just said doesn’t turn out to be a lie. I know my family will come for me, but I’m not so sure Val is going to live long enough to see it.
He starts to ask me how I got here, but we’re interrupted when Mateo walks in. Seeing Max, he shouts a one-word command that immediately stops the beating. He’s taken down and roughly dragged back over to us before he’s reattached to the wall. He slumps down between Val and me, and I’m so relived that he’s survived the beating that all I can do is stare, running my eyes over him to try and see how bad his injuries are. I look over at the man that I now know is Jose, wanting to kill the bastard for what he’s just done, but all he does is sneak me a quick wink while Mateo talks to Max and Val.
I listen, it’s impossible not to, and I learn that their family runs a Bratva, just like mine does. Max and his cousin are refusing to talk, and I can’t help but admire them for it. No one’s asked me questions about my family’s business, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m a woman and therefore clueless or if the research they did on me was just that thorough. The first thought is offensive, and the second is unsettling. Either way I’m not being subjected to torture, and I’m incredibly grateful to be spared it. I don’t think I’d handle it as well as the two men next to me.
This time when Mateo and his men leave, they don’t take me with them. I’m left chained to the wall, and when we’re plunged back into darkness, it’s not nearly as scary because I know that Max is close by. I hear their labored breathing, the soft wheezes hinting at broken ribs, and guilt washes over me. I have no desire to be hurt, but I can’t help but feel guilty that I’m being spared everything while they’re being tortured daily.
“Are you okay?” I whisper into the darkness.
“I’m fine, Talia,” he whispers back. “Don’t worry about me.”
I don’t tell him it’s impossible not to, that I find myself thinking about him all the time, and that his presence is the only thing keeping me sane. I don’t say anything. Instead, I reach my hand out and find his in the dark, smiling when he immediately threads his long fingers through mine.
We fall into a routine over the next few days, and Max is the only thing that makes it tolerable. I cry every time he’s beaten, and every day that passes leaves me more worried about him, wondering how much more of this he can take. I try to distract him with stories about Wallace, but I can see how worried he is about his cousin. Val still looks feverish, and he’s so weak that I often wonder how he’s still surviving the beatings that the guards take such obvious delight in. I swear the only thing keeping him going is his desire to see his wife again.
After another beating that pushes Val a little closer to death’s door, we share a few jokes at Miguel’s expense. Anything to keep our minds off the fact that we’re all three slowly dying, some of us faster than others. When the door opens, we all three look over to see an older man walk in. I’ve never seen him before, but it’s not hard to guess who he is. He looks like an older version of Mateo, and the power coming off him is palpable. The guards avoid eye contact and take a respectful step back. Something feels different about this visit, and it makes me nervous to not know what it is. I don’t understand the Spanish being spoken, and Max and Val are speaking too low to one another for me to hear what they’re saying.
I suck in a quick breath when Mateo and his dad switch to English and say that they’re thinking about letting one of them go. Max quickly says it has to be Val, but then Val looks over at me and suggests I go instead. I’m about to disagree, knowing I could never take Val’s place and live with myself afterwards. I may not know him very well, but I do know that he won’t survive much longer down here. I want him to get back to his wife.
I don’t have to say anything, though, because the boss quickly says, “I have plans for her that don’t concern you.”
I wonder what those plans are while Mateo convinces his dad to let Val go. I still haven’t figured out Mateo. He hasn’t spoken to me since my first day here, and he barely ever looks at me. I would never call him a nice man, but he doesn’t seem to be sadistic like his guards are. I have no doubt he can be vicious, but I’ve yet to see that side of him, and I hope like hell I never do.
My heart breaks when I hear the gut-wrenching yell that Val gives when they try to separate him from his cousin. He begs them to release Max instead, lunging his broken body at his cousin, who quickly wraps his arms around him in a hug. Watching their pain has me choking on a sob, but I push through the sadness and grief, and instead focus on the fact that he’s going to be released soon. He’ll be on the outside, which means he can contact my family.
With tears running down my face, I scoot closer and squeeze Val’s hand trying to get his attention. When he opens his one good eye, I quickly whisper in Russian, begging him to get in touch with my dad. “Find Vasily Medvedev and tell him everything that’s happened.” Desperate to know he’ll do it, I ask him to promise me, but before he can answer, he’s pulled away from us.
“It’s okay, Val. I’ll be fine,” Max tells him, trying to make his cousin feel better, and I think I fall in love with the man next to me right then and there. His only concern is making his cousin feel better, not wanting him to be weighed down with guilt and haunted by a decision that was always going to be beyond his control.
We both watch as Val is forced from the room. He disappears from view, and I hear the shaky breath Max gives. Miguel gives a soft laugh, kicking Max’s foot on his way past before shutting off the light and leaving us in darkness.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, scooting closer now that we’re alone.
“I’m glad he’s free,” Max says. His words are thick with emotion, but I can hear the truth in them. “Yel needs him, and he wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”
I keep scooting closer until I feel the weight of his body pressed against my side. When I grab his hand and rest my head on his shoulder, he threads his fingers through mine and whispers, “Besides, I couldn’t leave you here alone.”
“If you have the chance to leave, you have to take it,” I tell him.
“We’re leaving together, Talia. I won’t leave you here alone.”
I can tell by his tone that it’s useless to argue, so I don’t waste my strength. Instead, I keep myself pressed against the warmth of his body, both of us taking comfort from the other while we can. Once the doors open again, I’ll scurry away so no one can see how close we’ve become and use it against us, but for now, I keep my hand in his, trying not to worry about how badly he’s hurt. I can’t let myself think about being left alone in this place. He’s a comfort I hadn’t been expecting, and now I can’t imagine surviving this hellhole without him.
We leave this place together or not at all. I refuse to accept any other outcome.