13. Sonya
13
SONYA
T oo soon, the nausea took over. I had one night left at the rented room I’d found, and I dreaded having to find another place to stay.
I could try to see if anyone’s at the mansion…
Shaking my head as I lay on the lumpy mattress, I heaved out a sigh and rejected that idea.
I’d tried earlier to have someone drive me there. The young woman gave me a side-eye when I said I didn’t have a phone and could pay her cash instead—the last of my cash. But when she typed in the address of the mansion, she freaked out and backed away.
“You want me to drive to one of the Mafia compounds?” She scoffed and retreated. “Hell no. Like, no way, girl. I don’t want to get involved with that shit, like, at all.”
But as I tried to relax on this bed, I wished I could find someone to take me home, if that still was a home.
Being pregnant had to be a challenge to adjust to, but going at it alone sucked. It was a struggle to convince myself that I wouldn’t be suffering, and without the bare basics of needs for much longer. Until I could overcome my paranoia about someone hearing about my return and trying to hold me back from getting home, I felt like I was at a personal stalemate.
Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t have run from Ben.
I opened my eyes as my stomach growled louder yet, so knotted and clenched with hunger that I feared it’d never stop hurting.
“No,” I whispered to myself. “I can’t trust him.” How could I trust the not-so-unfamiliar stranger when all we had between us was random, spontaneous sex?
And you. I rubbed my stomach, wondering if this touch could be felt by the baby somehow. This little one connected me to Ben, yet that wasn’t enough for me to want to run to him, if I even knew how to find him.
He’d pretended not to know me, and that wasn’t a great foundation for rekindling or starting a relationship.
He’s no one who has to matter. He can’t. He’s just a stranger I had the fluke luck to see twice.
And to fuck twice.
I winced, regretting that when I should’ve been thinking with my head and trying to find safety somewhere so I could think and plan my next steps, I’d been caving to carnal desire for him.
Another low and long cramp of hunger hit me, and I curled into more of a ball as I rolled to my side. “What is it?” I whined aloud quietly. “An empty stomach makes me feel sicker?” The urge to vomit hadn’t returned, but I wouldn’t be so easily duped. “Or a full stomach makes me more nauseous?” I couldn’t tell, and I swore this morning or afternoon or night sickness was something that would come and go as it pleased.
Giving up on staying in and waiting out this nausea, I got to my feet and forced myself to go to the nearest convenience mart and grab some peanut butter and bread. It wouldn’t be a balanced meal, but it would be more than vending machine junk that didn’t fill me.
As I dragged myself out the door, I counted the change and cash I had in my pocket. The irony of being so destitute was getting to me. I was Sonya Baranov, a Mafia princess. If I could figure out how to get home, I would—like that tween said in the diner—want for nothing.
Feeling as tired and weary as I did, I couldn’t fathom the headache of either walking to the mansion or convincing someone to drive me there.
Dammit. I had less than I thought. I wasn’t sure I had enough to buy anything.
Maybe I could manage the bread or the peanut butter, but not both.
In the store, I browsed down the aisles, growing weaker, hungrier, and thirstier by the second. Focusing on the prices became a challenge, and I found myself blinking slower and slower as fatigue gripped me.
After I bumped into a cardboard stand at the end of the aisle twice, I felt the telltale burn of someone’s stare on my back. Spinning around, I caught the disgruntled woman behind the checkout counter glaring at me. Her brows were penciled in and arched so high with disdain, she looked villainous as she tracked my movements.
Fuck off.
I was in no mood for someone judging me. She could think I was some poor, wretched fool. She could criticize how unsteady I looked. But I lacked the patience to deal with having to speak to anyone.
A small smile stayed plastered on my face, though, because if I showed my true emotions of annoyance, that would only be fodder for her to dislike me and watch me closer.
Blending in and looking nonthreatening were the goals here. In and out. But dammit, why did there have to be so many different brands and kinds of peanut butter? And the variety of bread? The flavor didn’t matter, but I had to count on getting the biggest bang for my buck.
Once more, I stumbled. I took too short of a step over and smacked into the shelving unit. A couple of boxes of crackers fell. When I reached out to grab them before they dropped and the contents cracked, I sent a bag of chips flying off its spot on the rack too.
“Oh, come on,” I mumbled, furrowing my brow and trying to wake up so I wouldn’t be this clumsy.
“Hey!” The woman at the register rounded the counter and pointed at me. Stern and serious, she glowered at me like I was the worst excuse for a person on earth. “I saw that.”
“Huh?” I turned back and forth, looking at the items I’d knocked off to her approaching me. “I’m sorry. I’m putting it all back up and…”
“No! I saw you trying to put those things in your pockets.” She had her phone out, already lifting it to her ear for a call.
“ What ?” I scrunched my face. “What things?” I looked down at the big, voluminous bags of chips and crackers. How in the hell could any of this fit in a pocket?
“Don’t play dumb with me, girl. I saw you. I’ve been watching you since you came in here, acting all high and funny.”
“I’m not high.” I was tired, that was all. How dare she be so rude? I’d bumped into that stuff accidentally.
“Bullshit. You’re stealing those snacks and shit. You probably got more things under your shirt.”
“What!” I stepped back, bumping into the shelves again. “I am not stealing anything!”
“Don’t lie to me!” She kept her furious stare on me as she spoke on the phone. “Yeah. I need to report someone stealing from my shop.”
“No!” I put my hands up, trying to stop her from talking. Showing that I had nothing in my pockets didn’t change her mind. No matter what I said, how quickly and vehemently I argued with her, she didn’t end her call.
“I’m not stealing anything!”
“Tough shit,” she snarled. “Convince the cops of that.”
No!
The cops wouldn’t do me any good. Nowhere was safe for me. I wasn’t safe with those Ilyin captors who wanted to force me to marry some Benson man. I wasn’t safe out here in the open, with the general members of society with their phones and Ubers and fear of going near the Mafia. And I wasn’t safe with the cops either. No member of any Mafia family wanted to deal with law enforcement. That antagonism was mutual, too. They wanted nothing to do with us, either.
If I were caught and taken in, there was no telling which corrupt cop could be in charge. My uncle Oleg used to have a few officers in his pocket, but so much time had passed. Uncle Oleg was dead. I had no knowledge of who could be in charge of the family and which men we could count on looking the other way.
But I was well aware of the possibility of any cops out there being friends with the Ilyins.
“No, please. I didn’t steal anything.”
The clerk scoffed at me as a pair of cops entered the shop. “Yeah, well with how nervous you’re acting, I’ll bet my paycheck that you’re hiding something!” She snapped her fingers and directed the cops closer. “This is the woman. Over here.”
“No. No.” I turned to run down the aisle, but the taller officer must have suspected I’d try to flee.
He was faster, catching me in no time. His arms circled me and didn’t let go, not as I kicked, flailed, and fought to break free.
“I didn’t do anything!” I wiggled and wrestled, not giving up for a second. I couldn’t give up. My last stint of captivity was too fresh in my mind for me to go easy on this cop. I would fight and resist until my last damn breath.
“Hold still!” the other cop said as he tried to slap handcuffs on my wrists.
“No!” I fought him too, but with how exhausted I already was, I had no chance of holding them both back.
They didn’t pause or listen to me, not letting up until they had me cuffed and ordered me to stop resisting and to settle down as they forced me outside the shop with them.
“Stop them! Let me go! Someone, stop them. Help me!”
But no one did. As I was roughly pushed into the backseat of their car, I clamped my lips shut tight and heaved out angry exhales through my nose.
No one would help me. I was, once again, all on my own.
And I was sick of it.
Panic swept through me, making my heart race and my breaths shallow.
They were taking me further away, and I had no doubt in my mind that they would ultimately deliver me right back to the Ilyins.
I’d be taken to my unwanted fiancé, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get away a second time.