6. Lindsey
6
LINDSEY
T he sound of the basement steps groaning under someone’s weight startles me from my sleep, and I jolt upright, my heart pounding in my throat.
“Did I wake you?” Maks pauses halfway down, looking ridiculously attractive wearing black slacks and a white button-down that’s open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves. His eyebrows raise in surprise as he combs his thick head of hair back from his face—a gesture I’ve noticed he does a lot because his soft curls refuse to stay in place.
“No—I mean, yes, but it’s fine,” I say, scrubbing the sleep from my eyes. “I didn’t sleep much that first night, so I kind of passed out after you left last night.” The extra blankets and pillow he gave me helped a massive amount, and despite the dank chill of my prison, I actually slept like a rock. But without natural light, I feel like my internal clock has been completely thrown off. “What time is it?”
“Just after eleven. I thought you’d be up and hungry by now, but I have a surprise for you.”
My heart skips a beat, and I perk up. “A surprise?”
Maks’s lips curl into a smirk, and he unlocks the door to my cell. “It comes with a condition.”
“Okay?” I turn, setting my feet on the floor to stand.
“You won’t try running.”
My stomach flip-flops nervously, and I glance toward the stairs. What kind of surprise would make me want to run?
“I need your word, Lindsey.”
My eyes snap back to Maks’s, and I swallow hard. “I won’t run.”
“Good. Then put your shoes on.”
I do as he says, collecting them off the ground where I kicked them off sometime yesterday and promptly forgot about them. The suede is stiff with cold as I slide my feet inside them, and as I straighten, heat floods my core as I catch Maks openly admiring the view I just gave him. It’s funny—I wore this exact outfit with him in mind, hoping I might entice him, but that feels like a lifetime ago now, and goosebumps ripple across my flesh at the desire in his eyes. He hasn’t tried to touch me since he took me prisoner, but I can see the hunger there. I don’t know what to make of it. My body’s response to him makes even less sense considering I should be downright terrified of him, but what I feel is closer to butterflies in my stomach than fear.
“Follow me,” he says, turning to head back toward the stairs he just came down.
“I—but—” I freeze, glancing back at the cot and my pile of blankets that now feel like my safety net.
“Would you rather stay down here?” he asks mildly.
“No!” I say quickly, but I do rush back to grab the top blanket and wrap it around my shoulders before racing to catch up.
Maks’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything as he tromps up the stairs, his heavy steps a familiar sound. In comparison, my heels click softly against the wood, and my heart beats faster as I near the top of the steps. I’ve imagined what this would feel like at least a hundred times since getting locked in that basement, but nothing quite compares to the thrill that rushes through me as I reach the main floor of the house. It’s bright enough outside that I have to squint after days without proper light, and I slowly take in my surroundings as my eyes adjust.
My flight instincts awaken as soon as I see the front door. Heart lodging itself in my throat, I consider the odds of success if I were to make a break for it, and for a moment, I wonder if Maks told me to put on my shoes so I would have a harder time getting away. But I promised I wouldn’t run, and if I do and fail, I’m confident that would obliterate whatever trust I’ve managed to build up to now. Fighting every natural instinct I possess, I clench my fists and force myself to turn and follow Maks. My breath catches as I find him watching me, his sharp blue eyes perceptive as he plucks the thoughts right out of my head. He knows I thought about running.
“The door is locked from the outside,” he says, his tone low and shockingly gentle.
My heart sinks like a stone, and tears sting the back of my eyes as I do my best to swallow down the emotion. But it’s caught in my throat, so all I can do is nod.
“Come on. I made breakfast.” He gestures to the dining area, where he’s set the table for two.
The house looks fresh out of the twenties, with a deco-style cut-glass chandelier hanging over the antique darkwood table. Off to the side, the pistachio-colored cabinets and checkered floor follow the trend, making the space feel a little cluttered but warm and homey. The quaint, old-timey decor combined with the intimacy of sharing a meal together feels strangely sweet in contrast to the reality of my situation, and when Maks pulls out a chair for me, I pause and compose myself.
“Thanks.” I settle into the chair and watch with mild disbelief as he goes into the kitchen and pulls a stack of pancakes from the oven. “Do you cook for people often?” I ask as he sets the plate between us and sinks into the chair across from me.
“On occasion—but only for my niece.”
I glance down at the thick stack of flapjacks and something falls into place in my mind. “She likes breakfast food.”
Maks chuckles affectionately. “It’s her favorite kind.” He puts several pancakes on my plate before adding one to his. “You’re perceptive.”
I shrug. “Part of my job is understanding what drives people, what motivates them to do things, so I spend a lot of time reading between the lines.”
“Have you figured out what drives me?” Maks asks, his tone playful, but there’s an undercurrent to it, an electric tension that makes my pulse quicken.
“Not entirely. Not yet,” I say, flashing him a smile to try and keep the mood light. But the truth is, my life might just depend on me figuring that out.
If I find what motivates Maks, I can steer him toward the idea of letting me go. That’s why I need to keep him talking. If he trusts me enough to let me come upstairs for food, I’ll take that as a good sign. I’m headed in the right direction. I just need to be careful not to misstep. I easily could have over his front-door test. I’m confident that’s what it was, a way to see if I would break a promise. Thankfully, I passed, but it’s a good reminder that I’m not having breakfast with a friend. I’m the prisoner of a Bratva pakhan , and at any time, he could decide it would be more convenient to kill me than to keep me here.
“You’re not all dressed up in your usual suit,” I observe, and I bite back a moan of appreciation as I take my first bite of his pancakes. They’re melt-in-the-mouth, fluffy, buttery goodness with sugary syrup on top, and when I blink, my eyes stay closed a fraction longer than necessary as I savor the sweetness.
“That’s because of your surprise.” Even without looking, I can hear his smile. “It involved a bit of physical labor to get it ready.”
My eyes snap open. “Wait, this isn't the surprise?”
I should not find his smirk as sexy as I do. He’s my prison guard, my kidnapper, not to mention nearly old enough to be my father. But that doesn’t stop the traitorous flutter in my stomach. I like Maks’s playful side, and I can tell from the heat in his eyes—he likes to catch me off guard.
“No. But breakfast first,” he says.
I point my fork at his plate of pancakes.“Eat faster.”
Maks chuckles, the sound deep and inviting, and I do my best to ignore the shiver that races up my spine in response. Focusing on my food, I get to work finishing the meal he cooked. The possibilities keep racing through my mind, one after another, and I tamp down the least realistic ones—like maybe he’s decided to let me go, that this will be our last meal together. A trickle of disappointment follows that final thought, and I try not to look into it too hard.
Maks doesn’t bother finishing his pancakes. When I’m done with mine, he rises from his chair and ushers me into the entry and up the stairs to the second floor. A nervous quiver starts in my stomach as we head to the more personal area of the house—the bedrooms. It makes me think about the flirtatious banter that seems to be a natural part of our interactions. Maybe he’s decided it’s time to put that unspoken chemistry into action.
“Second door on the right,” Maks says behind me.
I obey, noting the hasp latch and padlock on the outside of the door as I turn the handle and swing it inward. The good-sized bedroom looks like the master suite, with a bathroom off to the left and a queen-sized bed filling the center of the room. The furniture is bare of lamps, the space clean of anything I might be able to pick up and use as a weapon. A small stack of books occupy the bay window that looks out at the backyard. Someone has bolted bars across the window, and I get the distinct impression this is just a fancier version of a cage.
“I thought you might be more comfortable here,” Maks says. “Those books are from my niece’s library, but if you want different reading material, just let me know.”
I turn to Maks, oddly touched, and at the same time, it gives me the sinking confirmation that I’m going to be here a lot longer than I’d hoped. His expression is guarded, his eyes watchful as he waits for my reaction.
“There’s a shower and a few changes of clothes as well,” he adds, breaking the silence as he pulls out a drawer to reveal a thick cream-colored cashmere sweater. It looks high quality and expensive.
“I don’t know what to say,” I murmur. God, a shower sounds good right now, something to chase away the bone-deep chill that I’ve had since I stepped out of Maks’s club. Bundling myself in a comfy outfit and curling up with a book also sounds painfully tempting. But all the excitement over my surprise and the relief of having a nice bed to sleep in slowly drain from my body. How long does he plan on keeping me here?
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I have meetings this afternoon, but I’ll be back to check on you this evening. We can talk more then.”
I nod, watching as Maks turns to leave the room. Only after I hear the padlock click shut do I release the breath I’m holding, and as his footsteps fade down the hall, I can’t stop the tears any longer.
I’m starting to doubt Maks’s conviction to kill me. It’s been four days since he moved me into the upstairs bedroom, and he still hasn’t done it yet. If he wanted me dead, it would be all too easy, but I’m still here. He’s visited me every morning and night, bringing me food from the best restaurants, and giving me any books I want. The clothes and bed in my new room aren’t just better than my previous situation, they’re far nicer than any I’ve ever owned. I could almost fool myself into thinking this is an extended vacation in some luxury hotel—if not for the bars on my windows and the lock on my door.
Maks’s visits have become the highlight of my day, and not just because of the food. I think I might go crazy with boredom if he didn’t stay and talk to me. It doesn’t matter that he’s fifteen years older than I am and from a completely different world than mine. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, as long as I avoid diving too deep into his personal life. But even there, he’s starting to open up and trust me. He doesn’t trust me enough to let me go, and I’m starting to think it might never happen, but I’m trying to hold out hope.
The sound of a door slamming below me makes my heart skip a beat, and I look up from my book, my pulse fluttering in anticipation of Maks’s morning visit. He’s late today. I was starting to wonder if he wouldn’t come. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs a minute later, and I set my book aside, rising from my seat at the bay window.
“I was starting to think you forgot about—” My playful words die on my lips as the door opens, and rather than Maks, his bald behemoth of a man steps inside.
“Boss sent me to feed you,” he grunts, tossing a package onto my bed that looks like it contains a greasy breakfast sandwich.
“He’s not coming?” I ask, my heart sinking as the residual adrenaline hums through my veins.
Maks’s man just shakes his head and crosses his tree-trunk arms as he stands in the doorway.
“N-normally, he lets me eat at the dining room table.” It’s a silly detail to challenge, and I can’t imagine sitting with this guy is going to be better than eating up here on my bed, but I’m in this room too many hours of the day, and the change of scenery actually matters to me.
His brows press into a deep frown, and I wonder if I’m pushing my luck. I should just shut up and be grateful I have breakfast. But then his arms fall to his sides, and he shrugs.
“Fine. If the boss lets you do it.” He turns, leading the way back into the hallway.
Heart skipping a beat, I snatch up the grease-stained bag and follow him, my cozy socks muffling my steps as I pad across the wood floor. As we reach the bottom of the stairs, my eyes flick toward the front door. It’s firmly closed, and Maks’s words echo in my mind— it locks from the outside. I haven’t thought about making a run for it during his visits since he moved me upstairs, but with a shift in routine—and guards—I suddenly can’t seem to stop myself.
Forcing my gaze to the kitchen table, I pass the door leading to the basement. Bright late-morning light filters through the sliding glass door to the backyard, and I settle into a chair near it, appreciating the sun’s warmth. My breakfast this morning is a disappointment compared to Maks’s cooking, but the english muffin loaded with eggs, bacon, and cheese will fill me up.
Grease runs down my chin as I take a big bite. “Thanks for the food,” I say, around the mouthful, hoping I can ingratiate myself to Maks’s man.
But he just grunts, folding his arms across his broad chest once more as he watches me with single-minded focus. Not much of a talker, I guess. But as I eat, a thought occurs to me. He was pretty easy to convince when I told him that Maks lets me eat downstairs. I might be able to use that to my advantage. My pulse quickens, and it takes all my willpower not to glance toward the backyard as I take another bite of sandwich. I force myself to eat as if I have all the time in the world, and only after I’ve finished my last bite do I wipe my mouth and stand.
“Alright, back to your room,” the giant commands, reaching for my arm to steer me in that direction.
I take a step back out of his reach, my heart pummeling my ribs. “But Maks usually lets me go outside for a little while after breakfast—you know, for a bit of fresh air.” I gesture toward the backyard, doing my best to sound casual and maybe a bit put out.
The behemoth glances toward the yard, doubt and confusion flickering across his face.
“Oh, come on. It’s not like I have anywhere to run anyway. The fence is way too high to climb,” I point out. I’m not lying. It’s an eight-foot wood-plank fence with no perpendicular panels on my side to help me step up. But I’ve spent hours staring out at the yard, looking for an escape route as I daydreamed about finding a way to slip outside.
“Alright,” he says finally. “But only for a little while.” His thick sausage fingers fumble with the lock, then the bar ensuring no one can break in.
My stomach lurches as he slides the door open, gesturing for me to go outside. I do quickly, the cement turning my stocking feet to ice as soon as I step out onto the patio, and I take my first breath of the cold Chicago air in days. Slipping off my socks, I stuff them in the front pocket of my hoodie and walk to the edge of the porch, stepping onto the dry grass. Pulse roaring in my ears, I take my time casually strolling around the space, dawdling to watch a squirrel climb a tree. It doesn’t take long for Maks’s man to lose interest in me, his eyes shifting to the fence as a dog starts to bark. And as I near the bird bath at the back of the yard, I carefully assess it to make sure I’m capable of what I want to do.
Taking a shaky breath, I ready myself, and I plant my palms on the edge of the bath, testing its stability. Then, with a burst of energy, I heave myself up onto the curved platform and lean across the distance to brace myself against the top of the fence.
“Hey!”
It took my guard no time at all to notice what I’m up to, and cold panic floods my veins as I kick it into full gear, shoving my torso over the top of the fence and tumbling to the grass on the far side. I land hard but try to cushion the fall as I roll out of it and scramble to my feet. Then I’m running, tearing across the yard I fell into as I head for the chain link gate to their side yard. I know I can’t outrun Maks’s man for long, but if I can find somewhere to hide or get to the L train, maybe I won’t have to. My only problem is I have no idea where the hell I am.
Bursting past the trees lining the property, I hit the sidewalk of the neighboring street and glanced in both directions. It’s a fifty-fifty chance I pick the right way to go, and I choose left since it’s nearer the next intersection and a corner to turn to keep me out of sight. My feet scream as they strike the cold, hard ground, but I ignore the pain, pushing myself to run as far and as fast as I can. Thankfully, I’ve traded out my club outfit for leggings and a warm hoodie, so the bitter wind isn’t nearly as excruciating as the night I ran from the club.
To my relief, as soon as I round the street corner, cutting across the grass to shorten the distance, I spot the cables and tracks for the L train up ahead. I just need to find the nearest stop. My lungs are burning, my legs cramping as I push them to the limit of their capabilities, but as I reach the next street and look over my shoulder, I don’t see Maks’s man. I could dip into the Walgreens on the corner and call the police, but I would much rather put more distance between me and the behemoth who’s probably on my heels, and I don’t like the idea of sitting so close by and waiting for help. I can make it to the next stop. I can see the train station a block down to my left, and I head for it at a sprint. It’s not particularly busy as I enter, but unfortunately, I don’t have my Ventra card at home, so as the kiosk guard turns his back, I hop the turnstile blocking me from getting on the train.
The guard’s objection chases me up the stairs, but I keep going, determined to get on the train before it leaves the station. I barely make it in time, squeezing past the doors as they hiss closed, then I fall into a seat as the floor shifts beneath me. Panting, I turn to look out the window behind me. I don’t see Maks’s man, and relief floods my chest. I did it. I got away. I’m still reeling from the accomplishment. If the stitch in my side weren’t anchoring me to reality, I could almost believe this is just a dream. Slumping back in my chair, I rake in deep lungfuls of air and notice the older couple sitting across from me.
The gray-haired woman stares down at my bare feet before looking at my face, her open concern growing. “Are you alright, honey?”
“Honestly, no. I don’t even know where the hell I am. Can you tell me where I’d find the nearest police station?”
She shares a worried glance with her husband, and his bushy white eyebrows press into a frown. “From the Purple Line? Well, I suppose it would be the one off Larrabee, but the nearest stop to it would probably be Sedgwick, and it’s a good half-mile walk from there,” he says, his eyes shifting pointedly to my feet.
Digging my fluffy socks from my hoodie pocket, I pull them onto my feet. “That’s fine. Thank you.” I glance up at the train map noting the seven stops between Sedgwick and the South Boulevard station, where I got on.
“Are you in trouble, dear? Do you need help?” the gray-haired woman asks, her worry cutting deep lines in her wrinkled face.
Yes, but I don’t know what I could possibly ask them for. Protection? Shelter? I don’t want to put the couple at risk—besides, that’s why I need the police. But I could at least alert them to my situation before I get to the police station. “Well, could I use your phone?”
The woman nods, pulling her phone from an oversized handbag and passing it to me. I google the Larrabee police station to call it directly. Still, I have to jump through several hoops before I can speak to an actual officer.
“This is Officer Petty. You’re calling to report a missing person?” he says as soon as he comes on the line.
“No, I’m calling to say I’ve been missing . I was kidnapped by a man named Maks…” My voice trails off as I realize I don’t know his last name. Vaguely, I recall Claire mentioning it that first night at the club, but I didn’t retain the information. “Well, I don’t actually know his full name. But he owns the nightclub called the Dungeon. I was taken several days ago, and I just managed to escape. I need your help.”
The line is silent long enough that I start to wonder if I lost the connection, and I pull it away from my ear to check.
“Where are you now?” the officer asks finally.
“On a train, headed toward the Larrabee police station.”
“Are you safe?”
I glance nervously around. “I think so. For now.”
“I’ll be here as soon as you arrive,” he assures me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, tears blurring my vision as my emotions overwhelm me.
I’m beyond grateful as I pass the woman’s phone back to her. Finally, I feel like I might be home free. That doesn’t stop me from anxiously watching the train doors every time the train stops. The sweet couple get off shortly after, wishing me luck, and by the time I finally reach the Sedgwick stop, I’m nearly jumping out of my skin over every person who steps onto the L.
Leaving the station, I follow the old man’s directions, going south on Sedgwick Street and turning right on Division, then following it until I reach Larrabee. By the time the police station comes into view, my nerves are on the brink of snapping and my feet are nearing frostbitten. I should have asked if an officer could pick me up at the train station, but it doesn’t matter now.
I step through the front doors into the building’s warm air, ready to collapse with relief. Then I stop dead in my tracks. The behemoth I’ve been running from all this time is standing at the reception desk, his massive arms crossed over his chest and a deep scowl creasing his face. A blond officer chats with him, his thumbs casually hooked inside the arm holes of his bullet-proof vest. Maks’s man spots me as soon as I stop, and the officer turns to follow his gaze.
“That’s her,” the Russian giant grunts.
The officer takes a step toward me, his nametag catching the overhead light, and I see it all clearly in one brilliant flash of understanding.
It’s Officer Petty—he must have called Maks’s man and told him where I was.
My feet are moving before I have time to fully process what I’m doing or where I’m going. All I know is that I need to run .