5. Katerina
CHAPTER 5
Katerina
“Stay where you are or I swear…” I take more steps back, tossing a glance over my shoulder.
Finch mentioned firearms. If I remember correctly, they’re in the bedroom. But I’ve never been a firearms person. Even when we’ve pulled off heists and other high-stakes robberies.
Besides, there’s a chance I could fuck it up. Point the gun at the Russian Bear and then what? What if it didn’t intimidate him in the slightest? What if he charged at me? Would I really be willing to pull the trigger?
The fact that I don’t know the answer tells me all I need to know.
“Devochka,” he sings in his thick Russian accent. “What will it be? Will you obey? Or will I have to make you obey?”
I raise my chin in defiance despite feeling the opposite on the inside. “I don’t know. I’ve always been told I choose to do things the hard way.”
The side of his mouth quirks. “Is that so? Is that your final answer?”
“I’m in charge! I’m—AHHH!”
The Russian holds up his bound arms to show me the zip ties tethering them together. His gaze is on me the same way mine is on him. Once he’s certain we’re watching each other and he has my full, undivided attention, he demonstrates a level of power I feared he had.
He wrenches his arms apart by sheer brute force, snapping the zip ties in half.
I scream. I trip over myself as he does the same to his legs and proves he’s now mobile.
“Stay the hell away from me!” I yell, brandishing the large kitchen knife.
He rises slowly. His gaze is still set on me. He fills the space in the living room like the dominant force that he is—his bulging muscles and heavy mass take over everything.
“Devochkaaaa,” he sings. He crooks his index finger to call me closer. “Be a good girl and come to me right now.”
My whole life flashes before my eyes.
I’m left with the obvious choices of face the Russian Goliath on my own or seek help. I choose the latter. My hand shakes fumbling for my phone in my pocket. I’m about to call 911 even if it means I’ll be taken into custody too, for the kidnapping scheme.
My life means more to me than standing my ground against a man who’s built like a fucking Mack truck!
“NO!” he rumbles.
I scream again.
The moment spirals. In the blink of an eye the distance that’s between us closes. I go from fumbling for my phone to my feet leaving the ground. The Russian goes from being halfway across the room to charging toward me.
The next time I blink, my body’s crashing into the ground. The knife’s slipping from my grasp and clattering somewhere else on the floor, beyond reach. I’m sputtering out panicked air. My arms are held back on either side of my head and I can’t move even if I wanted to.
The Russian’s over me. He’s pinned me like we’re in the middle of a wrestling match. He’s done so with unsurprising ease.
…but also with a level of agility I didn’t realize he possesses.
“LEMMEGO!” I shriek as loud as my voice will allow. “LEMMEGO!”
He grips both of my wrists with one of his hands and claps his other palm over my mouth to shut me up. “My, my…” he taunts, the corner of his lip curling. “Look what we have here. Bednaya malen’kaya devochka? * . ”
Despite the fact that his large palm, which is the size of my face, covers my mouth, I try to scream anyway. I squirm under him and make my throat ache from how hard I yell for help. The sound comes out garbled and indistinguishable, but what else am I supposed to do when he won’t let me go?
My heart’s beating frantically against my chest. I’m helpless and trapped under the same man we’ve taken into captivity.
This situation couldn’t be any worse.
For his part, the giant tank who calls himself Roman Volkova couldn’t seem to be enjoying himself more. He’s holding me down with barely any effort at all, peering into my eyes like he’s fascinated, studying every detail of my face. The scarf I’d used as a disguise has slipped. If he didn’t see my face earlier during the kidnapping, he’s seen it right now.
He’s had enough time to memorize every single detail.
“If I take my hand off your mouth, will you scream, devochka?” he asks.
My brows knit, though I shake my head side to side in answer. He admires me a second longer as if gauging whether I’m being truthful, and then he does it—he slowly uncovers my mouth.
I can’t help the way panic shoots through me. It explodes the second I’m able to speak again without being silenced.
“PLEASE! SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE! PLEASE HELP ME, PLEASE!”
The Russian slaps me.
Not hard. More like a love tap. An admonishment as I scream hysterically and his palm connects with my cheek to bring me to my senses. He covers my mouth again with a grin stretched onto his own.
“Bad girl,” he taunts. “Didn’t I tell you to behave yourself? Should I punish you now?”
I never get the chance to answer.
There’re footsteps outside the front door. Someone’s voice that sounds too muffled to place at first, but then, as the person drawers closer, I gasp against the Russian’s hand.
Finch!
He’s outside!
“HELP!” I try screaming again.
The Russian slaps me again on the cheek. This time slightly rougher. A light sting prickles the side of my face. He presses his hand down on my mouth more firmly, any trace of humor gone from his chiseled, bearded face.
“Disobey, devochka, and I will kill you,” he promises. “You are to do as I say.”
He wrenches me to my feet as Finch is on the other side of the door twisting a key in the lock.
I’m dragged into the bedroom and then the closet. On the other side of the apartment, Finch enters while on the phone with someone, talking obnoxiously loudly, clueless to his surroundings.
“Shhh,” the Russian growls into my ear. We’re standing in the pitch dark of the closet, tucked away among racks of clothes and stacks of boxes. His grip on me is ironclad and unbreakable. His lips graze the shell of my ear and I feel the muscles in his body flex against my softer form. “You say a word, you scream for help,” he says, “you die. So does he.”
* ? Bednaya malen’kaya devochka - poor little girl