Chapter 5 — Kiera
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually the door creaked open, and the hallway lights crept into the dark room. Two men walked in, their faces hard and their expressions ugly. Their boots pounded the floor as they made their way toward me.
“Careful,” one said to the other, his voice deep and almost inaudible. “She’s wild, this one.”
I remained silent, pretending not to have heard the words that sparked a strange feeling of relevance within me.
The second man halted in front of me, anger flashing in his red eyes. He withdrew a switchblade while still glaring at me, his fingers tightening around the hilt.
I recognized him; he was the first man I’d attacked in the underground parking lot. The one I’d almost blinded with pepper spray and then kicked in the nuts.
Obviously, he hadn’t healed from the shame and pain I caused him. The man was still holding a grudge. Although part of me feared what he’d do to me with that knife, the other part believed he wasn’t allowed to harm me.
If their boss wanted me dead, he would’ve done it himself. He was a monster. Not a coward. The fact that I was still breathing meant that he wasn’t done with me yet. That being said, these losers had no right to touch me.
I twisted my lips into a mocking grin. “What’s the matter? Still bitching about what happened earlier?”
He growled, clenching his jaw.
“You gotta let it go, man. Except you plan on holding a grudge—but I wouldn’t recommend that.”
His hand shot out, grabbed my hair, and yanked it back. My head shot toward the ceiling as I let out a quiet, infuriating laugh meant to bruise his ego.
His scowl deepened, seething in silence. “You think you’re so tough, huh?” He held up the blade in front of me. “I’m the guy with the knife, and I could easily cut out that sharp tongue of yours.” His voice was thick with a Russian accent.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” I whispered to him. “Your bad breath…or empty threats.”
The words struck him harder than he cared to admit as a hint of fleeting insecurity flashed in his eyes. He glared at me with undiluted hatred in his eyes while his grip around the knife tightened.
“Do you have a death wish?” He combed the blade through my hair.
“We both know you’re not gonna kill me,” I answered, my voice laced with confidence. “If your boss wanted me dead, I’d be dead by now.”
“Hmm.” He let out a throaty groan. “Enjoy your immunity while it lasts.” His lips curled into an evil grin. “Sooner or later, the boss will have to dispose of you.”
I glared at him in silence, even when he drew invisible lines on my cheek with the tip of the blade.
He continued, “And when that time comes, you’d better pray I’m not the guy he assigns the job to.” His tongue clicked rapidly, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, the things I’ll do to you…”
The anticipation in his eyes and the sound of his evil laughs made my skin crawl. Although I seemed unfazed by his words, my heart was racing inside. This man clearly couldn’t wait to gut me like a fish. Or worse.
I recognized that look—that animalistic hunger that drove men like him to do despicable things to vulnerable women. The mere thought of his hands on me made my face contort in disgust. Anger and irritation flooded my heart, prompting my fingers to curl into fists.
He laughed.
Laughed still when he cut me loose, one rope at a time. The man straightened up, then muttered some words in Russian that I assumed were more threats.
He grabbed my arm and forced me to my feet, his fingers clamped against my flesh. I didn’t flinch—refused to even wince despite the pain.
The two men escorted me out of the room and down the hallway, their boots heavy on the floor. As we moved deeper into the building, turning several corners, I scanned the surroundings as discreetly as I could.
I counted at least three possible exits and about five guards roaming around. Armed. There were cameras at every corner, capturing every movement. The security was tight, making escape next to impossible.
I spotted a room that looked like an office with its door wide open. Inside was a man seated at a desk beside a window, reclining in his chair with a glass in his hand. He was on the phone, barking orders, his tousled black hair framing his face.
It was him. The boss.
“Move.” The angry man pushed me forward, forcing me to pick up my pace.
We continued down the hall until we reached a red metal door. The other man withdrew a bunch of keys, selected the right one, and inserted it into the keyhole.
After a few turns, the door clicked open, and I was shoved inside. Knocked off balance, I tripped and fell onto the small mattress on the floor.
The angry man gave a wicked laugh. “Home sweet home.” He slammed the door shut behind him.
“Fuckin’ idiot,” I murmured to myself, pissed at how he’d pushed me so hard.
What if I hadn’t landed on this excuse of a mattress and had hit my head on the concrete?
The room was a small box with high walls and a tiny window way beyond my reach. Even if I could get up there, no human could fit in between those bars. The window was designed to allow air in and out of the confined space.
It was dark and stuffy in here, and the foul stench of a dead animal—a mouse, perhaps—drifted into my nostrils. The only light came from the moon filtering in through the small window above.
If the heat didn’t kill before morning, then the stench would. Even the mattress was reeking: sweat, blood, and something that smelled like piss.
Fuck.
A frustrated groan escaped my lips as I slapped my hand on my forehead. I rolled to the floor and lay on my back, staring blankly into space. I’d rather take my chances on the concrete than sleep on that thing.
It was going to be a really long night.
To distract myself, I closed my eyes, replaying the encounter with my captor. I recalled every detail about him: his storm-gray eyes, tousled black hair, and the faint serpent tattoo that curled behind his ear.
His hands were gloved, his black clothes sharp but carelessly worn—saggy tie, undone buttons.
The man’s presence in the interrogation room was unsettling. His restraint and control felt deliberate despite my sass. He never bothered to prove his strength like that idiot with the knife. Yet his calm disturbed me more than I cared to admit.
He wasn’t the kind to mess with, that’s for sure. The man could’ve easily ended my life, and no one would ever find my body. But he didn’t. Why? I wasn’t sure yet.
I knew how this game worked, and there was no way I was going to scale through unscathed. He already revealed his identity, meaning he was never going to let me walk—at least not willingly.
His restraint was a sign of weakness; it was a warning to tread carefully. He was disaster personified, chaos disguised as charm. That alone made me wary of him in a way fear never could.
I spent hours thinking about him, about the mess I’d found myself in, and the different ways I could attempt an escape. First off, I had no idea where I was, and this place was swarming with guards. It was a fortress.
If I were ever to pull off a successful escape plan, I’d have to keep my head down and do my due diligence. I would have to take stock of my surroundings, catalog exits, guards, routines, and potential weaknesses.
I couldn’t do that locked up in this cubicle. The only way to achieve my goal was to look beyond these walls first. I needed to know where I was before I could begin planning my escape.
In that stinking room, I lay on the floor, slapping my skin, trying to kill the pesky mosquitoes that were biting and buzzing in my ears. Sleep seemed impossible, and my mind wouldn’t quiet.
I kept tossing and turning, overwhelmed with emotions: fear, anger, sadness, desperation, et cetera. A part of me wished I had just listened to Jake and let the case go. But giving up or abandoning people who came to me for help wasn’t in my DNA.
This was my cross. And I was willing to carry it.
After hours of wrestling with insanity, I finally fell asleep at dawn. By the time I woke, the sun was already up, its golden rays streaming in through the small window.
I wiped the remnants of sleep from my tired eyes and sat up, ready to face my new reality. The first thing I saw at a corner was a dead rat. I knew it. I knew that foul stench was caused by a fuckin’ dead rat.
My face twisted into a grimace, and that’s when I spotted the mattress: thin and saggy. The fabric was a mottled portrait of grime with urine long soaked into the fibers. Stains spread across the surface like a map, intermixed with rust-brown blotches of dried blood.
Bile burned at the back of my throat, and my brows rose in sheer irritation. Thank God I’d taken my chances with the floor. I decided right then and there that I was never going to lie on that thing. Never.
I heard the door unlock from the outside before it groaned open with a heavy thunk. Slowly, I rose to my feet and stood facing the entrance.
A huge man walked in, carrying a bowl of steaming hot soup and a cup of water. His boots pounded against the floor as he approached me with a blank expression. I was expecting the angry man and his arrogant gloats. But it wasn’t him.
I hadn’t seen this one before.
He set the food on the floor beside the mattress. “Eat,” he growled, his voice a gravelly whisper.
I had no idea what kind of soup that was—watery, dark brown, with lumps floating in it. The stainless spoon was bent at the tip, the body squeezed inward as if crushed by a tight grip. And the cup, my goodness! It was the definition of filthy.
There was no way in hell any of that was coming anywhere close to my mouth.
“I would rather starve than touch that thing,” I said to him.
His expression remained unchanged. “Hmm.”
I met his intense gaze, refusing to show signs of intimidation even though it felt like looking at Lurch himself. Massive and inhumanly still.
Without another word, he headed out and slammed the door shut behind him.