Chapter 8
“J esus Christ,” Ghost bellowed.
He stormed back to the cabin and yanked off his jacket. Dragging his hand through his hair, he muttered another curse.
Seeing her out of it, barely conscious and with tear-soaked cheeks, had fucking paralyzed him. Her state had been his doing.
Mila.
Her eyes had gone soft and doe-like when he said the name. But surely it was also fake. She was a master manipulator. He’d offered an olive branch and she’d spat on it. She wouldn’t work with him. Wouldn’t even attempt to prove her story.
He yanked his phone from his pocket and dialed Zain. He couldn’t deal with Taschen’s and Brick’s ribbing right now, and Rami would probably press him for shit he wasn’t ready to talk about—like why the hell he was letting this conniving vixen beneath his skin.
Zain answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hey. I need a favor.”
“Nope,” Zain ground out. It sounded as if he were in a bar or restaurant. “I’m not doing your dirty work.”
“I’ve got it handled.” Okay, that was a blatant lie, but Zain didn’t need to know how royally he’d screwed shit up.
“Then what? ’Cause Dana and I are out for dinner.
” Zain and Dana, Taschen’s sister, had recently become engaged.
While that was a little fucking weird considering Dana also worked for Backcountry, the two of them had been inseparable since Dana brought him—and a lot more drama—home from Afghanistan.
But Dana was sweet as hell, and as much as he hated to admit it, Zain deserved some happiness.
Even if Ghost wanted to deck him several times a week.
Ghost rocked his jaw. “Never mind. I’ll call Rami.”
“Nah, it’s fine. Just make it quick. What do you need?”
Sighing, he paced the kitchen. “The woman mentioned a vehicle near my place. She said a block, but could be more. I need you to find it.”
He chuckled. “Okay. Got any more information on that vehicle? There’s probably a hundred in that vicinity.”
“Her alias is Anna Yorke. I’m sure it wouldn’t take long to find any vehicles registered under her name. Find the car, get her personal items out of it, and search for any other signs of who she is.”
“You still don’t know her real name?” Zain asked incredulously.
“If you want a go at it, come on over.”
Zain guffawed. “No, thanks. I’ll let you have all the fun. All right. We’ll look for the car when dinner’s done. Check in with you later.”
“’Kay.” He disconnected and dropped his phone to the table.
What the hell was he going to do now? It was too early to go to bed, and he’d already told Anna or Mila or whatever her name was that he’d see her tomorrow. He couldn’t go back without looking like the goddamn marshmallow he was turning into.
Earlier, he’d gone out for groceries. All he could do was eat and try not to think about her... while also monitoring her so she didn’t attempt another escape. Now that he’d stupidly given her hydration and something for pain, she’d have more stamina.
The wind howled. He glanced outside to see big snowflakes falling from the sky. He pulled up the weather app. Great. Snow was expected throughout the evening, and then the temperature would drop. As if it weren’t cold enough.
Guilt fissured through him.
No, he had to follow through. A little chill and a hungry stomach could go a long way. He’d rather that than picking off her fingernails or other twisted shit to get her to talk. And if he could buy some time, then maybe Rami’s or Zain’s search would come through.
Once he knew more about her, he’d have leverage.
He grabbed a frying pan and took out a pack of steaks from the freezer. He threw a baked potato in the oven before cooking the meat.
Normally he’d save the second steak for another time, but god help him, he cooked it too. As if he planned to feed another mouth.
Fuck.
***
Nineteen Years Earlier
Mila sat at the same table. The one she’d sat at one year ago. The day she’d been taken. She hadn’t slept the previous night. All she could think about was that poor old couple Boris had shot.
Guilt sat in her stomach like a rock.
It’d been almost an hour since Boris burst into her room and dragged her from the bed to shackle her to the chair.
Alexei hadn’t returned. If Irinia came here without him, there was no telling what she’d do.
Mila glanced down at her body. She’d changed so much in the last year. Dance had kept her thin and limber, but the intense daily training she did now had given her more muscle—and bruises—than she’d ever had.
She stared at her hands. Once small and soft, they were now rough and calloused. She turned them over to look at the palms that could bench-press more than her seventy pounds. Then she looked at her strong legs that, if free, could carry her from this place.
The door squeaked open. Mila swallowed as she watched Irinia waltz into the room. Her hair was pulled back into her signature bun, her face was tight, and her eyes were small with distaste. Mila’s gaze flitted frantically over the woman’s shoulder.
“Alexei isn’t coming to rescue you.”
Mila shrunk in her sheet. “I’m sorry, Madame.”
Irinia flung out a chair across from Mila and sat. “You want to run, hmm? Back to your family?”
Tears misted Mila’s eyes and she sniffed. She might as well be honest now. She was already going to be punished. “Yes.”
The older woman’s expression didn’t crack. Not a hint of compassion shone on her wrinkled face. “That can never happen.”
Mila slapped the table. “Why?” she screamed. She didn’t care anymore what they did to her, how this hateful woman might try to break her. She’d rather die than never see her family again.
Rather than lash out, Irinia lifted an eyebrow with interest.
“What are you keeping me here for?” Mila continued, her tone far past insolent. She gestured as far as the chains would allow. “In a barn. Training me like a soldier. For what? Do you realize how stupid this is?”
Irinia’s mouth twitched with humor. “My dear. You will understand your purpose soon. For now, you’re not ready.”
Mila pursed her lips. “I hate you,” she breathed.
Irinia nodded. “Hate is good. It makes you work.”
“No.” Mila’s laugh was brittle. “Hope made me work. Now? I have nothing.” She sat back in her chair, exhilarated. “What if I refuse? You can beat me all you want. I still have to choose to get up afterwards.”
“This is true,” Irinia conceded.
Distrust wormed through Mila’s insides.
Irinia continued. “You killed two people last night.”
Mila’s mouth popped open. “What? No. Boris did!”
She nodded. “He did what had to be done. Because of your actions. Think about that, Mila. Every time you try to escape, anyone who stops to help you, they will have to die. And maybe their families, too.”
Mila shook her head frantically. “You can’t do this.”
Irinia leaned forward. “If you attempt to escape again, we won’t hurt you. But we will kill Igor.”
At the mention of her brother’s name, raw, intense fury blossomed in her chest.
“Sad,” Irinia continued, her tone uncharacteristically soft. “Your parents already lost one child. Imagine losing two?” She tsked, shaking her head.
Mila’s tears fell then.
“Hope is not your drive, Mila. Hate must be.” She stood.
Mila covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook violently. Any hope she’d clung to had just been ripped away.
***
Mila shuddered beneath the blanket. The wind screamed through the open door and was intensified by the fans.
For a brief moment of insanity, she’d let down her guard. Worse, she’d told the asshole her real name.
God. Alexei was probably turning in his grave.
She fought the rush of self-criticism. It wouldn’t be helpful right now. Plus, she wasn’t the only one who’d made a mistake. Her captor had given her water and an anti-inflammatory. She still had a dull headache, but the incessant pounding was gone.
Her other aches and pains were still present, but she could deal with sore muscles. She’d lived through much worse. She let her gaze roam around the room. Earlier, she’d spotted a camera facing her. The tiny red light had told her it was recording.
But he had to sleep at some point.
She had one element working against her—the cold. At least she didn’t have frostbite. The blanket had probably helped with that.
She curled into a ball beneath the quilt and wiggled her feet to encourage blood flow.
That conversation with Irinia tried to crash back into her mind.
She didn’t want to think about the heinous woman who’d stolen her from her family.
Who’d used her. Turned her into something she’d never wanted to be.
Shame squeezed her heart. It’d been years since she lived beneath Irinia’s thumb. When Mila turned sixteen, Irinia had shown her a news article revealing that Mila’s whole family had died in a car crash.
She’d carried that horrific moment ever since.
Numb. Sick. Alone.
That was her fate whether she liked it or not.
She’d never sought out their graves. What kind of daughter was she? She just couldn’t bring herself to see their names etched in stone. A part of her life forever nailed shut.
At least now maybe her mother had closure. Mila held on to faith that when they’d passed, God had shown them where she was. That’s what kept her heart beating.
Dying wouldn’t be so bad. She didn’t even have Alexei anymore. Losing him had been unexpectedly painful. She’d cried many tears for the man who’d been the closest thing to a father she’d had since she was nine.
Even if that man’s role in Russia’s intelligence service was what’d led her to this very fate.
A child spy.
Surely only someone evil would place a child in that position.
Alexei was hard on her. But in his own way, he’d shown her love. He’d given her the strength to continue, to find the part of herself she wanted to live for.
Mila drifted in and out of sleep. Hours later she woke to frigid cold. The ibuprofen had worn off bringing back the headache, although less intense. It’d been over twenty-four hours since she ate. If it weren’t for the water he’d given her, she probably wouldn’t have woken at all.
Come on, Malyshka, dig deep.
Pushing herself up, she looked at the camera. He could be watching her, though she assumed it was the middle of the night.
Still wrapped in the quilt, she shuffled closer to the wall and made use of the bucket.
Then she moved to where the shackle was hooked to the pipe.
Grabbing the thick copper, she shook hard.
The metal rattled, but she couldn’t spot any loose point other than a pipe fitting.
Scanning the floor, she searched for a tool.
She needed a wrench.
As if she could see whether he was watching or not, she glanced at the camera again then crawled across the floor to the tool bench. The chain tugged on her ankle, keeping her from reaching it, but she could see several tools hanging on one of its sides.
Including a wrench.
Shit. So close yet so far away.
She wet her lips and searched the floor again. The chair was too far, but the blanket might be of use. She coiled part of it into a tight strip then snapped it toward the tool bench.
The tools clattered.
Triumph exploded in her chest. She could do this. She repeated the action, this time whacking the tools harder. A hammer fell, then the wrench. Two more snaps and the wrench fell off the far side of the table, hitting the cement.
She grabbed it and crawled back to the wall. Anxiety squeezed her neck as she wedged the wrench over the pipe fitting and turned it. Cold air swept over her exposed skin. Her teeth chattered.
The ring loosened and she yanked on the pipe, separating the two joined pieces. She let out a giddy laugh. Yes! She slid the chain to the gap. The metal clanked loudly enough to make her wince. Did the camera have audio?
Surely he would’ve heard her by now if that was the case.
She stood on shaky legs, the chain in her hand, and bundled the quilt around her shoulders. Her ankle was still shackled but she’d worry about that later. Her bare feet padded against the smooth, cold concrete. Reaching the open door, she held her breath as she peeked toward the cabin.
No lights were on.
Satisfaction straightened her shoulders. Holy shit, she’d done it. She scanned the rolling mounds of snow. The night was still, the stars and moon hidden behind clouds. If she took the same route as before, she’d have to climb those hills and possibly end up nowhere.
Her best bet was to head down the driveway and hope to find someone on the road before her captor woke. Summoning her courage, she ran from the shop.
Her heart pumped erratically. Her muscles were jiggly and weak. And cold. So damn cold.
The wind picked up, sending her hair blowing over her face. Her skin rippled. A glance over her shoulder showed a long, scraggly path through the snow.
Fear cinched her throat. If it didn’t snow more, he’d find those footprints. But with any luck, she’d be long gone by then.
The driveway swerved and sloped. Her feet pulsed and tingled. If she lost toes because of this asshole she’d take a baseball bat to his feet. No, scratch that because Lord help her, she was never running into this guy again.
She’d been jogging for over five minutes when the driveway met a road. Trees flanked the snow-covered surface that hadn’t been touched with a plow. Her lashes stuck together. If she didn’t get warm soon, she’d freeze to death.
Her body started shaking so badly she feared she’d collapse.
She’d survived harsh elements before. When she was sixteen, she’d been left for days in the Siberian Mountains as a test of her survival skills.
But all she had now was the blanket. Not even clothing or shoes.
Her chest tightened with worry. She couldn’t fall into the rabbit hole of anxiety.
Keep moving. Find shelter.
The road weaved down the mountain. That was the long way, though. She’d get to the bottom more quickly by going through the vegetation.
But it’d be more difficult.
Moments later, she decided to stay off the beaten path.
If she’d made the wrong choice, she wouldn’t survive the night.