Chapter 2 - Pippa
I walk as briskly as I can toward Mr. Ramsey's home, the autumn leaves crunching beneath my feet as I mentally calculate how many more hours I need to work this month just to cover my rent. The number is daunting, especially given how much classwork I have going on, but I refuse to let it break me down. Financial struggles are nothing new to me.
As a college student and academic scholar, I've managed to maintain an impressive GPA while working multiple part-time jobs to support myself. I’m no trust fund baby, nor do I have any family waiting around to help me, but that only strengthens my resolve to succeed on my own terms. I’m someone who has always made my own way in this world, and I will continue to do so.
"Thirty more hours in the next seven days," I mutter to myself, feeling exhausted at the thought. It may be a lot, but if there's one thing I've learned in my time at college, it's that hard work pays off.
I arrive at Mr. Ramsey's home, the large front door looming before me, a testament to his wealth and status. I've cleaned countless houses like this one, each with its own quirks and eccentricities. But in the end, they all follow the same script: sweep away the dust, scrub out the stains, and make it all gleam like new again.
The owners don’t want to be bothered with their own mess.
"Here we go," I sigh, fishing the spare key out of my bag. As usual, I expect Mr. Ramsey won’t be home today. But he always pays me on time and is generous with tips. So, I choose not to cut corners.
I unlock the door and step into the cool, dimly-lit foyer. My agenda for the day kicks in as I mentally map out my cleaning route for the day.
I shrug off my coat, hang it on the rack near the door, and get down to business.
As I walk down the hallway to get to the supply closet at the end of it, I stop when I notice movement from the corner of my eye. There, standing at the doorway to the living room, is a tall, lanky, and not to mention extremely handsome stranger.
Should I be worried that there’s a stranger in Mr. Ramsey’s room? He looks right at me, and smiles. I blush, looking away, suddenly feeling shy from the attention. He stands there with such confidence, unafraid. Perhaps he’s a friend or houseguest Mr. Ramsey forgot to mention. Suddenly, I feel like I’m the one who doesn’t belong here, disturbing his peace. Maybe I should ask to come back and clean another time.
Before I can look back up and apologize for the intrusion, I see him rush toward me and feel a strong arm wrap around my arm and he commands me to come with him.
"Wait, what? Let go of me!" I shriek, trying to break free. But his grip is strong, and he pulls me toward the door.
Behind me, I hear Mr. Ramsey’s voice telling him he’s got this all wrong. Oh. So he’s been home all along. Meanwhile, this strange man keeps tugging me along.
The confusion alone almost paralyzes me. What the hell is going on? Where is he taking me, and why isn’t Mr. Ramsey doing more to save me?
We exit the doorway, and I try to kick him in his shins. "Get your hands off me!" I scream, trying to kick him in his shins and claw at him with the one arm I have free.
My eyes widen in terror as the stranger effortlessly lifts me off the ground, throwing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all. He’s going to drop me. Oh my god, I’m going to break a bone or something.
"Put me down! You’ll drop me!” I smack against his back and kick my legs in the air, thrashing in a futile attempt to free myself. He doesn't even flinch. Acts like I’m talking to a wall.
My heart races, pounding violently against my chest as panic sets in. He’s strong, and if I have to fight him, chances are I’ll be waging a losing bet. I stop fighting, afraid of falling, petrified of angering him.
"I think you’ve got the wrong person!" I continue, but it’s like he doesn’t hear me.
"Quiet," he barks, his tone menacing and final. He carries me toward a van, throwing me inside with such force that the wind is knocked out of me. The van's door slams shut, trapping me in darkness. He enters up front, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Please," I beg as soon as my breath returns, tears streaming down my face. "Why are you doing this to me? I don’t even know you. There must be some mistake."
"Enough," he growls, not even bothering to look at me. "We're done talking."
The van jerks to life, sending me sprawling across the cold metal floor. My hands scramble for purchase as we speed through the streets, my heart pounding in my chest like a jackhammer. I try to keep track of our route, but it's impossible. There are no windows at the back. The darkness enveloping me swallows any sense of direction, leaving me even more disoriented and scared.
"Where are you taking me?" I demand, my voice cracking with fear. But the stranger remains silent, his presence looming over me like a dark cloud.
"Look, I'm just a college student trying to make ends meet by cleaning houses," I plead, desperation bleeding into my voice. "Please, you have to believe me."
"Save your breath," he snaps. "You'll need it."
I bite back another plea, tears now blurring my vision. My mind races as I try to think of a way out of this nightmare, but all I can focus on is the overwhelming fear that's suffocating me. The stranger doesn't care about my explanations or my tears. He's kidnapped me for a reason, and I'm terrified to find out why.
As the van continues its journey, I can't help but think about all the things I should have done differently. Should I have put up more of a fight? Should I have screamed louder, hoping someone would hear me? But no matter how much I rack my brain, there's nothing I could have done to prevent this. I'm just an ordinary college student caught in the crossfire of god knows what.
I pray that Mr. Ramsey called the cops. Apart from Mr. Ramsey, no one else knows I’ve gone missing. Tears spring to my eyes as I realize that maybe, no one cares enough about me to notice me gone. I have no friends in this world, no family, no one who can truly say they love me.
Desperation courses through me at the thought of what might happen next. Am I going to be murdered? Something worse? Am I in the hands of a psychopath? My only chance out is Mr. Ramsey calling the cops to report what just happened. I pray that he didn’t physically try to stop this man so he could save himself to get me help.
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, each one more agonizing than the last. The van finally slows to a stop, and a sliver of light pierces the darkness as the doors are flung open. Blinking against the sudden brightness, I catch a close glimpse of my captor's face. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with grey-blue eyes piercing right through me. There's a mocking twist to his lips that tells me he’s going to be real trouble.
In another life, I’d dare call him hot.
"Get out," he orders, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. I stumble out of the van, my legs weak and shaky after being cramped for so long.
I take in my surroundings, my heart sinking as I realize I’m nowhere near the city anymore. Instead, we're standing on a gravel driveway that leads to an imposing mansion, its two-floored stone facade casting long shadows across the manicured lawn.
"Is this where you're going to kill me?" I can't help but ask, my voice trembling with genuine fear. He smirks at my question but doesn't respond, instead opting to shove me forward, forcing me toward the house.
"Keep moving," he says gruffly, clearly uninterested in any form of conversation. My mind races, trying to come up with some kind of plan, some way to escape this nightmare.
I look around and see gardens with stone statues sprouting water into small fountains.
And then, I see the men.
All along the boundary wall stand dozens of uniformed men carrying large rifles.
Their stoic expressions send a shiver down my spine, and I realize that this isn't just any kidnapping. This is something much bigger, much more dangerous.
And I have no idea how I got into this mess in the first place.
As we approach the grand entrance of the mansion, the heavy wooden doors swing open with an ominous creak. Standing inside are more armed men. The interior is just as imposing as the exterior, with high ceilings, expensive oil paintings, ornate chandeliers, and luxurious furnishings that seem out of place given the darkness of my circumstances.
My captor shoves me inside, and I stumble forward, trying to maintain my balance.
"Welcome home, Lilah," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as if taking pleasure in my confusion.
"Lilah?” I find it hard to get the name out. Like Mr. Ramsey’s daughter?
Every pair of eyes in the room turns toward us, assessing me with a mix of curiosity and indifference. I keep my eyes down, afraid of them, petrified. Their guns, though pointed at the floor, could turn against me any moment now. I’ve never seen a gun before in person. It’s disorienting and my heart hammers in my chest.
I feel something cold touch my lower back. I startle, panicking. Did he just put a gun at me? “Move, Lilah,” my kidnapper says, forcing me forward. The cold metal seeps through my being, sharp and pointy. My vision goes hazy and thoughts begin to race towards the end.
Desperately, I try to tell him I’m not who he thinks I am. This is no longer a case of an innocent mistaken identity. I’m in a house full of guns, any of which could turn on me at a moment’s notice.
“Let me go,” I shriek again, trying to turn back to look at my kidnapper, but one of his men from the side points a gun at me, motions at me to keep moving forward. “You’ve got the wrong person, I swear. My name isn’t Lilah. I’m not her. My name is Pippa. Pippa Anderson.”
He tightens his grip on my arm from behind and walks forward to stand beside me, smirking down at me. I look down and notice there’s no gun in his hand. It was his ring, cold and large, jamming into my lower back. I feel a little calmer, but not calm enough. "Your insistence is almost endearing, but your lies won't work on me,” he tells me.
He motions at some of his men, and they come at me with guns pointed straight. He releases me then and watches me with amusement, almost like he’s toying with me.
"Who are you?" I ask, unable to hide the quiver in my voice as I look between the men and him.
"Of course, you haven't had the pleasure of meeting me yet," he says, grinning wickedly before he introduces himself. "My name is Lev Zolotov, and you, my dear, have been taken as payment from your father for what he owes the Bratva."
My heart stops. The Bratva? I've heard stories about them—ruthless, dangerous, and not to be messed with. I’ve read the news of bodies showing up, murders around town with no perpetrator to catch, of the authorities hunting down members of the Bratva to no avail, given how ridiculously powerful they are. Panic churns in my stomach, intensifying my need to escape. But how can I possibly get away from these armed men?
As one of the men grabs my arm, I glance around at their faces, searching for any sign of sympathy or doubt. But all I find are hardened expressions.
"Please," I beg one last time, my voice cracking under the weight of my desperation.
"Save it for someone who cares," the man holding my arm grunts, yanking me down the hall and leading me behind Lev and the other armed men.
We reach a large, double-sided door. Lev pushes it open and turns around to push me through. "Get in," he orders, shoving me inside. "You'll stay here until you remember who you are."
I turn around, prepared to make a run for it, but Lev enters right behind me and shuts the door behind him, facing me with crossed arms. I look around, only to find that the room has barred windows.
Shit. There’s really no way out.