Chapter 5 – Wren
I sat in the dark, hands still zip-tied behind my back after the tall, intimidating man had interrogated me and left. His aura was negative, his eyes cold and lifeless, his voice husky but evil. I couldn’t explain how, but there was something about him that spooked the hell out of me.
He gave off the vibe that said he wasn’t one of those guys to be messed with. Men like him meant business, and their commanding presence alone was enough to make the faint-hearted shit their pants.
It honestly took every ounce of strength and courage in me to stand his gaze. Being around him had instilled the fear of God in me, and my heart wouldn’t stop racing like a galloping horse.
I thought for sure that he was going to kill me, but then he mentioned the photos, and I knew instantly that this was just a big misunderstanding.
However, the problem was how to convince him that I wasn’t the spy he thought I was.
He must have done his homework on me, considering the fact that he called me by name, my full name.
He must have known that I was a photojournalism student with a clean record.
But for some reason, he was still skeptical about letting me go.
Why?
I didn’t even get a good look at his face, so I don’t have any useful information I could give to the cops if he let me go. I had no idea where I was or how I got there—there’s no way I could lead anyone back to this place.
Wait a minute; who’s this guy anyway, and why was he so bothered about his photo being on the internet?
Oh, my God, did I expose something sinister with my shots? Was he some kind of drug dealer or a human trafficker? Shit, that would explain the whole negative aura thing and why he was so bossy.
Now, I was panicking, really panicking, and afraid for my life.
How the hell did I get involved with drug dealers slash human traffickers?
This is bad. This is really bad.
I felt my tear glands charging up, each sting worse than the last. But I wouldn’t shed any tears, I wouldn’t cry; it was useless because tears wouldn’t save me. Men like this weren’t moved by sympathy or emotion. They didn’t have a heart, and even if they did, it was probably made out of stone.
Crying would only make me look stupid and weak. From what I knew about his kind, they had an inherent disgust for weakness. The last thing I wanted was to trigger my jailer.
You’re a girl. Your tears might cut you some slack, said a small voice in my head.
Maybe. Maybe not, another replied. But one thing is certain: We can’t take that risk.
It’s our only shot—the only move we have left.
No, it’s not, the courageous voice said, confident and strong. Did you read his energy when he realized Wren wasn’t afraid of him? He was impressed. That means, as much as he loathes the weak, he also admires strength. That’s our only shot.
It hit me immediately that the voice was right; men like him were predators, and they fed on fear. If I could pretend to be unafraid, maybe—just maybe—I might be able to scale through this unscathed.
Really, that’s the plan? Pretend to not be scared for our life? the fearful voice asked. What if your courage pisses him off, and he decides to move up our execution timetable? What then?
I guess there’s only one way to find out.
For the record, this is a bad idea.
Maybe I was starting to lose my mind. It had only been twenty-four hours, and I was already talking to the voices in my head as if they were real people. I guess that’s one of the side effects of being trapped in complete darkness with no sound besides my heartbeat.
The front door creaked open, and I lifted my head, wondering what the man was up to this time. Did he forget something, some nerve-shattering threat maybe?
I winced and bowed my head the moment a blinding light filled the room. It was so bright it hurt my eyes, especially because I wasn’t expecting it. I felt like a vampire reacting to sunlight—that’s how intense the light was.
I thought I was blind for a moment, and the brightness was so harsh I couldn’t dare open my eyes. What the hell?
Footsteps. About two different sets came barging in, the scent of cheap cologne invading my senses. The sound of boots stomping on the floor echoed in my head, accompanied by two thick, raucous voices. They seemed to be talking to each other, not me.
Russian. That’s the language they were speaking in—I’d recognize that accent any day, any time.
One of them laughed at something the other had said as they approached me. At this point, my heart was pounding loudly in my chest, and my head was still bowed in an attempt to avoid the lights.
“Hey, get up!” one of them said to me, his voice harsh and menacing, the Russian accent evident in his tone.
Before I could even move, I felt a strong hand lift me off the floor with a single swing, gripping my arm tightly.
“Now, move,” the voice ordered, pushing me forward.
I stumbled but didn’t fall. “Where are you taking me?”
“Shut the fuck up,” said the other voice.
My brow furrowed, and my face contorted into a frown. “Rude,” I murmured softly.
They led me out of the room, and the moment the door slammed shut behind me, I dared open my eyes. At first, my vision was blurry, but after a few seconds, my eyes adapted to the dim light that flickered in the hallway.
I looked around. Two hefty men flanked me, both dressed in black outfits that highlighted their muscular build. One had his hand on my shoulder, heavy enough to slow me down.
The hallway resembled an underground tunnel with blood-stained walls and flickering dim lights. Empty cages lined both sides of the corridor, each containing chains and shackles.
What the hell was this place, a dungeon?
My spirit nearly leapt out of my body when an animal suddenly barked, lunging at the bars of its cage.
I flinched, letting out a loud yelp as I jumped back from the attack.
Instinctively, I turned toward the cage on my left, my eyebrows raising at the sight of three massive hounds snarling and baring their teeth.
Two had their demonic eyes cast on me, like predators observing their prey.
Behind them was the third hound, black as the night with a pair of scary red eyes.
At first glance, I thought it was fuckin’ wolf—an alpha.
It lurked in the shadows, crouched before a plate of raw meat, blood smeared over its mouth.
“Cooperate, and the boss might consider not making you their next meal,” one of the men said, while the other laughed, that cold, eerie kind that sent shivers down your spine.
I swallowed hard, heart hammering in my chest.
Soon after, we reached the elevator and they forced me inside. As we went up, I lowered my head, wondering what awaited me on the upper floor.
Whoever my jailer was, he was obviously more dangerous than I thought. The man had a fuckin’ dungeon where he kept his prisoners. Not to mention the three huge hounds he fed with his victim’s flesh.
What the hell did I get myself into?
Still think pissing him off with your pesky display of bravery is a good idea? that voice of fear whispered in my head. We could end up as dog food.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing another hallway that extended before us. The sleek walls were decorated with paintings and portraits, and the marble floor was polished to a shine, enough to reflect our images.
Above, a chandelier that likely cost more than my entire annual income hung from the ceiling, its warm glow lighting up the space. Judging by the elegance of the hallway, it was obvious this was a mansion.
The two men led me to a room, and while one of them towered over me like a prison guard, the other opened the door. Inside was a stunning view that made my eyebrows rise subtly.
One of them unsheathed a blade, and my eyes widened in fear. I was already flinching back when, instead of striking, he slipped behind me and cut the zip ties that held me bound.
I winced, rubbing life into my wrists in an attempt to soothe the pain, my eyes shifting from their mean faces to the room’s sleek interior.
There was a massive bed with cream sheets and pillows that screamed luxury. A golden chandelier cast a warm glow over the room, adding to the ambience of the space. Sleek, modern furniture was placed at strategic locations with an 80-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
The fireplace crackled with flames that warmed the room as the aroma of lavender and fresh flowers drifted through the air. An animated show played on the TV, but the silly sounds barely affected the tense atmosphere.
While I was busy looking around, drinking in the view and wondering why I’d been brought here, a woman walked inside.
She was dressed in a maid’s uniform—a distinctive black and white outfit.
Her shoes were almost silent against the floor as she glided over to the bedside table, holding a tray in her hands.
Was this the boss’s room, my jailer? Why did they bring me here? What was I doing in his room?
Wait a minute.
My heart sank to my stomach, pulse racing as crazy thoughts flooded my mind all at once.
Did they bring me here so he’d…? Hell no! I’d rather die than let that son of a bitch have his way with me.
My eyes darted toward the tray the maid had just set on the table. I waited until she stepped outside, and that’s when I sprang into motion. Before the men could catch up, I picked up the whole tray and hurled it at them. The hot soup spilled onto their clothes as the plates shattered on the floor.
Their faces reddened. “That’s it, you’re done,” one of them growled.
By now, I was already almost at the front door with no exit plan or any idea where the hell I was going. It was stupid and impulsive.
I yelled, arms and legs flailing in the air, when two strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind.
“Get over here!”
I felt his grip tighten.
“Stop resisting,” he strained, lifting me off the ground.
I slammed the back of my head into his face, and I could swear I heard his nose crack.
“Argh—bitch!” He dropped me and staggered backward. “Fuck, she broke my nose.”
Yep. It did crack.
I turned around, and there he was, glaring at me with a hand over his bleeding nose. His eyes were blazing with fury, and his fingers curled into a fist at his side. For some reason, I froze, rooted to the ground.
The other guy wiped the soup on his face and cast a stern glare at me, the kind that said, You’re dead now.
Great, you’ve successfully pissed them off, said that voice of fear. I hope the hounds are hungry ’cause dinner is surely you tonight.
At this point, I was confused; I didn’t know whether to apologize or just stare back at them.
I watched the expression on their faces shift from anger to reverence within a split second. I couldn’t understand why until I smelled that familiar scent—the expensive cologne.
Shit. Things just moved from bad to worse.
“Leave us,” he said from behind me, his thick voice sending a chill threading through my veins.
They left instantly without a moment of hesitation, although their angry eyes told me this was far from over. I stepped away from the door and didn’t stop until I reached the window. A glance downward made my head spin—this room was far too high up. Jumping would be suicide.
I turned around, locking eyes with him as he moved closer. Now, I got a good look at him: jet-black hair, cut short and slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his hand through it all day.
His steel-gray eyes, cold and calculating, pierced mine in a way that made my breath catch in my throat. His face was sharp and sculpted, with a shadow of stubble, and a lean, coiled frame that could intimidate anyone.
He wore the most unreadable expression I’d ever seen. Cold. Too cold. He looked like a man who’d taken more lives than I dared imagine, and that only accentuated my fear.
His footsteps were deliberately slow, as if he was savoring the fear oozing from me. I gripped the edge of the nearest table, my jaw tightening as he approached me.
Everything about this man screamed “danger.” And now all I could do was wonder what he’d do to me. But as scary as he was, I wasn’t going to let him take me without a fight. I’d rather jump out the window and fall splat than let this perv touch a hair on me.
He stopped in front of me, looked back at the shattered plates and the soup spilled on the floor. “That was supposed to be your dinner,” he said, calm and collected.
I swallowed hard and replied through gritted teeth, “I’m not hungry.”
He was silent, but those cold eyes never left my face. “I take you out of the dungeon, put you in a room fit for royalty, and you repay me with what…? Violence?”
I paused for a moment, then answered as savagely as I could, “What were you expecting, a ‘thank you’?” The arrogance and sarcasm in my tone couldn’t be more glaring.
Girl, shut your mouth, that voice of fear whispered in my head. You’re gonna get us killed.
His eyes narrowed by a fraction, and he stepped closer.
Oh, shit. Way to go, Wren. That wasn’t a dumb move at all.
“What arrogance,” he said, his gaze unwavering.
“Arrogance?” My face contorted into a frown. “You’re the one who had your men bring me into your room so you could….” I paused mid-sentence, eyes darting toward the bed.
He squinted, confusion flickering in his eyes as his head tilted slightly to the side. He looked back at the mattress, brows raising in what I could only interpret as surprise. A scoff escaped his lips, but he said nothing.
For a moment, the silence between us stretched, and that’s when I began thinking, what if I misunderstood the situation? Judging by his reaction to my subtle accusation, it was clear that my assumption was never his intention.
Hold on, was this even his room?
He held my gaze and said, “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I’m not done assessing you. But do not test my patience.”
That warning struck me like a dagger to the chest.
“You’ll be fed again in the morning,” he added, his eyes roaming over my body. “Take a shower. You need it.”
My expression darkened, a mix of anger and embarrassment coursing through my blood.
How dare he say that to me when he was the reason I was covered in dirt?
His lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, and with that, he walked away, closing the door behind him.
“Fuck you!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the walls.
I stood there, breathing heavily and with an angry expression. With my back against the wall, I slid all the way down, feeling confused, frustrated, and afraid.
Fuck, I’m in trouble now. Big trouble.