Chapter 7 – Wren
No camera. No laptop. No books. Nothing to keep my mind occupied other than the flat screen TV in my room. How could I waste my time watching some silly show when my life was slowly plunging into darkness?
I had no idea where I was or who my captor was. No name to the face. Nothing. Everyone at the mansion, guards and maids, seemed to all be going about their normal lives like there wasn’t a kidnapped girl held against her will in the upper room.
No one had said anything to me—not even the maids. It was like their boss had warned them not to get involved with me. Why? I wasn’t entirely sure yet, the same way I wasn’t sure why he still kept me prisoner.
He’d had his men kidnap me because he thought that I was working for someone—a rival gang, maybe. But it had been three days already. Hadn’t he still figured out that I was who I said I was, a photojournalism student?
The more I thought about it, the scarier this whole thing became. He’d told me just yesterday that I would only leave if he wanted me to, meaning that my liberty and my life were in his hands.
How the hell would I convince this monster to let me go? My family and friends must already be looking for me. They might have by now figured out that something was terribly wrong. This man had confiscated my phone, my laptop, and any means to the outside world.
I was stuck in this mansion with sleek furniture, state-of-the-art equipment, and high walls that suffocated me every single day. The more time passed, the more I came to the realization that this man may or may not have any plans of letting me go.
What would my fate be then? What would become of me? Would he keep me locked up in here forever? Would he sell me off as a sex worker? Fuck, the mere thought of that sent cold shivers down my spine.
I’d never been more afraid in my life. But I knew fear would only get me killed. The best way to scale through this alive was to act like I was brave, to hide my terror. And so far, maybe, I wasn’t such a bad actress after all, considering that I still had my head.
My jailer was the most unreadable human being I’d ever met. Everything he did or didn’t do left a question that kept me up at night.
For instance, why did he get me out of the dungeon? Did he suddenly grow a conscience? What was his deal?
One minute, I was wallowing in darkness, scared for my life. And the next, I was treated like royalty in a room that exuded luxury and style. Why the sudden change of heart?
I saw the look on his guards’ faces whenever I acted all stubborn and arrogant. They would glare at me as if wondering why their boss hadn’t put a bullet in my head yet. It was like they were warned not to touch me, and so each time I misbehaved, they’d just try their best to ignore me.
Why? Why give a prisoner so much freedom of speech? What’s my jailer up to?
The more I thought about it, the more it made no sense, especially because I knew for sure that he was the leader of a Russian Mafia. Those folks weren’t exactly known for their leniency; they were ruthless, brutal, and one of the most dangerous sets of people to get entangled with.
Yet, here I was, treated more like a guest than a prisoner. I was well-fed in a room that had everything an average human being needed to be comfortable and a closet full of fancy clothes.
What’s the game here?
He implied that I was ungrateful for the princess treatment, and maybe he was right. But then again, he wasn’t a straightforward person. And that’s the problem. I couldn’t read him, couldn’t understand his personality or why he did what he did. The man was a mystery, a puzzle too hard to solve.
A few days ago, when his men brought me to the room, I thought I knew for sure that he wanted to have his way with me. I was wrong.
I thought for sure that he was going to punish me for putting up a fight with his men. I was wrong. Again.
Just last night, after our encounter in the hallway and the sassy statements I made, I returned to my room. At almost midnight, when I realized that my door wasn’t locked from the outside, I decided to sneak out. No plans whatsoever. Stupid move.
I made it through the hallway undetected, my footsteps soundless against the floor. The mansion was unusually quiet, and for some reason, I thought I could make out. Again, stupid.
Anyway, as expected, I didn’t make it down the stairs before getting caught by the two guards assigned to me.
While they escorted me back to my room, our eyes met; he was seated in the living room, gazing up at me. I realized then that if the guards hadn’t stopped me when they did, I would’ve still run into him downstairs. Either way, I was never going to make it past the living room.
He didn’t say anything, and even this morning, when I went downstairs to have breakfast, he still didn’t mention the incident from last night. But why? Why didn’t he speak about it? I expected some form of confrontation and threats from him.
But once again, I was wrong.
Now, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to. His silence and calmness were both fascinating and quite disturbing at the same time. The man was unpredictable, unreadable, and that only confirmed just how dangerous he was.
I should stop provoking him since he was just as unstable as he was unreadable. But I couldn’t sit back and watch my life go down the drain over something that wasn’t entirely my fault.
Yes, that’s the spirit. You should confront him and demand your freedom, said the voice of courage.
Confront him? I think that’s a really bad word choice. And an even worse plan, the voice of fear chipped in.
Don’t be such a wuss.
I’m just looking out for us so we don’t end up dead. Or worse, as dog food.
If he wanted us dead, we’d be dead already. He’s fascinated by Wren’s bravery. Can’t you see that?
Bravery? the voice of fear snickered. There’s a fine line between that and stupidity.
I drew a deep, long breath and shut my eyes, allowing the voices to fade to the back of my mind. The last thing I’d do was give in to fear. No. I would rather listen to the voice that encouraged me to stand up for myself even in difficult times.
The truth was, I was afraid, afraid for my life every single day. But I couldn’t afford to let that fear dictate my actions. I shouldn’t be here, and the sooner he realized that, the better.
I glanced over at the wall clock. It was almost eight in the evening. He should be having dinner by now based on my observations. Without thinking twice, I rolled out of bed and walked out of the room. The hallway seemed to go on forever as I hurried down it.
That small voice was screaming at the back of my mind not to make this reckless move of confronting my jailer. But I didn’t listen. My mind was made, and I had a bunch of things to say to him.
I rushed down the staircase, which was curved like a serpent against the wall, my footsteps pounding against the red carpet. As I neared the dining room, the delicious aroma of red wine sauce, seared steak, and truffle wafted through the air, teasing my senses.
I hadn’t had dinner yet—had refused to eat—and now, after smelling this rich scent of fine food, my stomach growled. However, that wasn’t why I was here.
The long oak table stretched almost the length of the dining room, and he sat at the end of it, dressed in a black suit. His dark hair gleamed in the chandelier’s soft light as he ate in silence, the occasional sound of silverware punctuating the air.
His fork and knife carved into the steak, his movements slow and measured. Next to him stood the tall man from yesterday, with cold grey eyes and a build like Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator.
His eyes narrowed at me, his expression blank and nearly as unreadable as his boss’s. He leaned in, whispering something in my jailer’s ear, probably informing him of my arrival.
The boss lifted his eyes first, then his head followed as he chewed lazily.
“We need to talk,” I said, my voice bold and audacious, arms across my chest.
He arched his brows but said nothing; instead, he took another bite of his steak.
“Did you hear me?”
“You should know your place, shutterbug,” the big guy said, his voice low and deep.
“I just want an audience,” I said, shifting my gaze to him, my tone dropping to something a little more disrespectful. “And you’re not the one I’m talking to.”
His face twisted into a scowl, brows furrowing with deep creases lining his forehead. “Are you so eager to die that you’re looking for someone to end your life?” His voice was calm but filled with venom and disdain.
A cold prickle crawled over my skin, a warning not to push too hard or I just might run out of luck. I locked my jaw and swallowed hard. “Like I said…I wasn’t talking to you.”
His frown darkened. “That’s it, you’re done.”
He was about to take a step toward me when the boss finally spoke, saying, “Leave her be, Luka.” His voice was casual and calm as always. “If the little shutterbug wants to speak, let her speak.” He lowered his head, facing his plate as he ate.
Luka. That’s the big guy’s name. Okay.
Luka’s glare intensified, his brows knitting tighter. If he had his way right now, he’d put a bullet in my head, that’s for sure.
“I want my freedom,” I blurted out. “Holding me prisoner is inhumane and is punishable by law.”
At this point, a small chuckle fell from Luka’s lips, as if my words were ridiculous. Maybe he was right.
My jailer raised his head and met my gaze for a while. His expression was still blank, his eyes cold as ice. He waved his hand casually, and in an instant, Luka dematerialized, his footsteps retreating as he left the room.
This is the part where you filter your next words carefully, the voice of fear whispered in my head.
“You want your freedom?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Yes,” I said, looking right at him. “I have a life outside of these walls, you know—a life that you stole from me, and I am yet to understand why.”
“You know why.”
“No, I do not. I don’t know why!” I snapped, gesturing with my hands as the next words fell off my lips in a rush. “You said I was here because of the photos I posted on my blog, because you thought that I was some private contractor hired to spy on you!”
“And you’re not?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I am not a spy!” I slammed both my palms on the table, pissed by his words and how annoyingly calm he was. “You’ve done your homework on me. You know I’m telling the truth. Why won’t you let me go?!” My voice rose with each sentence, blood boiling with rage.
He looked me dead in the eyes and said, his voice steady and measured, “Because I choose not to.”
I threw my hands in my hair, frustrated by his response. “You…are the devil incarnate!”
He cocked his head to the side as he reached for his glass of red wine. “I’ve been called worse,” he said, taking a sip.
“You think you’re powerful. You think you’re in control. Well, newsflash, you’re not!” I threw my hands up, voice slicing through the air. “You’re just a bitter old man hiding behind muscles and threats because that’s all you’ve got. Strip those away, and you’re nothing!”
Um…Wren, I think you’re starting to overstep. You need to calm the fuck down.
I wasn’t sure which of the two voices in my head had said that, but I was too pissed to listen.
The man just sat there, quiet, composed, and completely unaffected by my ranting. He looked at me like a man who was in control of the situation. And indeed, he was.
I leaned forward, chest heaving with jagged breaths, eyes blazing with fury. “You carry yourself like some king—a god to be worshipped. But you don’t fool me; all I see is a man desperate to feel in charge, and so he suffocates everyone else just to prove a point.”
He still didn’t respond.
You really should keep your mouth shut now.
I clenched my jaw, rage twisting my stomach.
He dabbed his lips with a napkin and then slowly rose to his feet.
Oh, fuck. We’re cooked.
He dipped a hand in his pocket and strolled toward me with that signature unreadable expression of his. His measured footsteps sent fear coiling in my chest, my pulse racing. But I wouldn’t let him see the effect his aura was having on me.
He stopped in front of me, eyes sizing me up. “You don’t know where to draw the line, do you?”
I swallowed hard, meeting his intense gaze. “Well, if you do the right thing and let me go, I’ll draw the line and be out of your hair.” My voice was much calmer this time.
His lips curled into a faint smirk. “You’re playing a really dangerous game here, shutterbug.”
“My name is Wren,” I corrected him, eyes boring into his.
He wore the sneer of a serpent but didn’t respond.
“The whole house might be afraid of you,” I said, voice laced with disdain. “But I am not.”
“You should be,” he replied, gentle and composed.
My heart sank into my stomach, breath caught in my throat. I clenched my jaw and leaned in, staring directly into the steel-gray eyes. “You’re not invincible.”
He stared back without a word, although his brows narrowed and his expression darkened. I held his gaze, ignoring the voices screaming in my head, telling me to get the hell out of his presence. For once, the voice of courage and that of fear agreed on one thing: that I leave immediately.
The air was thick with tension, and although my jailer’s scowl had deepened, something was flickering beneath the surface. I wasn’t sure what it was. But I was sure of what it wasn’t. Fury. It wasn’t fury. It was something much lighter. Intrigue, curiosity, maybe?
Girl, get the fuck outta here before things sprawl out of control and you lose your life.
I turned around and left, secretly glancing over my shoulder to be sure he wouldn’t launch an attack from behind. However, the truth was, as ruthless as he was, a move like that over a defenseless woman was beneath him.
I hurried up the staircase, rushed through the empty hallway, and returned to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.
I let out a deep sigh of relief, my back pressed against the door as I struggled to catch my breath.
My heart was pounding like a drum, and my pulse was racing with my hand over my chest that was heaving.
That was close.
I slid all the way down to the floor, my hands flying into my hair.
That went well, I thought to myself, struggling to steady my heartbeat.
That was reckless, said the voice of fear. We could’ve gotten killed.
But the good thing was, things didn’t escalate, and I got out unscathed after giving him a piece of my mind.
Mission accomplished.
If you keep this up, we might not survive the next few days.
I heaved a sigh, closed my eyes, and drowned out that voice of fear.