8. The Dilemma
Chapter 8
The Dilemma
“Doctor’s room” is etched into my brain, a chilling reminder of the shitstorm I’ve stumbled into. I follow Nikolai out of the room, and Nadia and Cavill trail behind. They’re like shadows, moving confidently, making me want to puke.
Nikolai's eyes are always on me, like constant pressure. I hold my head high, trying to act cool, masking the fear bubbling in my gut.
He leans in, “Do you think you can do—task? Or do you need more instruction ?”
“I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it—quickly,” I say, my voice steady, a carefully constructed lie. My heart is pounding, but I won’t let him see I’m scared. “I’m a fast learner.”
I know what’s coming, but there’s no way I’m doing this willingly. I need to survive, and I need to get out.
Before I can even process what’s happening, one of Nikolai’s guys, a monster of a man with a face carved out of granite, approaches. He whispers something urgent into Nikolai’s ear, his words a torrent of Russian that chills me to the bone.
The large guy calls Nikolai Wolfie. That’s all I get from the conversation, but it’s enough to make me step back.
Nikolai’s brow furrows, his jaw clenches, a vein throbbing in his neck. He throws out a string of curses, Russian words that sound like a symphony of anger. I don’t understand a word, but I can feel the shift in the air. It’s like a dam breaking, the tension tightening.
“Stay with her,” Nikolai says, his gaze flicking between me and the man. “I handle this.”
He reaches out, his fingers brushing my hand as he kisses it, a gesture that feels more like a claim than a courtesy. His eyes hold me captive, their dark depths unsettling. But I don’t flinch. As he leaves, I shudder, pulling back slightly from his touch, but I force my face to remain impassive.
He’s unnerving.
“Don’t worry,” the man says, his voice a low growl that makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. “You won’t be bored for long.” He gives me a slow, calculating look.
With a final, possessive glance, Nikolai disappears down the corridor, leaving me alone with this–thing. My hands are clammy, and my voice is raspy. I have to make up a lie.
“So, I’ll be going,” I say, my voice steady. My hand trembles ever so slightly against the smooth fabric of my dress.
“ Niet, ” the guard says, his gaze unwavering. He’s not letting me go.
Find an excuse, Ava, now.
“I must,” I say, “Nadia told me to come. She needs to teach me things.” I don’t let my voice falter, but I can feel his gaze studying me, and my mind races, trying to anticipate his next move.
His head tilts, his eyes widening. “Teach you—?” He murmurs the words as if contemplating a curious puzzle. He gives me a long, appraising look.
I force myself to meet his eyes, trying to project a confidence I don’t feel. “Teach me, woman-to-woman,” I say, my voice firming, “Nikolai says I need to learn how to please.”
“Oh—” He looks at me suspiciously but then nods, “Nadia, good at this, da . You go to her, you understand?”
"Da," I confirm, turning towards the direction Nadia had vanished. My back prickles with awareness of his gaze, a laser beam trained on my form.
Please don’t follow me. Please don’t follow me ; I repeat it like a mantra.
I round a corner, letting out a shaky breath. The hallway is narrow, dimly lit, and smells like mulled wine. A few dimmed lightbulbs cast distorted shadows.
How the hell am I going to escape this place?
A shadow flickers at the end of the hallway. I duck behind a set of heavy velvet curtains separating the hallway from a room, my heart hammering. It’s like a scene from a bad movie, and I’m smack-dab in the middle of it. The room beyond the curtains is small. A single, unadorned bed sits in the middle of the room; its black silk matches the shadows of this place.
I duck behind it, my body tense, my muscles coiled. A flight of stairs leads up to a small alcove. Maybe there’s a better cover, up there? I charge up the stairs, my breath ragged, my hands trembling. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I hear voices, a hushed murmur, but I can’t make out the words. My body freezes, every sense alert. I try to focus on Zara’s moves, the uppercut, the solar plexus, the groin punch— but it’s all a blur.
The voices get louder. My breath catches in my throat.
Then, it hits me. The walls are thin, thinner than those in the “Doctor’s room.” Maybe it’s intentional, so the sounds of pleasure seep through, creating a constant hum of submission and dominance. The voices are coming from the room next door.
I run my hand along the wall, feeling for a crack, a way to peek through to make sure I’m right. My fingers brush against a rough edge, revealing a crack; I peer through.
The first thing I see is Nikolai. His presence is undeniable. He’s standing there, his dark gaze fixed on the scene before him. He looks like a wind is whipping up beneath his supposed calm exterior. Several men surround him, their faces a canvas of indifference.
What the hell is going on?
I hold my breath, trying to make sense of everything, ensuring I stay hidden.
There’s someone standing in front of Nikolai, but his face is hidden behind a hulking, bald man. A voice down there, though muffled, makes me shiver. It’s familiar, a voice that echoes in the darkest corners of my memory.
The bald man steps aside, and my view is clear.
It’s Monroe, Harvey’s ex-partner. The same Monroe that tried to kill Alexander and me at St. Judes’s hospital. His face is battered and bloody. The men around him stand like silent sentinels.
“Why you try to trick me, durak ?” Nikolai says, his chest expanding with a wolf’s breath. He’s inches from Monroe’s face, his eyes gleaming.
“I swear, I wasn’t—” Monroe says, his voice strained.
Nikolai rips open Monroe’s shirt, revealing wires snaking beneath his skin. “You double cross me, da ?”
“No, no, no, this isn’t—this is a—”
“ Chto? A toy?” Nikolai throws back his head, his laughter cynical, chilling. “Who are you spying for this time? Police? The Raven?”
He grabs Monroe’s face, his fingers digging into the flesh. “Loyalty is everything. I think in America, you don’t know loyalty.”
Monroe shakes his head, his eyes widening. “I—”
“The Raven, Cole, he wants to take control of Veles. Take me down, da ? He using you?”
Monroe shakes his head again.
“I think you lie.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Another lie from your filth mouth. Stupid American.” Nikolai sighs. “If you know nothing, then what the use are you? Kill him, seychas ,” he says.
The men around him move with efficiency, practice, and emotionlessness. They have probably done this a hundred times before.
My breath hitches, and my body is a tangle of nerves. Panic pulses through me, but I force myself to stay still and focus on my plan: to stay alive.
“I will talk to him— To Cole—” Monroe’s voice is a desperate croak, “Don’t kill me, please.” He falls to his knees, pleading with a near-comical desperation in the face of Nikolai’s unwavering gaze.
The following two shots are almost casual. Two bullets whistle through the air, silencing Monroe’s pleas forever. I squeeze my eyes shut, the sound reverberating in my ears.
Nikolai lowers his gun and spits on the floor next to Monroe’s lifeless body. “Clean up the mess, da ?” His voice is almost conversational.
My body wants to crumble, to run, to hide. But I have to be strong. I force myself to stand, my breath ragged, my mind focused. I descend the stairs, one step at a time, determined to find a way out of this nightmare. The image of Monroe’s battered face, the bloody pieces of flesh on the ground haunts my mind.
I stop just before exiting, holding my breath. I don’t want to bump into anyone from the other room, not yet. Not ever, actually. When the coast is clear, I slip out.
My eyes dart around, a frantic search for an escape route. Panic tightens my throat, but I force it down, channeling my fear into a desperate need to get out.
A heavy metal door at the end of the corridor catches my eye. It’s a plain, practical door, almost industrial in its design, with a rusty latch.
Maybe, just maybe .
Making sure no one is around, I push it open, the rusty hinges groaning like a wounded beast. Quickly, Ava. The air beyond is cold and damp, a slap of reality against my skin.
I’m in a basement, I think. It’s a maze of concrete, a labyrinth of tunnels and passageways, a world beneath the world. It makes sense. The club’s underground. This must be an alternative exit. Or maybe, an entrance. I try not to dwell on what it’s used for. I try not to think about the girl who called me a “pretty doll,” the one who looked so lost, high on—something.
The image of the dressed-up girl from the safe house, her weary eyes, flashes through my mind. Is she down here somewhere?
The faint hum from the walls intensifies as I move deeper, a low, throbbing rhythm that vibrates in my chest. Is there an air system down here?
I hear a faint echo, like footsteps approaching slowly. My pulse rises, and I press myself against the wall. The concrete feels rough and cold beneath my hand, the dust clinging to my fingers.
They’re coming for me.
I turn and run. My feet pound on the concrete, the rough surface sending a dull throb through my legs. My lungs burn, my breath ragged, but I can’t stop. I hear the sound of footsteps behind me, getting closer, faster.
I turn a corner, searching desperately for an exit. Then, I see a faint light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a smaller metal door, but this one looks new. It carries a green sign. It seems like an emergency exit, an access point for utilities, or perhaps a way to reach the outside world.
I sprint towards it, my body full of adrenaline. My legs scream in protest, but I push forward, driven by a primal instinct to survive.
I ascend a short flight of stairs and reach the door, my hand shaking as I grab the handle. I push it open. The air is cold and wet. I’m outside. I find myself in another narrow alley, the walls dark and towering. The air tastes like metal and decay, coating my tongue with a gritty film.
I don’t hesitate. I take off running. I run until my lungs burn and my legs ache. Escape. That's all I care about. Forget the car, forget everything else. Just get me the hell out of here. I stumble, my legs aching, my body screaming for a reprieve. I can’t run anymore. I need to find somewhere to hide. I duck behind a large dumpster, my body trembling with exhaustion. Just a quick break, Ava.
I breathe deeply and then get up. There’s no time to rest. As I disappear into the darkness toward the safe house, the chilling image of Nikolai’s cold cruelty burns into my memory. There is no going back from this and no safe harbor. I am now adrift in a world where the line between predator and prey is razor-thin.
But I’m not a victim. I’m going to fight. I have to. And it’s not the last time I set foot in “Kitty’s Port Bar. “
But next time, it’ll be with backup and a shit load of guns.