21. Sienna
21
SIENNA
My eyelids are heavy. Without opening my eyes, I can tell that the room is dark. Still night. Although my brain can’t seem to make sense of what time it is, as if I’ve been woken from a deep sleep too soon.
I shift in my bed.
It’s hard. Something—a coil from the mattress maybe—digs into my hip and drags me unwillingly back to consciousness. I’m shivering. My face is squashed up against a pillow that smells like it wasn’t dried properly when it was last washed.
My nose is cold, and my feet feel like blocks of ice. They’re always the first parts of me to feel the cold in the winter; Victoria laughs at me for wearing thermal socks in bed and pulling the comforter over my head when I’m sleeping. But this is a different level of cold. This is the kind of cold I imagine whenever I walk past a homeless person huddled inside a grubby sleeping bag in a store entrance in the city.
I open my eyes. It requires way more effort than it should.
Another tremor travels through me when I find myself staring at a brick wall, slick with moisture.
Perhaps I’m still asleep and this is a nightmare. This is my first thought. It happens. My dreams are so vivid that I often wake up with tear-soaked cheeks or the overwhelming sense of relief that the man chasing me through an empty hospital with a bloody knife was only a figment of my imagination.
But with my heart thumping clumsily against the uncomfortable mattress, and the distinct aroma of damp and mold assaulting my senses, I know this isn’t a dream.
I try to sit up, but my muscles are heavy too. I feel drained, lumpish, hungover.
Then, the memories start pouring into my head like an unblocked dam.
The private jet.
Checking the time on my phone and waiting for Kyle.
He didn’t show. He was never going to make the flight, and he knew it.
Pain crashes through my skull like a tsunami when I recall Nick sitting opposite me in the aircraft cabin, his coat folded neatly beside him, his smile that was going nowhere.
The ring.
I wiggle my frozen fingers. The diamond ring isn’t there.
Did the fucker take it back like a prop that’s no longer needed when the play ends?
Was that all it was to him: a prop?
I close my eyes again. It’s the only thing that makes sense of his proposal. The lack of any kind of emotional interaction between us. The timescale between our first date and him popping the question.
Ask me again.
I said that, didn’t I? I said it in the cabin of the Murrays’ private jet. But I must’ve had a reason because thinking about Nick now makes my entire being want to crawl away from him and hide.
Seamus.
Tears sting my eyes, and my breathing grows shallow.
“Keep it together ,” Sienna, I mutter under my breath. I don’t know for sure what happened to Seamus, but he should’ve traveled with me and Kyle, and he didn’t.
Instead, Nick Morris was my travel companion.
And now I have no clue where I am.
I try to sit up. The room spins out from under me, and I lean over the side of the bed and retch onto the floor.
My head… It feels like a bowling ball with a sinus infection.
It doesn’t take much effort to figure out that I’ve been drugged. This is like no hangover I’ve ever experienced before, and there have been more than a few.
I remember Nick going off to find the steward because he wanted champagne to celebrate our engagement.
Engagement. What a fucking joke. The pretense was obviously for my benefit.
He came back with two glasses and a bottle of Dom Perignon in a silver ice bucket. I went along with the game because I had no choice. Not much I could do about his presence mid-flight short of opening the door and shoving him out, but he has at least six inches on me and a lifetime of pumping iron at the gym.
So, I sat back, sipped champagne, and smiled back at him when he planned our vacation in Ireland.
“We don’t have to stay in Ireland,” he delivered with a cheesy smile and a casual shrug. “We can go wherever you want, Sienna. This trip is all about you.”
He omitted the part where this trip was all about me being drugged, kidnapped, and hidden away inside a dank moldy basement in fuck knows which part of the planet.
It must be a basement.
I stare at the walls until my eyes are stinging and fat teardrops roll down my cheeks. The room is dark, but I can smell the damp clinging to the slimy bricks. It has to be underground. The chill brushing my exposed face is not like the chill that seeps into my apartment during the night when the heating is switched off. This room feels, and smells, as if it has never received a blast of heat since it was built.
So, where am I?
The flight was due to land in Dublin around breakfast time. Did Nick provide a little detour for the pilot, or was Ireland his intended destination too?
The Murrays were supposed to be meeting me at the airport. Did someone inform Kyle that I wasn’t alone on the flight, or is he still in his office, waiting to hear that the flight landed safely? How long before his extended family confirms that I was a no-show?
Or … shit … it occurs to me then that maybe they were included in Nick’s plan all along. Maybe this is their basement. A secret basement in a secret hideaway, someplace that even Kyle isn’t aware of.
I retch onto the floor again.
How will he find me if he has no clue where I am?
The jet must’ve obtained clearance to land though, right? Airplanes don’t just take off and land as they please; the flight paths would be carnage, and there would be steaming great hunks of aircraft debris all around the world. So, if anyone can track where the plane touched down, it’s Kyle.
I take deep breaths and try to ignore the stench of mold seeping through my pores and incubating inside my lungs.
Kyle will know which country I’m in, but unless the Murrays saw me being carried, unconscious, off that private jet and followed us here, he’ll still have to find me.
Unless I can contact him myself.
I already know that I’m no longer wearing the fake engagement ring, but I haven’t tried moving my arms and legs.
Starting with my feet, I slide them across the lumpy mattress, wincing at the bite of cold as I leave behind the part of the bed warmed by my body heat. My ankles are not bound, so if I can stop the room from spinning, I’ll be able to stand up and walk.
It’s better than nothing.
Next, I try flexing my fingers.
They feel like something bony pulled out of the freezer, but my movement isn’t restricted. Using my hands, I support my upper body on the mattress and push myself upright.
My brain cells swim, making me feel even more nauseous. The pounding ache inside my head shifts to the top of my skull; it feels as though someone’s fist has grabbed a hold of my brain and is squeezing it like a sponge.
I’ve no idea how long I sit there, waiting for the thump-thump-thump to subside. When it finally eases enough for me to open my eyes and survey my surroundings, I’m even more convinced that this is a basement.
The stone floor is as slick as the walls. I can’t see any furniture other than the bed upon which I’m sitting. In the dense gloom, I can’t even see if there’s an overhead lamp. I scan the room until my eyes finally settle upon a gray mass with a different consistency to the rest of the wall. The door.
My escape route.
Gripping the edge of the mattress, I haul myself into a standing position. The room sways violently, and I instinctively reach for the wall to keep me upright. My stomach twists at the slimy touch, but I force myself to lean on it to stop me from falling over. If I want to get out of here, I need to keep moving.
Si, you’re the strongest person I know. You’re not going to let a flight to Dublin beat you.
I can hear Victoria as clearly as if she were standing next to me.
“No, I’m not going to let a flight to Dublin beat me,” I say out loud. I grit my teeth. “Do you hear me, universe? I’m Sienna Walker. I survived the car crash you threw at me, and I’m going to survive this too.”
I take a tentative step away from the bed and the slippery wall. I feel weak, like I’m convalescing following a serious illness. Every part of my body aches. I’m shivering uncontrollably, and it isn’t only from the cold.
I have no idea what’s on the other side of that door. All I can hear is my blood pumping around my veins. But I have to try. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat; it gave it a pat on the back for trying and rewarded it with a cozy cushion in front of a roaring fire and a dish filled with fresh cream.
This is the image I keep in mind as I make my way slowly across the dingy room.
A brightly lit room. A roaring fire. A mug of steaming coffee.
An image of Kyle’s green eyes flashes into my head, and I pause to regulate my breathing. “He’s coming for me. If he meant what he said, he’ll keep his promise, and he won’t let anything bad happen to me.”
I keep moving. One foot in front of the other. My heart and my head are pounding.
I’m almost there when I hear a faint click.
My heart skips. I swipe the clammy air frantically for something to support me and find nothing. I’m still floundering like a fish out of water when the door opens, and I’m greeted by a swatch of dull artificial light.
I blink. Even this sickly yellow light is bright after the intense darkness, and when I manage to squint at the doorway, a man steps into view.
“You’re awake.” It’s Nick. He isn’t smiling. “Turn around and walk back to the bed, there’s a good girl.”
Good girl.
“Where am I?”
“I said ‘sit down’.” His voice is snappy, brittle, cold. Gone is the gentle tone reserved for his patients.
He moves closer, blocking the weak light from the dingy corridor outside, and I’m flooded with fear that he’s armed. I might be stronger than I realize, but I’m not reckless, and I’m getting out of here alive, no matter what it takes.
Because seeing him like this has rammed home to me that people like Nick Morris don’t deserve to win. They don’t play fair. They see a prize, and their sense of entitlement takes over, triggering the belief that they should have whatever they want. Like the world owes them.
Well, fuck you!
I stumble back across the basement to the low bed which is little more than a lumpy mattress on a cot and sit down before my legs give way. I grab the blanket and drag it around my shoulders. It provides a little warmth, enough to stop my teeth from chattering and for me to glare at Nick as he follows me into the room and shuts the door behind him.
We’re plunged into darkness again, and I focus on the shape of him silhouetted against the wall to stop myself from crying out.
He flicks a switch on the wall and a small lightbulb swinging from the ceiling produces a feeble light. His shadowy face is gray, his eyes like empty sockets, his lips almost non-existent.
“Why am I here?” I try an alternative question.
He stands facing me with his arms folded across his chest. I hope that the cold is getting to him too. It’s a small comfort.
“You’re here as leverage, Sienna. If you’ve done what we hoped you would do, Kyle Murray will meet our demands in return for your life.”
There are so many points to take from this statement that I hardly know where to begin.
“What am I supposed to have done?”
He has been in the room for less than a minute, and it’s already starting to feel like a sick dystopian reality show, where the contestants are supposed to guess their next move. Get it wrong, and— bad luck —you’re dead.
“Make him fall in love with you. Give him just enough to keep him wanting more. Dangling the proverbial carrot so to speak.”
“You’re sick, do you know that?”
A sinister lopsided smile turns his expression ugly. “Oh, I’m not the one who’s sick, Sienna. There are far more dangerous people in the world than me, and some of them are right here in this building.”
Nausea rolls my stomach like I’m on a boat, and I swallow bile, the burning sensation in my throat making my eyes water.
“What demands?” I ask.
“The Titan … for starters. It will be enough to keep you alive. For now. Then we’ll move onto the Rinse, and finally the monstrosity known as the Wraith.”
“Why?” I can hear the incredulity in my voice. “Why can’t you open your own casino? Why do you have to steal someone else’s?”
“Oh, I don’t want the casinos.” He studies his nails as if he has just realized that dirt is collecting underneath them. “The people who are paying me can do whatever the fuck they want with them. They can take a wrecking ball to them for all I care.”
“The people who are paying you?”
Anger blooms inside my chest, red and hot and punchy. Kyle and his brothers have worked hard to build their businesses from the ground up. Sure, they might have mafia connections, and they might get their money from illegal practices, but right or wrong, it’s their livelihood. The casinos and hotels belong to their family. They live and breathe the family business, something that men like Nick Morris would ever understand.
These people Nick is working for, they won’t care about the Titan or the Rinse or the Wraith the way Kyle and his brothers do. They won’t put their heart and soul into making them successful. He already said he doesn’t care if they demolish them. So, why are they so desperate to steal them?
“Their name is Bogrov,” he says, slicing through my simmering rage. “I don’t expect you to have heard of them. They’re Russian bratva.”
Bratva? The word rings alarm bells inside my head.
“Mafia to me and you.” Nick answers the question for me.
“I-I thought there was some kind of code between the mafia families.”
He snickers. “Only in the movies. It’s dog-eat-dog in the real world. The Bogrovs have come along and decided that they want a slice of the Murray pie. Who was I to refuse them?”
This conversation is making me feel physically sick.
He is making me feel physically sick.
“What’s in it for you?”
Nick shrugs. “Money. A private island. A lifelong vacation. The kind of bank account that will buy me anything I want.”
I don’t speak. I never realized until now that his silky voice was balancing on a tightrope between sensuality and sleaziness. Seems his sleazy roots are finally beginning to show.
“You see, women like you, Sienna, make me sick. You expect me to fix you with a scalpel. You’re constantly chasing beauty that will never be yours, and never once do you ever consider accepting defeat. How do you think I feel looking at your scars, huh? How do you think it feels when I have to tuck in a woman’s sagging jowls and tell her that I can make her look twenty years younger?”
My breathing is speeding up, trying to suppress the nausea swirling around my gut. With every word he utters, my brain is screaming at me to get away. To put as much distance between me and this monster as possible. Only then can I think about what he’s saying. If I let the words affect me now, I’ll never get away from him.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Sienna, but I never wanted you. I could never be attracted to someone like you.” His mouth turns down at the corners with disgust.
You’re so beautiful, leoin. Promise me that you’ll never try to hide your scars again. They’re part of who you are, part of what makes you so beautiful.
I cling to Kyle’s words. I cling to the way Kyle makes me feel when I’m with him as if it’s my life raft out of this place.
“I’m not disappointed.” I’m surprised at how strong I sound. “I could never be attracted to someone like you either, Nick. You see, you’re chasing a lifestyle too. You want a bank account that will buy you anything you desire, but you’ll never be satisfied.”
I stand up. My legs are still trembling, the blanket is still clutched tightly to my chest. But I realize that my scars are still visible above the neckline of my sweater, and I jut my chin towards the ceiling.
“That’s the difference between me and you,” I continue. “I know what will make me happy.”
“Ha!” He scoffs, his expression ugly. “You think Kyle Murray will make you happy? Think again, darling. He won’t be so desirable without the Wraith behind him. Will you still find him attractive without his expensive suits and a chauffeur-driven car to beat the city traffic? What about when his brother sells your precious gallery for a downpayment on a shitty apartment in the Bronx?” His laughter is mirthless.
“The answer is yes. I’ll be happy in a shitty apartment in the Bronx if I’m with Kyle.”
“He’ll have to find you first.”
The strength I found when he was belittling ‘women like me’ wanes a little. “You said that when they hand over the Titan…” I can’t remember the exact wording he used, but he implied that they would let me go.
“I said you were leverage. Perhaps I didn’t explain myself clearly.” He waits for me to fully process his words before continuing.“Collateral damage. Once the bratva get what they want, they’ll probably have no further use for you, so they might decide to leave you here. I certainly won’t be sticking around once I’ve gotten my cut.”
“Where am I, Nick?” He never answered my first question.
“Oh, we’re in Ireland, we’re just nowhere near the Murray family home.” He lowers his arms and checks the time on his wristwatch. “I should go. I’m sure our friend Kyle would’ve enjoyed our scintillating conversation, but I’m growing rather bored with it now.” He yawns to emphasize the point.
“Can I get some water?”
“I’ll get some sent down to you with some food. Don’t expect it to meet the Wraith standards though. I wouldn’t want to raise your hopes only to have them dashed again.”
Sent down to me?
“Why am I being kept in the basement? Are you afraid that I’ll try to escape? Or do you think I’ll recognize where I am?”
His stretched and twisted smile reminds me of the Joker from the Batman franchise. “You can try to escape if you wish. Be my guest.”
He takes a couple of strides back to the door and opens it wide, gesturing with a sweep of his arm for me to leave.
“I’m free to go?”
This must be a trap, but the thought of leaving this room behind and breathing clean air, of being warm again is irresistible.
“Sure.” He shrugs. “You won’t get far, and if you do, it will almost certainly result in a horrific and painful death.”
I gulp. My mouth is dry, and more bile is lurking at the back of my throat.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“This property is built on the edge of a remote clifftop. The owner must’ve had a death-wish, or perhaps he simply wanted to deter other people from visiting. I can’t say that I blame him; making small talk can be so tedious.”
My thoughts are scrambling around inside my head like beetles hunting for food. What did Kyle say about the Murray property? He mentioned fields and cows and streams, but I don’t recall him talking about cliffs.
There’s only one way to find out if Nick is telling the truth.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me. Go see for yourself.”
He’s testing me, but I haven’t moved.
“I said, ‘ Go see for yourself’ .”
“I heard you.” I hold his gaze.
Without warning, he grips my wrist beneath the blanket and drags me from the room.
We’re in a narrow corridor. Naked bulbs hang from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows between puddles of light. The walls are plastered, unpainted, grubby. It’s only marginally warmer than the room I’ve just vacated.
“You’re hurting me.” I try to wrestle my arm free of his hold, but his fingers are digging into my flesh, and he’s determined to hold on tightly.
“Maybe next time you’ll do as you’re told.”
We pass through a heavy metal door at the end of the corridor. Up a stone staircase. Through another door.
We’re standing in another corridor that must run parallel to the one on the basement level. Nick hurls me towards a window framed by dusty green velvet drapes held back by gold ropes.
My heart is galloping, but I don’t have time to register the pain in my ribs where I collided with the window frame. I’m mesmerized by the view outside.
The house overlooks the sea which is storm-gray, choppy, foam dragging across the surface and hurtling towards us. But it’s the sheer drop below the window that has stolen my breath and run away with it. I can hear the waves crashing against the jagged, lethal rocks below.