Chapter 23 - Misha
The fourth night was when they made their mistake.
It was not a large one, but it didn’t need to be big enough to be counted as a mistake.
It was not the kind of mistake that men like them would even register as dangerous.
For them, it was just a shift in rhythm and a fraction too much proximity.
A second too long inside a room they believed was controlled.
But I had been counting those seconds since the moment I woke up here.
It had been four days. Four days of stillness that were not stillness at all. Four days of watching everything.
I knew everything by heart now because I had been observing everything carefully.
The guards changed every six hours. It was never exactly on the hour, but it was still close enough for the pattern to hold itself together without disruption.
I had noticed how one pair always lingered longer than the others.
They were less disciplined and more comfortable, and their biggest problem was that they talked too much and moved too casually.
I knew they were the ones who underestimated the silence of a restrained woman more than anyone else.
The lock on the door clicked twice before it opened, and a heavier mechanism followed half a beat later.
It was an electronic override paired with manual reinforcement that sounded expensive and efficient, but nothing perfect.
I knew that really well. The camera in the corner rotated every twelve seconds, and there was a half-second delay at the far left sweep where the lens recalibrated.
That was the blind spot that I hadn’t noticed the day I had come in, but now I knew.
The window was small and brief, but it was real, and right now, something was better than nothing.
Meals were sent for me twice a day without variation or deviation. It was always two men who came to give them, and they always followed the same route.
They thought consistency was control, but they were wrong.
Consistency was going to be their death.
I sat exactly the way they expected me to sit, with my wrists bound and ankles restrained. My head slightly lowered, and I kept my breathing steady to show that I was compliant. I had learned the exact angle that made me look weaker than I was. It was almost insulting how well it worked.
The first day, they had watched me carefully, but the second day, less so.
By the third day, I had sensed that they were already bored because I was doing nothing new.
I wasn’t fighting or making noise or trying to run, and that made me easier to handle.
What they didn’t know was that I was planning.
By the fourth day, they were careless. And careless men die quickly.
The door clicked once and then twice as the heavy lock slid open. I lifted my head slowly, just enough to acknowledge their presence without appearing alert, and noticed the same two guards. The ones from earlier.
Good.
“Your dinner is here,” one of them muttered, stepping inside first.
His accent was thick, indicating that he was local.
His movements were slower than they should have been.
I could sense that he was comfortable since he did not think I was a threat.
I couldn’t blame him. The second guard walked inside and closed the door behind them, but he did not check my restraints immediately.
“Look at this bitch, so compliant,” he chuckled as if my position was funny to him, but I didn’t turn to look at him.
“All of them do eventually become compliant. What choice do they have?” the first guard replied, talking as if I were not even there.
Idiots.
The tray was set down on the metal table beside me, and the first guard stepped closer than usual.
Too close. I kept my breathing even and waited until his hand reached out to finally unlock my handcuffs so I could finally eat.
It was a simple practice. They unlocked me, watched me eat, and then they handcuffed me again before leaving.
But today, this moment mattered the most. The minute his weight shifted forward, I moved.
Fast.
Violence was never about hesitation. The moment the camera changed positions, my bound hands snapped upwards, the chain between them tightening as I drove both wrists into his throat with every ounce of force I had been holding back for four days. His breath cut off instantly, and I twisted hard.
“AGH,” his scream of pain echoed just as the other guard turned to register what was happening.
His knee buckled under the sudden imbalance, and I drove my shoulder into his chest, using his own momentum to slam him down. The chair scraped violently across the concrete as I rose just enough to shift my weight.
The chain bit into my wrists, but I ignored it.
My knee came up sharply, slamming into the side of his joint, and I heard a crack. It was loud and ugly, and his scream never fully formed because I didn’t give it time to. I grabbed his collar with both bound hands and slammed his head sideways into the edge of the metal table.
Once. Twice. The third time was where bone gave way, and he went limp.
Ten seconds.
The second guard was already moving, but I was too quick, and he was too slow. I moved towards him, getting to the other side of the blind spot, still hidden from the camera even though I knew it might not matter.
“You bitch,” the man shouted, but I was upon him already.
“Oh yeah, that’s me,” I replied, finding my voice again. It felt as if I hadn’t spoken a word in too long.
His hand reached for his weapon, but I was already using the first body as leverage, kicking off the ground and dragging the dead weight forward.
The impact threw him off balance, and his gun slipped.
I pivoted, ignoring the screaming protest in my shoulders, and looped the chain between my wrists around his neck from behind.
I pulled. Hard.
He choked, his hands clawing at the metal, and I stepped in closer, pressing my weight into his back while tightening the angle.
He tried to turn, but I didn’t let him. My foot hooked behind his ankle and I twisted my entire body with it.
His spine followed the motion, but his neck did not.
The sound was quieter than the first, but it was much sharper and carried a finality to it.
He collapsed forward, dragging me with him for half a second before I forced myself upright again.
Silence crashed into the room. Heavy and absolute.
My pulse was loud in my ears, but my breathing stayed controlled.
There was no panic in my body since I had been planning exactly that for the past four days.
I knew I needed to do that if I wanted to escape.
There was no escaping otherwise. I stepped over the bodies and dropped to my knees beside the second guard, fingers already searching his belt.
My hand touched the bunch of keys hanging from his pocket, and I brought them up with shaking hands, but I knew I was not shaking from fear. It was from adrenaline instead, which was pumping through my system like it was the only thing that mattered in the moment. I needed it.
From the aftermath of stillness breaking into motion, it took me two tries to get the right key into the lock. The cuffs snapped open and I pulled my hands free, rubbing quickly at the raw skin before moving to my ankles.
Three seconds. Four. And I was fully unlocked.
I pushed myself to my feet, but my body protested immediately.
My muscles were stiff from restraint, and I could sense that my balance was slightly off.
Despite that, I was still functional. More than functional.
I was alive. I grabbed the fallen gun without hesitation, checking the chamber out of instinct before stepping towards the door.
I paused to listen, but there was nothing. No sounds. And I knew it was finally safe to move.
The hallway was completely empty and appeared cold.
There was nothing but concrete stretching in both directions under harsh overhead lighting.
I stepped out, closing the door behind me softly, the gun steady in my hand.
I knew I didn’t have much time. I wasn’t sure of the surveillance, but if I was being watched constantly through the camera, they would already know.
However, if no one was there on the other end of that screen, I might have a few minutes to figure out an escape route.
I looked around me, knowing I could go either way.
Left or right. I chose left. Movement always has rhythm in places like this because the footsteps echo a little too loudly and the air shifts with the smallest of changes.
However, once you spend long enough surviving in the chaos of it all, you learn to read things.
I moved quickly but not recklessly, every step measured.
One corridor led to another and then another.
The place was a labyrinth with no way out.
Identical doors lined the walls, but all of them remained closed, making me wonder if there were more women inside them.
Like me. If I were being kept here as an asset for the auction, I was certain there were other women, too.
But I didn’t have the luxury to risk it.
Not right now. There were no windows and no obvious exits but I kept moving.
I turned, entering another hallway, and that is when I heard voices. They were distant but quickly approaching.
“Fuck, fuck, no,” I whispered to myself, needing to be out of here before it was too late.
I flattened myself against the wall just before the corner, making sure my breathing remained in control.
I did not need them to find me before I could get to them.
They came closer, and two men passed by without looking.
I let them. I couldn’t attack right now.
Not yet. It would not at all be wise to do so.