CHAPTER 6 #3
I began to rock the door, gently at first, then harder, pulling at the chain.
It groaned, the old metal protesting. The eye-hook in the wall shifted, a thin stream of rust flaking onto the floor.
I pulled again, adrenaline coursing through me, lending me strength I didn't know I possessed.
The link twisted, creaked, threatened to give.
"Come on, you piece of shit," I muttered under my breath, my own voice raw and fierce. "Just give me a minute."
A faint, high-pitched whine cut through the silence. The ventilation fan. Every few minutes. It meant someone was around.
I had to wait. I had to time it perfectly.
I paced the small cell, a caged animal, adrenaline making my skin prickle.
The waiting was agony. Every second stretched into an eternity.
I pictured Liam’s face, his steel-gray eyes, his possessive smirk.
You are mine, Rose. Mine. He had broken me, yes, but he had also forged something unbreakable within me. He had taught me to fight. To survive.
A faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted under the door. Nikolai. His smoke break. Now.
My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs. My hands were clammy with sweat. This was it.
Then, a dull clunk. The generator outside coughed, sputtered, and the faint hum died. The light overhead flickered violently, then dimmed to a barely perceptible glow, then snapped out.
Darkness. Absolute, suffocating darkness.
The dip.
I didn’t hesitate. I threw myself at the door, pulling at the chain with every ounce of strength I had, screaming internally as my wrist flared with pain.
The rusted eye-hook, already compromised, groaned under the sudden, furious pressure.
It twisted, slowly, agonizingly, then with a metallic shriek, it ripped free from the crumbling concrete, showering me with dust and debris.
The door wasn't locked anymore.
I yanked it open, the heavy steel scraping against the floor, a deafening sound in the silence. The corridor beyond was pitch black, a vast, echoing tunnel. But I knew. Twenty minutes. Nikolai was at the loading dock, smoking.
My injured foot screamed with every step, but I ran.
Not a graceful run, but a desperate, limping scramble, my hands outstretched, feeling my way through the oppressive darkness.
The air was cold, damp, but carried a new scent now – stale concrete, distant fumes, and the unmistakable smell of freedom.
I could hear muffled voices now, from somewhere far down the corridor to my left. The generator. Volkov's project.
I turned right, blindly, instinct guiding me away from the voices, away from the immediate threat. My bare feet slapped against the cold concrete, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The darkness was a living thing, pressing in on me, but it was also my ally.
A sharp turn, and I slammed into a wall, sending a jolt of pain through my already battered shoulder. I cried out, a muffled whimper, but pushed through it. My fingers found another passage, narrower this time, leading downwards. Stairs.
I stumbled down them, blindly, my hands scraping against rough stone. My head pounded, my vision swam, but the thought of Liam, of Volkov, of the endless torment, fueled me. I wouldn't stop. I couldn't.
The stairs opened into a larger, cavernous space. The air was colder here, fresher. I could hear the faint, distant sounds of the city now – the muffled rumble of traffic, the wail of a distant siren. My heart leaped. Outside.
I pushed through what felt like a heavy curtain, a thick canvas flap, and then, the night sky.
Cold. Sharp. Real.
I stumbled out into an alley, dark and smelling of trash and damp earth.
My eyes, accustomed to the oppressive darkness of the cell, squinted against the faint glow of distant streetlights.
The buildings around me were grim, industrial, towering monoliths against the bruised purple of the pre-dawn sky.
I was out.
My body collapsed against a grimy brick wall, my legs giving out from under me. I slid to the ground, a raw, choked sob tearing from my throat, a mix of relief, pain, and overwhelming terror. I was free. But I was also alone. Injured. Lost.
The sounds of the city, once a promise, now felt like a terrifying, alien roar. The underworld. Liam's world. I was a broken bird, battered and bleeding, dropped into a den of wolves. I had no money, no phone, no idea where I was, or where to go. And Volkov's men would be looking for me. Soon.
My fingers still clutched the small, carved bird, its smooth surface a cold comfort in my trembling hand. I stared at it, then at the vast, indifferent expanse of the city stretching out before me.
Liam. He was out there. Somewhere. Or he was gone.
I didn't know. But I would find out. I would survive.
And I would make them pay. Every single one of them.
My silence was broken. My defiance had found its voice.
And the underworld was about to learn that Rose Collins was no longer just a captive.
She was a weapon. And she was coming for them all.