Chapter 28Claire
28
Claire
I push through the swinging door, my palms sweating against the cool metal. The hinges squeak, breaking the stillness. “Mom? Dad?” The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting uneven shadows across the storage shelves lined with vases and ribbons.
The usual bustle of Bloom House’s back room, my mother humming as she arranges flowers, or my father’s pencil scratching against order forms, is gone. Only the monotonous hum of refrigerator units and the mechanical tick-tick-tick of the ancient wall clock fill the void.
My shoes squeak against the linoleum as I move deeper into the room. The break room table stands abandoned. A navy ceramic mug, my mother’s favorite, sits half-empty. A quick touch reveals the coffee is cold. She never leaves her coffee unfinished.
The door to my father’s office hangs open, just enough to reveal a slice of darkness within. The brass nameplate reading “Robert Bennett” glints dully.
“Mom? Dad?” My whisper scrapes against the silence as I edge closer to the office, each step careful and measured. “Are you in there?” My ragged breathing seems impossibly loud in the stillness.
I reach for the brass doorknob, my fingers quivering against the cold metal. The door creaks open, and the sound stops my breath mid-inhale.
A stranger occupies my father’s leather chair, one leg draped carelessly over the other. His tailored suit stretches across broad shoulders, and a Rolex glints at his wrist. The smile he gives me doesn’t reach his ice-blue eyes. “Welcome home, Miss Bennett.” His accent carries traces of Eastern Europe.
Two muffled thuds break the silence behind me. I spin around, my shoes squeaking against the floor. Horror floods through me as I watch Sergei and Ivan collapse like marionettes with cut strings. Their bodies hit the ground with dull thumps.
“No!” The word tears from my throat as two figures dressed in black tactical gear grab my guards by their ankles, dragging them across the floor. Their boots leave scuff marks on the wood.
“Please, face me when I’m speaking to you.” The man’s voice carries an edge of steel beneath its polite veneer.
I turn back slowly, my mouth dry. He’s risen from the chair, his six-foot-plus frame blocking the warm glow of my father’s desk lamp. The shadows stretch his silhouette across the floor, reaching toward me like grasping fingers.
“Where are my parents?” My voice cracks on the question.
His smile widens. “All in good time. You must be Claire,” he says, his accent thick and menacing. “You look just like your brother, but much prettier.”
I take a step back, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. “Who are you? Where are my parents?” I ask again.
His smile widens, revealing teeth that seem too white and too sharp as he once again ignores the question about my parents. “A shame if I have to kill you.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back furiously. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “Where are my parents?” I demand yet again, my voice cracking despite my efforts to keep it steady.
He waves a hand dismissively. “Relax. They’re safe at home... for now. They’re graciously hosting some of my men at their place. One phone call from me, and they’re gone. So, no tricks.”
Before I can react, he roughly grabs my arm, yanking me toward the door. “Let’s go. Your ride is waiting.”
I stumble as he drags me outside. The bright sunlight assaults my eyes after the dimness of the shop. A dark van is ahead, its engine idling ominously. “Let go of me.” I try to wrench my arm free, but his grip is like iron.
He laughs, a cold, mirthless sound. “Feisty. I can see why Rostova likes you.”
Valerian. My heart constricts at the thought of him. As we near the van, panic surges through me. I can’t let them take me. I have to do something. In a desperate move, I bring my heel down hard on the man’s instep. He grunts in pain, loosening his grip just enough for me to wrench free. I sprint down the sidewalk, my lungs burning as I gasp for air. Behind me, I hear shouts and pounding footsteps.
“Someone help,” I scream, looking around wildly for anyone who might intervene, but the street is deserted, as if the entire world has conspired against me. It’s implausible to be like this on a Saturday afternoon, making me think people have witnessed something that already frightened them, like his men taking my parents, and are now hiding in their businesses, ignoring my plight.
A hand grabs the back of my jacket, yanking me backward. I lose my balance, falling hard onto the concrete. Pain explodes in my palms and knees.
The man stands over me, his face contorted with anger. “That was stupid, little girl.”
He reaches down to grab me, but I roll away, scrambling to my feet. My gaze darts around, searching for an escape route, a weapon… anything.
A vehicle rounds the corner, slowing as it approaches. Hope flares for an instant. Maybe they’ll see what’s happening and call for help. As the vehicle gets closer, my heart sinks. It’s the same van the man tried to shove me into earlier. I turn to run, but strong hands grab me from behind.
“Let me go.” I struggle against their grip, kicking and thrashing.
“Boris, help me with this one,” says the man as he grunts when I elbow him in the chest.
A hulking brute appears, clamping his massive hands around my arms. Together, they lift me off the ground.
“No,” I scream, twisting in their grasp. “Someone, help!”
My cries go unanswered as they toss me into the van. I roll, instinctively curling to protect my stomach. The impact jars me, and for a moment, all I can do is lie there, dazed and gasping.
The van door slams shut, plunging me into semi-darkness. The engine roars to life, and we lurch forward. I push myself up, scraping my already abraded palms against the rough metal floor. “Who are you?” I demand, my voice shaking. “What do you want?”
Silence. The man who grabbed me sits across from me, his face hidden in shadow, but I can feel his gaze on me, cold and calculating.
“Answer me,” I shout, anger momentarily overriding my fear. “Are you Matvey?”
A low chuckle sends chills down my spine. “You don’t need that information yet,” he says, his accent thick and menacing.
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “What are you going to do with me?”
He leans forward, and his eyes are dark and predatory. His smile is a cruel rictus. “Anything I wish, little rabbit.” Somehow, his expression becomes even colder, and his voice is more menacing when he says, “Little rabbit. For hunting…”
The Russian endearment, spoken with such malice, makes my skin crawl. I press myself against the van wall, as far from him as I can get. “Valerian will come for me,” I say, more to reassure myself than to threaten him.
Matvey’s smile widens, revealing teeth that seem too sharp. “I’m counting on that.”
The van takes a sharp turn, throwing me off balance. I brace myself against the wall as my thoughts spiral. I need to stay calm, to think, but terror claws at my throat, threatening to overwhelm me. “Where are you taking me?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice from cracking.
The man, whom I’m sure must be Matvey Petrov, tsks, wagging a finger at me. “Now, now. That would spoil the surprise.”
I glance around the van, searching for anything I can use as a weapon or means of escape, but the interior is bare, save for a few ropes coiled in one corner. The sight of them makes my stomach lurch.
“My parents,” I say, a new wave of fear washing over me. “If you’ve hurt them?—”
“Your parents are fine,” he interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. “For now. Their continued well-being depends entirely on your cooperation.”
I clench my fists as anger surges alongside the fear. “What do you want from me?”
Must-Be-Matvey leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not you I want, little rabbit . You’re merely the bait.”
“Bait,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “For Valerian.”
He nods. “Valerian took someone from me. Now, I’m going to take everything from him.” He gives me a cold smile. “I haven’t ruled out using you to convince Jay Bennett to complete is assignment either, if you survive that long.”
My hand instinctively moves to my stomach, a protective gesture I can’t suppress. A wave of nausea hits me, and I gag but don’t vomit.
Must-Be-Matvey’s gaze follows the movement of my hand, and his brow wrinkles slightly when the sound of gagging fills the van. “Are you feeling unwell?” he asks, his tone mockingly concerned. “I do hope you’re not going to be sick in my van.”
I quickly drop my hand, cursing myself for the slip. “I’m fine,” I snap. “Just nauseated from your company.”
He laughs, and the sound grates against my nerves. “Such spirit. I can see why Valerian is so taken with you.”
The van slows, turning onto what feels like a gravel road. My heart rate picks up as I realize we must be nearing our destination. “Where are we?” I ask, peering out the small, tinted windows. It’s impossible to make out any details due to the deep tinting.
“Patience, little rabbit ,” he says. “All will be revealed soon enough.”
The van comes to a stop, and the driver’s door opens and closes. Footsteps crunch on gravel, coming around to the back.
Must-Be-Matvey stands, towering over me in the confined space. “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
I glare up at him, defiance burning through my fear. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Hard way it is, then. Boris?”
The van door swings open, and the hulking brute from earlier appears. Before I can react, he reaches in and grabs me, hauling me out of the van like I weigh nothing.
“Put me down,” I yell, kicking and struggling in his grip.
Boris grunts, tightening his hold. I gasp as the pressure on my ribs makes it hard to breathe.
“Careful with her, Boris,” he says, climbing out of the van. “We need her in one piece. For now.”
I twist my head, trying to get a look at our surroundings. We’re in a clearing, surrounded by dense forest. A massive, crumbling structure is before us, its jagged silhouette rising against the afternoon sunlight, casting a giant and ominous shadow. “Eastern State Penitentiary.” I vaguely remember a high school field trip to the facility years ago. I can see its gothic towers and the weathered stone walls that have stood for nearly two centuries.
“Welcome to your new home, little rabbit ,” he says, gesturing grandly toward the looming prison. “At least for the time being.”
Boris carries me toward the entrance, my struggles doing nothing to slow him down. Must-Be-Matvey follows behind, humming a tune that sounds disturbingly cheerful given the circumstances.
As we pass through the iron gate, a flicker of movement catches my attention. A shadow peels away from the crumbling stone, resolving into the shape of a man. Tall and muscled, with a garish gold chain around his neck, bratva tattoos, and a shock of white-blond hair.
“Ah, Gavriil,” calls out my abductor. “Everything ready?”
The man nods once, his attention fixed on me. His gaze is cold and clinical, stripping me down to something less than human. “Yes, Matvey,” he says, his voice as icy as his appearance. “The cell is prepared.”
So, he is Matvey, the leader of the Petrov Syndicate. The man Valerian warned me about. I hadn’t been sure, hadn’t wanted to believe it, but now it’s confirmed, dropped so casually from his own man’s mouth. I’m in the hands of the very worst person I could be.
Boris carries me inside, past rusted bars and long-forgotten corridors, where the walls still bear the scratches of past inmates, their desperation carved into the very bones of this place. Our footsteps echo, swallowed by the vast emptiness. The air is stodgy, and the scent of mildew and rust clings to the spring wind sweeping through the empty corridors. Despite the nice weather outside, it’s cold and damp inside.
The heavy door groans as Matvey shoves it open, revealing a cell untouched by time. The stone walls are cracked, and the metal cot is bolted to the floor beneath a narrow slit of a window that lets in nothing but darkness. A rusted toilet and a tiny sink sit in the corner are remnants of a past that should have stayed buried.
“Your accommodations,” he says with a mocking bow. “I do hope you’ll be comfortable.”
Boris sets me down roughly, and I stumble, catching myself against the cold stone wall. The air is noxious with rot, pressing against my skin. Nausea creeps up my throat, making me dry heave. “You can’t keep me here,” I say once that urge passes, hating how my voice shakes. “People will look for me. The police will come.”
Matvey gives a harsh laugh, echoed by Boris and Gavriil. “The police? You think the authorities can touch me? No, the only one who will be looking for you is Valerian, and when he comes…” His eyes glint with something cruel. “That’s when the real fun begins.”
He steps back, gesturing for Boris and Gavriil to leave. The iron door swings shut, and the finality of it crushes the air from my lungs. A key turns in the lock. I’m sealed inside.
I sink onto the cement bench, my legs finally giving out. My hand goes to my stomach again, this time without hesitation. I whisper to my unborn children. “It’s okay. Valerian will find us. He has to.”
The silence presses in, thick and suffocating. I stare at the shadows stretching across the stone floor, listening to the faint, ghostly echoes of a place meant to break people. Every breath makes me want to choke and worsens my nausea. If I had anything left in my stomach, I’d have no doubt spewed it by now.
This place is despair personified, making my thoughts morose. As I sink deeper into despondency, I wonder when Valerian comes for me, will it already be too late?