Chapter Thirty
Lauren
My eyelids flutter open for the first time, struggling to adjust to the darkness of the room.
My instinct is to lunge forward, but I’m yanked back into the chair I’ve been tied to. I strain my eyes in an attempt to take in more of my surroundings.
I search desperately for a vent, a window, something that will get me out of this place, but the walls are bare—no sunlight leaking in from anywhere. The air tastes stale and metallic.
My head throbs. I think back to the last thing I can remember and immediately, dread shoots up my spine. I was putting my jacket on. Then, someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me back. A cold shiver breaks out over me, prickling along my bare arms.
This can’t be happening.
I’ve been kidnapped.
I want to bring my arms together to massage some warmth back into my skin, but the zip ties around my wrists prevent me from moving. I tug, fighting the ties, but they only indent further into my skin, reddening the area.
I wince. Somebody has tied me to this chair—my attacker, probably. My arms lie flat on the armrests, immobile, like they no longer belong to me. Somebody could saw them off and I wouldn’t even have control over that.
I can’t move.
I’m stuck here.
I kick my feet—same thing. Zip ties have been secured around my ankles, keeping them attached to the legs of the chair.
My head pounds from where they struck me. I feel a migraine start to develop. Another wince leaves my mouth.
That’s when I hear the footsteps.
A chair squeaks against the concrete floor.
I lift my gaze and see a familiar face positioning it in the middle of the room. I want to believe that he’s here to save me, but the lack of urgency suggests that he’s not.
Slowly, like he has all the time in the world, he takes a seat.
Father.
I’m not up against Ronan Aslanov, or his men.
I’m up against my own father.
Bile rises in my throat, my headache worsening as the panic starts to settle. I try again, straining against the zip ties even more, but they only cut deeper. Blood trickles down my wrist now, staining the wooden armrest. I feel tears in my eyes, but it’s not the pain from the cut that bothers me.
“You ruin every single thing you touch, don’t you?” he says, his voice composed as he watches the blood spill over the armrest.
I tear my eyes away from my wrist to face him.
He goes on. “That’s the thing with you. Always sticking your nose into things you shouldn’t and then setting yourself up for failure.
The only person you end up hurting is yourself.
” He tuts, sitting forward in the chair to analyze me deeper.
I keep his gaze. He has me tied up, but I will not let him get the better of me.
“You have put me in a difficult position here, daughter.”
I keep watching him, feeling my bottom lip begin to shake.
“You have always been reckless.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “Let me guess, just like Mom?”
After surveying me for another moment, he reaches under his chair to take out something. I frown, not knowing what it is at first until it’s in his grasp—my purse.
The one containing the USB stick.
I shut my eyes, dread filling every crevice in my body.
“You lied to me,” he states matter-of-factly like he’s talking about what he had for breakfast.
I tighten my jaw to keep my mouth shut. My instinct would be to scream at him, to tell him what a piece of human garbage he is, but I know it’s wiser to keep my opinion to myself right now.
All I can do is remain quiet and wait. I guess one good thing about having an emotionally distant father is that I have learned over the years to hold my own. To have my own back no matter what.
I keep my chin high, unwilling to let myself crumble in his presence. “And?”
He lifts a graying eyebrow, surprised by my response. “So you admit it?”
I square my jaw. “You left me no choice.”
This brings a smile to his lips. “Is that so?”
“You lied to me, too.”
His face looks amused. All I want to do is wipe that smirk off his face.
This is so very screwed up. How is it that my own father, someone who’s supposed to love me, protect me, has put me in this position?
The thought makes me want to cry, but I’m not going to give him the pleasure of seeing my tears.
He takes the USB out of my purse, twiddling it between his fingers. “Did you really think you could keep this from me?”
“You don’t have the right to—”
“Yes, I do,” he sneers and fixes his gaze on me.
When it fades, he tilts his head and presents me with another question.
“Do you think I enjoy doing this? You really think I enjoy doing this to my own daughter?” He sharpens his gaze, the USB poised.
“This is your fault. You put me in this position.”
“I doubt that.”
“Do you?” He shuffles in his chair, placing his hands on the armrests as if to mock me. “Me and you aren’t all that different, you know.”
“I’m nothing like you!” I snap.
“You’re a lot like me, daughter. When it comes down to it, we both choose ourselves.”
I scoff. “So?”
“I chose myself in this instance, just like I did with your mother.”
The words feel like ice against my skin. How dare he mention my mother like that, using her as a device to get under my skin. My tears are threatening to fall, but I force them back. I hate him. This isn’t my father anymore. Maybe he never was.
This is Charles Watson, a heartless criminal. He’s no better than those Bratva guys he was meeting with at his office the other day.
“Murderer,” I whisper underneath my breath.
“What did you say?”
“Murderer!” I shout it this time, my hands pulling against the zip ties. “You’re a murderer and a liar!”
My voice echoes around the room, repeating the words back to me.
Father laughs. “You still think I killed your mother?”
I such in a breath and lock my jaw, waiting for the punchline.
“I didn’t.”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe whatever you want.”
“Let me go!” I cry, my hands closing into fists. I don’t know why I’m saying this—of course he won’t release me. He needs me for something, that much is clear.
“We can’t do that, unfortunately. First of all—” he raises his elbow onto the armrest, waving the USB stick, “we need to sort out a little problem that you have created.”
We?
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t act dumb, Lauren. You were always a smart girl. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m referring to the bank records, the offshore accounts. You have been stealing money from Ronan Aslanov, you and Nikolai. Did you think this would escape my notice?”
This time I’m genuinely taken aback.
“What are you talking about?” I run through all of the possibilities in my head, but I don’t recall this. He’s lying to me. “I never—”
“Lauren.” He bows his head to look deeper into my eyes, warning me. “You have lied to me once. Do you expect me to believe you when you deny having done something again?”
“But you’re lying.” Tears prick my eyes but I don’t have the self-restraint to keep them from falling anymore.
They begin wetting my cheeks. I want to wipe them away but my arms are tied, so they reach my lips, the salty taste reminding me how dehydrated I am.
The last time I had a sip of water was this morning before leaving Nikolai’s for work.
My heart skips a beat.
Nikolai.
Where is he?
Did he steal money from the offshore accounts?
He would have told me, wouldn’t he?
No, he wouldn’t have touched it. I have been to his estate, overstayed my welcome in his penthouse. Nikolai has way more money than he needs. Why would he try to skim anyone’s accounts?
Father continues. “Ronan’s men have been briefed. They know what they need to know—that you were helping move money. That you are the reason his shell company has been losing funds.”
“But I don’t need money.” My voice comes out desperate this time.
There’s no life in my father’s eyes. He looks at me like I’m merely a prisoner, with no previous connections to him.
“We have also know that one of Rogov’s men has been spying on us.
You two thought you’d get away with that, too, didn’t you?
” He raises another eyebrow in question, but there’s also satisfaction in his eyes. “He’s been… handled.”
The grilled cheese sandwich from earlier threatens to spill out of my mouth. I keep it down, focusing on the cold room temperature to keep myself together. A cold sweat trickles down my back.
Handled?
Does he mean ‘killed’?
That’s the thing about my father. Everything must be replaced with corporate jargon.
“Just so you know, there’s no way your boyfriend will find you.
That is, if Ronan hasn’t killed him yet.
” A faint smile creeps onto his face but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Nothing ever reaches his eyes. Ever since Mom died, he has turned over a new leaf.
Sure, he’s always had a darkness to him, but one taste of sin has sucked him in completely.
In exchange for power, everything is worth it.
His own wife and daughter— everything is a bargain if it means he can get what he wants.
Watching him makes me feel sick to my stomach, but for some reason, I can’t look away.
Nikolai is in danger.
The thought stimulates a new wave of sickness in my stomach. I feel faint.
Looking down to where I’m tied, I assess the zip ties—to see if there’s a loophole for how I can get out. There has to be a flaw. There’s a flaw in everything. I dip my head, searching underneath the armrest for something, anything that will set me free.
But even if I could miraculously get out, how would I know where Nikolai is?
My reaction prompts a small change on my father’s face. “Forget about it. These Bratva guys know how to tie up a person.”
“Where is Nikolai?”
The door opens before he can open his mouth to answer. Somebody else enters the room—correction, some others. They stand in the shadows, lined up against the wall. I can’t see their faces, but I sense that all of their eyes are on me.
“You are a fucking psychopath.” I lunge forward but the zip ties spring me back, this time cutting my ankles as well as my wrists. Fresh blood trickles down my arm, running over old, dried blood.
I don’t think I realized how much Nikolai meant to me until now, knowing that I might be losing him. I shut my eyes to escape this hell, so out of breath that I feel like I might pass out.
My mind suddenly reverts back to the other night we spent together. Could it have been our last? He was asking me if I trusted him, saying all of the things during sex that he had never said before.
He must have known that something terrible was coming.
It’s the unknown that terrifies me the most. My limbs turn to lead, dread casting its curse all over my body.
What if he’s already dead? What if I lost him already?
What if the consequence of all of my digging is this—his death?
He was trying to warn me. He’s been trying to warn me since the beginning and I didn’t listen! I never did!
I shake my head, my tears threatening to fall again.
Maybe Father is right.
Everything I touch, I destroy.
I lunge again, my anger propelling me forward, but of course it’s no use.
Besides, Aslanov’s thugs are here.
“You need to calm down, Lauren,” Father says. “Stress is bad for the baby.”
What?
I want to cup my hands over my mouth and cry softly into them.
How does he know?
How does he know about the baby?
He can probably see something on my face because he tilts his head. “Don’t act so surprised, daughter. You should know by now that I have eyes and ears everywhere. Who’s the dad? Let me guess, is it Nikolai Rogov?”
Just the sound of his name on my father’s lips makes me shudder.
He suddenly cackles. It’s dry, throaty, like the laugh of a man who’s been smoking cigars his whole life. “You practically walked into this.” The smile fades, replaced by a stone-cold expression. “Why didn’t you tell me, Lauren? Why didn’t you tell me that I’m going to be a grandfather?”
I shut my eyes to escape this nightmare just for a second, knowing that it’s going to be a long one.
One that I might not even wake up from.