CHAPTER SEVEN #2
I step closer to the girls. They look up at me from the mattresses on the floor they’re sitting on. Sad eyes reveal a hundred stories. I know that look. That deep pain. They’re abused. The bruises on their arms, legs, necks ... so thin, so pale.
Fuck
I move closer inspecting the girl who called out to me.
“Why don’t you just use that thing on me?” She asks and nods to my pistol.
“Look, I’m not one of them. I’m here looking for my girl,” I say and pull my phone from my pocket. My screensaver is an image of Natalia. I look at it for a second.
What if she’s in one of these metal hells. What if she’s been hurt? What if.
Stop, Dima.
Don’t fucking do this. Not now.
Don’t have these thoughts. They fuck you up. Every fucking time. We’ll get your Little Sparrow and get the fuck out of here.
“Have you seen her?” I show her the image.
She looks and shakes her head.
“Please, if you have, tell me. Have any of you?” I move from cage to cage and show the photograph of Natalia. My hands shake.
“You’re scared,” a fragile voice whispers.
I look in confusion at the girl who spoke, her dark hair all matted on top of her head.
Why the fuck would you say that to me?
“Have you seen her?”
“Why would we tell you? So, you go find your girl and leave the rest of us behind. Men like you know these places exist. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.
You’re just as bad as the men out there.
The only good thing you could do right now is put that gun to my head and put me out of my misery.
” She stands and moves closer to the bars.
“What are you waiting for? We all know we don’t leave this place alive, and if we do the next place is worse, men come and go in these sex dungeons and trade us like cattle. We’re nothing but disposable sex toys. Go on do it. Shoot me.”
“I’m not going to shoot you. Listen you have my word, help me. Her name’s Natalia. Tell me, have you seen her?” I ask calmly even though every part of me wants to scream at her to tell me where my girl is.
But I get it. I understand the feeling of wanting to die, of knowing death would be so much easier than living through the hell you’re trapped in.
Tell her that Dima, let her know you understand, maybe then she’ll help.
I listen to my inner voice.
“I’ve been there before. Chained to a bed, abused, a prisoner.” I admit and roll my balaclava up so she can see I’m human. I’m not a faceless animal like the men they’re used to.
“Of course you have.” She lets out a small laugh, dismissing my truth.
“Why would I lie? You could scream right now, have me caught. Have me thrown into a cage beside you.” I admit.
I fucking hate being vulnerable but in this moment it’s my only fucking hope.
“I saw her.” A voice breaks through the back of the cage.
A young girl no older than nineteen stands up. Her body trembles as she takes small steps toward me.
“You saw Natalia?” I ask and look into her pale gray eyes; her makeup is smudged making them appear darker than they are.
She nods. “Is she your girlfriend? You’ve come to save her.” Her voice is soft and shaky.
“Yes. If you help me. I swear I’ll help get you all out of here.” I speak a promise from my soul.
“You won’t but if you can save one of us ... if you can save her. They brought her through here. They’ve probably taken her to the red rooms. She didn’t have to stay here.”
“Red rooms. What’s that?” I ask not sure I even want the fucking answer. I know what it sounds like, but I pray it isn’t what I think it is.
“The rooms are ... nicer there, but men ... they bring men.” Her voice cracks.
My head pounds, my heart races, one hand balls into a fist as I dig my nails into my palm, the other squeezes the handle of my pistol hard.
I’ll fucking kill any man that’s touched my girl. I’ll kill them all. Burn this place to the fucking ground. Every last one of these fucking bastards.
“Use the black door, down the corridor. Be careful they have men guarding those rooms since they’re not cages like these.
They’re simply bedrooms, lounges, sex dungeons, some bigger than others.
The doors are mostly locked. The guards carry the keys.
They let men in and out. Maybe she’s in one of those. ”
I bite the insides of my cheeks until one side bleeds. I need to regulate. I close my eyes for a moment and breathe.
One. Two. Three ... fuck.
“I’ll get you out of here. You have my word,” I tell the girls.
“It’s okay. Go and get your girl. Make sure she makes it out of here. Save her,” she says and gives me a soft smile.
My mind takes me back to being thirteen and being tied to a chair in my mother’s ... Sylvia’s basement. I too was once a prisoner I know I can’t leave them behind.
I nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”
I look at them all once more, tuck my phone into my back pocket and roll the balaclava back down and cover my face. I edge toward the black door at the end of the room.
Just as I reach for the door handle my phone vibrates. My heart pounds.
I grab it and look at the screen.
Grandpa: I’m on my way. Be careful. That place is owned by the bratva who run Moscow’s night scene.
How the fuck does he know that? I question before shaking my head and smiling to myself when it clicks in my brain.
The Ropes. Of course, grandpa, of course.
I shoot off a reply.
Dima: I will. It’s a trafficking house. There are men, but so far not too many. Make sure you’re careful too. I won’t leave until I find Natalia.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and proceed with caution.
I slip through the door and out into another hallway. It’s quiet. No guards, no men standing outside the rooms like I expect.
Then—movement.
A muffled sound.
A cough.
A soft plea. “Stop.”
I whip around the corner and my gut lurches.
Pressing my ear to a green wooden door, I listen. The noise is coming from inside.
No Dima, that’s not Natalia. Move on. Let it go. Find Natalia and get the fuck out of here.
I fight with my conscious. Knowing the person inside is probably another victim of this fucked up world.
Fuck it.
I twist the suppressor on my pistol, push the door open. Fast. Hard.
Two men grunt and move toward me. With no time to decide I pull the trigger and put them both down one after the other.
I do enjoy not having time to make decisions. Murder isn’t always fun, but it’s often right.
A sack covers the victim’s head. I grab it and lift it off. Panic hits me when I realize the risk. They could panic seeing my balaclava covered face, call out, get me fucking caught so I roll it up again.
Fuck. So many people will be able to identify me at this point.
Who the fuck do I think I am? One of those American heroes I’d watch in the movies as a kid.
I chuckle at the idea of living out my childhood fantasy.
Super-duper Dima ... that’s fucking me right now.
Sort your shit out you fucking psycho.
Concentrate.
What the fuck?
This victim isn’t a stranger. Their eyes widen as they take me in, as mine widen looking down at them.
I freeze.
Dima, fucking help him.
He’s tied to a chair, blood on his lip, and his head hanging low. He needs your help.
My heart pounds. I was not fucking expecting this.
“Dima,” his voice breaks.
“Pawel,” I reply and grab the knife from my thigh and work to cut off his restraints.
“Are you hurt? I mean I can see you’re hurt but I mean. Fuck. What the fuck have they done to you? How did you end up here? I’ll fucking kill them.” I rage and snap the final strands of rope keeping my brother in place.
He shakes his head and rubs his wrists. Indents and cuts adorn them.
“Come on we need to get out of here,” I tell him.
“They’ll find them and know I’ve escaped,” he wheezes and points at the dead bodies on the ground.
“I’ve got an idea,” I reply and pull one of the bodies from the ground. I strip him of his jacket—their uniform. It matches the one I’m wearing. I use the sack to wipe away all traces of blood spatter. If we must walk among monsters, we need to blend in.
Who are you kidding, Dima. I’m your demon and together we both know we won’t stay calm. We’ll pull the trigger. We’ll stab these fuckers at every chance we get.
“Put this on.” I hand it to Pawel then throw the body onto the chair, tying the lengths of rope firmly enough to keep him in place and cover his ugly head with the sack.
“They’ll know. This isn’t going to fool anyone,” Pawel says and grabs a gun from the dead guys hip.
“This isn’t to disguise anything. It’ll send a message.
A fucking warning. They have Natalia. They’ll know it’s me.
I’m fucking here. They should know to fear me, because if I have to die today to save my girl.
I fucking will.” I grab the other guy from the ground, drag him to the chair and lay him in front and position him into a cross shaped heap.
“Oh God,” he whimpers and spits blood.
I thought this fucker was dead.
Look at you pretending to be all fucking holy. Piece of fucking shit.
I pull at the chain around his neck and snap the gold crucifix clean off.
“Please.” He begs and raises a hand.
“Welcome to Hell you piece of shit.” With a grin I spit at him and stab the crucifix through his right eye.
He lets out a cry before I repeat the process, this time I pierce flesh wherever my blows land.
“Pig. Go. To. Fucking. Hell. You deserve much worse.” I rant, hands already covered in his blood.
“Dima,” Pawel says placing his hand on my shoulder.
“He’s a fucking disgusting asshole. They all are. There are girls in this place. They have them trapped in cages like animals, Pawel. What if Natalia—”
Pawel cuts me off. “Dima, stop. We’ll find her. How did they take Natalia?” He asks.