7. Sienna
SIENNA
A s we drive along the winding cliffs, I can't help but admire the view. In the distance, I notice small fishing boats. I spot homes with orange tiled roofs that suggests we could be in any number of countries, but I’m assuming we’re somewhere in southern Europe or near the Mediterranean.
Regardless, I can almost guarantee we’re far from any touristy areas.
It's unnerving as to how few cars we pass.
I briefly glance at Nikolai. He wears dark-tinted sunglasses, but I can still make out his eyes from this angle.
One of his hands casually rests on the gearshift, his wrist wrapped with a bracelet made of jade beads.
I wonder who gave him that. The fingers of his other hand are adorned with three rings, and are wrapped around the steering wheel.
I can't help but look at the tattoos decorating his hands and fingers .
I huff irritably as I look away, sick of admiring my captor’s beauty. I definitely must've taken a hit to the head at some point.
Sitting in this weighted silence is driving me insane. I flick the radio on, blasting music. His head whips in my direction as he quickly switches it off.
“I don't play music while driving. I prefer the silence,” he says gruffly.
“Yeah, I can tell. And I understand now why you've chosen to kill people for a living; there's clearly no joy in your life,” I say as I turn the music back on.
He leans over once again, flicking it back off. “I like to remain sharp and vigilant at all times. You should sit with your own thoughts for a while. Who knows, maybe you'll even have an epiphany.”
I twist in my seat, purposely angling myself so my breasts squeeze together.
Behind the sunglasses, his gaze drops to my chest for a split second before he looks away.
I know I shouldn't be tempting fate in such a way, but I’ve always used my womanly charms to get what I want.
Whether an actor, a businessman, a stranger on the street, or someone who’s part of the bratva, very few men can resist such charm.
“The only epiphany I'm having is that not only is my kidnapper a psychopath, he's also very boring. Listening to music while driving won’t kill you,” I say, defiantly switching it back on.
His jaw tics, but he doesn’t turn the music off. I try to hide my smile as I look out the window, sighing in disbelief that it's been a week since I was taken from London, and still nothing has happened.
What's even more disarming? It’s as if I’ve settled into this situation like it’s some kind of new normal.
I imagine that has everything to do with the man sitting beside me.
Which only makes me more perplexed. It makes no sense that despite him being a killer, I don’t fear him, even though I know I should.
I’m being held against my will, but overall, I’ve been treated like someone on a vacation.
Being honest with myself, it’s given me a strange perspective on my life.
Maybe I was struggling against the tide before, pretending everything was okay while internally battling the pressure to make it all right.
It’s almost ridiculous that finding myself in a shitty situation like being kidnapped has allowed me some space to breathe, to think.
It’s like I’m facing myself in the bottom of a well with no real understanding as to which way is up or down anymore.
And here I am, seated beside a killer who acts the gentleman trying to mask his hidden monster.
And I’m indifferent to it. No, I’m almost defiant—picking a fight when once I might’ve crumbled.
I don’t know if it’s because it’s Nikolai specifically who draws this out of me, or if I just don’t care anymore.
I turn the music up a little louder, trying to shut down my spiraling thoughts.
Nikolai’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, but he says nothing.
I look in the rearview mirror, noticing the two cars that trail us.
Andrei drives the one in front. Is this how underworld groups like this work?
In regimented order? Or is it because I'm in the car?
We descend the hill and come into what appears to be a small town. A few locals walk around the main street, and I gawk curiously as they go about their day.
“No one will know you here. And it's best that you know my boss owns this town and the people in it. Even if you try to escape, you won’t get far, and nobody will help you.”
My stomach sinks, my heart kicking up its pace with the thrill of nerves. How does such a group obtain such power? Is it out of fear? If someone were to try to help me, would it jeopardize their family and their safety?
Nikolai comes to a stop near the clear blue ocean, and I admire the way it glitters. I love the water. There's always been something very cleansing and refreshing about beaches and lakes, and I stare at it in admiration, wishing I could lose myself in or on it for days on end.
If I could do that during my time in the bratva’s keeping, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all. I roll my eyes. Isn’t that a luxurious thought.
“Stay in the car until I come and get you,” he instructs without further explanation and then slips out of the car.
I increase the volume of the music to the point it's blaring, just to spite him. I expect him to pin me with a scathing glare, but he seems either uncaring or unaware.
I glance around the interior of the car. Maybe it's soundproof. I mean, it looks like an expensive car, and it smells of new leather.
Why am I being defiant like this when I could literally be killed because of it? Somewhere along the line, my last fucks were given.
I watch as Nikolai and Andrei converse. Andrei, wearing his own dark shades, offers a quick nod in response to whatever Nikolai is saying.
When Nikolai rounds the car and opens my door, he immediately curses as the music bombards him.
Self-satisfaction bleeds through me. He leans over me to turn it down.
His shoulder presses against my chest, and I feel his warmth seep into me.
When I look down, I notice that his gun is within grabbing distance.
Then his hand gently lands on mine, and when I look up at him, he's watching me.
“Careful, mishka , you don’t want to hold a weapon you’ll never have the stomach to use. Best that you remain as a pretty doll, and you'll get out of this unscathed.”
I hate how he sees everything. But nonchalantly, I reply, “I was just assessing the lack of weapon elsewhere. But lucky for a big, strong guy such as yourself, somebody gave you a gun so you can compensate.”
His smile is feral as he says, “You’d be smart to watch that mouth of yours, or it’ll be used for something other than speaking or eating. And you'll find out how underwhelming of a weapon it is when you’re choking on it.”
“But I've choked on a Skittle before, so I don't think that’s any indication of your true size.”
He glowers at me from behind the sunglasses, and as he backs out of the car, my heart skips a bit as I swear I see the corner of his mouth tilt upward a fraction.
Fuck me, this ruthless killer might have a sense of humor after all.
I don’t know why I’m toying with him like this.
It’s like I want to vex him as much as possible since I can’t escape my situation, but it’s a problem if I’m enjoying it.
He offers me his hand, and I take it, my gaze quickly roaming over the men, all wearing black, piling out of the other two cars. It's as if Nikolai has his own mini army. And the locals must think along the same lines, as most of them are quick to scamper away from the main street.
Nikolai ushers me across the street, Andrei following behind us as the others remain by the cars. He leads me toward what looks like a gelato shop and opens the door for me.
I give him a strange look but step inside. Yep, it’s definitely a gelato shop, complete with various types of candy stacked on top of the counter.
“This is a strange place to take someone to buy clothes,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow but says nothing as a middle-aged woman with light-brown hair in a bun comes in through the back door. I'm shocked when Nikolai begins speaking a language I’m not familiar with. How many languages does he know?
She nods agreeably and then turns to me. “I hope you enjoy our selection,” she says in English with a polite smile.
“Thank you,” I reply, looking at Nikolai again, because surely they're not talking about the gelato.
“Follow me,” the woman says.
“Remain vigilant. No one else is allowed inside,” Nikolai says to Andrei in Russian. I continue to feign ignorance about understanding them, knowing that in a crucial time, it will come to benefit me.
I follow the woman through the door, my brain twisting a comical narrative that Nikolai has gotten lazy and has hired a polite-looking woman in her forties to chop my body into tiny parts to put in barrels instead of doing it himself.
My stomach sinks as I realize how unfunny that is.
This is why I shouldn’t be left with my own thoughts.
When I happen to glance down, my brows rise as I note the Louis Vuitton’s she’s wearing. If a woman can get a pair of those in the middle of nowhere, she’s certainly my kind of people.
Stepping through the door, my eyes go wide at the beauty before me.
I can't help but smile as I see some of my favorite brands. A long row of clothes hangs on the wall-mounted racks on the left. In the center of the room, there’s a plush cream couch with a pink rug beneath it, and a small, tasteful chandelier hanging overhead.
The corner of the room is floor-to-ceiling mirrors, with what appears to be a changing room concealed by a long curtain.
I look up at Nikolai, trying my hardest to contain my excitement as my heart sings.
“Mr. Volkov informed me of your favorite brands ahead of time, which meant I could acquire quite the selection,” the woman says with a smile.