Chapter 24
TATIANA
I've been sitting against this stone wall in this dank basement for hours in complete darkness with nothing but the sound of my own breathing and a trickle of water somewhere to keep me company.
My back aches from the cold seeping into my bones, and my hands are scraped raw from pounding on the door until I realized no one was coming.
I can't even cry. It's like my body is so fearful, all I can do is shake.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Rurik bleeding out, pleading with me to run, but had I run, they'd have put a bullet in my back.
I know the only reason I'm alive right now is because they want Dimitri as badly as they want me, and I heard them telling him to trade himself for me.
I push myself to my feet and start feeling along the walls again.
There has to be something down here I can use to protect myself if they come back, a pipe or a tool of some sort.
The stone is rough under my palms and I'm careful not to cut myself on the jagged edges where the mortar has crumbled away over the years.
But no matter where I feel inside this dark hell they've locked me, I can't find anything to use to defend myself.
There is a pipe, but it's attached to the wall and it won't budge.
And I feel what seems like a wooden shelf, but it's empty—a few old washers, some dust, and a bit of rat shit.
Then my fingers catch on something loose about chest height.
A brick that's come partially free from the wall.
I wrap both hands around it and pull. The mortar crumbles and rises up to make me cough, but I keep pulling.
The brick shifts and then suddenly comes free in my hands.
I stumble backward and nearly drop it before catching my balance.
It's heavy too, a solid five pounds with rough edges and one corner sharper than the others.
It's not much of a weapon, but it's better than my bare hands, and if those fuckers think they’re gonna walk in here with intent to kill and gun me down, they have another thing coming.
I sink back down against the wall with the brick in my lap and lean my head back, closing my eyes. I can't even tell how long I've been down here. They have my phone and there are no windows to see if it's light out yet, but it feels like it's been hours.
But someone will come eventually. They'll want to check on me before Dimitri arrives. And when they open that door, I'll be ready.
The minutes crawl by, and I start counting under my breath to give myself something to do. It's impossible not to get afraid if I just let my mind stew. The things they'll do to me? And what about Dimitri? So counting "sheep" is all I can do to stay sane and not break down.
When I hear footsteps on the stairs outside the locked door, my entire body tenses. The lock clicks and the door swings open. Light floods the basement, and I have to squint against the brightness after so long in the dark.
One of the men from the ambush stands in the doorway—the same one who shot Rurik in the head. He takes a step inside and looks around the empty basement.
"Why so quiet down here?" His voice echoes off the stone. "I thought you'd still be screaming." He grins at me, revealing chewing tobacco wedged between his teeth that are stained yellow. I still squint, but I don't answer him.
I shift my grip on the brick and wait for him to come closer, because I have horrible aim.
If I throw it at him, it'll just bounce off anyway.
I need him close enough to smash this thing on his head so I can run, and I have to take him by surprise.
Hopefully, he doesn't see what's in my hand until it's too late.
"Malcom wants you upstairs." He moves farther into the room with heavy footsteps and says, "Your boyfriend should be here soon, and we need you ready for the show."
The confirmation that Dimitri's coming makes my stomach drop, but I don't let it show on my face. I'll have time to be emotional later on. Right now, I have to stay in this moment and watch for my opening as he stalks closer.
The man is within reach, and he looms over me with a stupid grin. But when he reaches for my arm, I swing the brick with everything I have.
The impact jars up my arm as it connects with the side of his head, though it's not the ideal place for it to hit him.
He staggers backward and blood runs down his temple, but he doesn't go down.
His hand comes up to touch the wound and when he sees the blood on his fingers, his expression turns murderous.
"You stupid bitch." He lunges at me, and I barely have time to swing again before his hands close around my wrist and my grip on the brick loosens.
"Fuck, stop it!" I screech, now kicking at him and using my free hand to claw at his wrist.
He slams my arm against the wall, and pain explodes through my bones. The brick falls from my grip and hits the floor before rolling away. I take the opportunity to claw at his face with my free hand, leaving bloody tracks across his cheek from where my nails rake his skin.
"God, you cunt!" He jerks back cursing and releases my wrist. I gasp for air and try to move away, but he's already coming at me again. His hand closes around my throat and he slams me against the wall. "I'm going to make you regret that." His grip tightens, and I can't breathe.
My instinct is to claw at his wrist, pull it away from my throat so I can breathe again, but that never works, and he's way too strong.
So I kick out and catch him in the knee really hard, making him stumble and loosen his grip enough for me to suck in a breath.
His other hand goes to his belt, and I see metal glinting in the light from the doorway.
The fucker's pulling his gun on me, but he doesn't want me dead—he wants me to watch them kill Dimitri.
He won't shoot.
That thought emboldens me, so I kick again harder this time, and he falls backward. The gun clatters to the floor somewhere behind him, and we both dive for it at the same time. My fingers brush the grip, but his hand closes around my ankle and yanks me backward.
I slide across the stone floor and lose sight of the weapon, but I don't miss the way the concrete tears at the flesh on my stomach as he crawls on top of me and his hands find my throat again. Black spots dance across my vision and my lungs scream for air.
He might just kill me. This man is so strong and if I don't do something, I am going to die.
My hands scrabble across the floor searching for anything I can use. My fingers brush against something solid and rough—the brick. I wrap my hand around it telling myself internally that this is going to be okay. I'm going to be okay.
I can do this.
Using every bit of strength I have left, I slowly slide my left knee up along the concrete and I grit my teeth as I brace myself.
Then in one hard thrust, I tighten my core and roll.
It's not enough to toss him off, but it's enough to take him by surprise and allow me some wiggle room, and at the same time, I swing—hard.
The corner of the brick catches him in the temple, and I feel the impact reverberate through my arm.
His eyes roll back and his grip on my throat goes slack.
He falls sideways, and I scramble out from under him before he can recover and get up, but he's not out.
If I let him just lie there, he'll get up and come after me.
So, wincing, and with my eyes clamped shut as hard as I can muster, I stand over him and bring the brick down on his forehead with both hands. His head lolls to the side after the sickening sound, and I drop the brick, sobbing as I cover my mouth and stare at him.
I may have just killed a man.
But it was him or me. And I’m not sure how I'll ever live with that choice, but I can't stand here in a guilt yo-yo. That tussle may have drawn attention, and I don't have the strength to fight another person.
I race up the stairs and out the door onto a dark landing and realize I'm in a church that is in horrible shape.
Pews are overturned and broken with graffiti covering the walls.
Windows are boarded up, and trash is scattered across the floor.
Voices echo from somewhere deeper in the building, and I freeze.
There are more of them here and if I’m not careful, they'll catch me.
But I spot a side door near the altar and run for it.
My hands shake as I work the rusty bolt and shove it open, bursting through the doorway as muggy air hits my face, and I run as fast as I can, leaving the sound of shouting behind me.
They know I'm gone, and I can't let them find out which way I went.
I turn a corner and push my legs harder. My breathing starts to come in wheezes and after several blocks at full speed, I feel myself slowing. I can't keep this up, not even in the cooler night air. I'm out of shape and not used to having to run for my life.
And when I finally slow to a walking pace, the stinging in my belly reminds me of just how close I came to that man choking me to death.
I find a spot not directly in the glow of a streetlight, but with enough light to look at myself, and see the red stains blooming on my shirt.
When I lift it, I see the marred flesh there, scraped almost raw by the cement floor.
I choke back a sob and lean against a dumpster. It smells like rotten food and sewage, but it's out of the way, and I think I'm far enough away from that church that if I rest for a moment, it will be okay.
So I crawl behind it, in the dark place where the shadows are deep, and I slowly lower my aching body to the ground. It's hard, and I'm chilly with so much sweat clinging to my skin, but for now I feel safe.
I curl my knees up and let the tears come quietly, resting my head on my knees and closing my eyes.
If Dimitri comes for me, he won't even know where to find me.
And if he searches for me, I'll be hiding.
I just want to go home.