4. Kira
KIRA
I beat on the door over and over but now I barely felt it.
After more than twenty-four hours of this, I was beginning to feel numb to it.
The skin over my knuckles had gone raw hours ago and the pain had dulled, like the ache in my throat from screaming.
"Let me out!" My voice was hoarse and weak, and I hated myself for how stupid I'd been.
I couldn't believe how Nikolai had fooled me so easily.
And now I was just his little captive toy, not even worthy of his coming to talk to me.
I'd slept at some point during the night. Maybe two hours, maybe three.
I couldn't tell because there wasn't a clock in the room and the sleep was garbage, anyway.
I kept jolting awake every twenty minutes thinking I heard the door and he was coming back.
And every time it happened, my heart was beating harder and it got harder to get back to sleep.
When I finally gave up and went back to the door and the banging, a plate of eggs was shoved at me like I was a dog, and that was it. I'd been standing here all day on the verge of tears.
"You can't keep me in here!" I shouted, and my throat burned.
It felt like I'd gargled broken glass.
I pressed my forehead against the wood and closed my eyes and tried to think logically about a way out of this.
But every thought circled back to the same thing.
I had made a horrible choice to hide this from my father.
He had security for a reason.
He had protocols, rules—a whole system designed to keep his family safe, and I'd walked right around all of it because a man with nice eyes texted me sweet things for two weeks.
I didn't tell anyone where I was going.
I didn't bring security. I didn't even tell my best friend which restaurant we'd be at. I just got dressed up and floated out the door like some lovesick teenager who thought the world was safe.
I hit the door one more time and then stepped back, breathing hard. My hand throbbed and I pressed it against my stomach and held it there.
If I kept this up, I would need pain medication and since I hadn't gotten much interaction as it was for hours, I didn’t figure Nikolai would be kind enough to care that I had hurt myself.
When the lock on the door clicked, I straightened up and wiped my face with the back of my wrist.
The door opened and a woman walked in holding a tray.
She was maybe fifty, short and soft around the middle, with her gray-streaked hair pulled into a bun.
She wore a plain black dress and an apron and pity on her face, like I was a stray animal she felt sorry for.
Behind her, filling the doorframe, was one of Nikolai's men.
He was thick through the shoulders and had a bandage wrapped around his left arm.
He didn’t look kind, either.
More like he was waiting for me to mess up so he could hurt me.
"I've brought some lunch," the woman said softly.
She had an accent that matched Nikolai's but hers was gentler.
"You should eat something." Her eyes flicked to the plate of eggs I hadn’t touched.
I didn't know if they were poisoned or something, so I didn't touch them.
But my belly grumbled at the sight of food.
If he kept me here any time at all, I was going to have to eat.
"I don't want food," I told her. "I want to go home."
She stepped into the room carefully, like she was navigating a minefield, and set the tray on the edge of the bed.
I saw a hot sandwich with sliced tomato and pesto dripping down the side, and a few pickles with chips.
The worst part was, it was plated nicely, like she actually gave a damn, and that made me angrier.
"Ms. Markin," she said, "my name is Anya. I'm not your enemy."
I looked at the tray then the open door behind her.
The guard stood there with his arms crossed, but he was barely paying attention.
His head rested against the door jamb with his eyes shut.
Either he was on something or he'd gotten less sleep than I had, because he looked exhausted.
And I saw my opening.
I moved before I thought about it, shoving past Anya hard enough to knock the tray off the bed.
The food went everywhere, including down my leg, and for half a second I thought I had it.
I was out the door, three steps past the guard, when I felt his arm wrap around my waist and haul me off my feet.
I kicked and clawed at his arm, thrashing like something wild, screaming, "Let go of me! Get off!"
But he didn't say a word as he carried me back into the room and dropped me, messy clothing and all, onto the bed.
Anya cowered out of the way as he backed up and glared at me, clenching his hands into fists.
"That was stupid," he said.
"Go to hell."
Anya was on her knees picking up pieces of the broken plate as I scrambled off the other side of the bed and stood there with my chest heaving.
"You stupid son of a bitch," I snapped at the guard, who didn't even blink. "You can't do this. This is kidnapping. Do you understand that? You're going to prison. All of you."
It was like talking to a brick wall, though Anya glanced up at that comment and dipped her head as her cheeks tinged pink.
I wasn't stupid.
There was no way Nikolai would ever let me go if he knew I would go to the police. There was obvious evidence.
My phone's location could be tracked and the last known location would be his home.
I'd told my friend about meeting him.
There were so many messages between my phone and his.
Not to mention the cameras outside that restaurant, and his car's GPS unit.
The only way I was getting out of this was in a body bag and I knew it.
"I want to talk to Nikolai. Right now."
The man looked at me for a long beat and then turned to Anya, who stood with the broken pieces of the plate gathered in a dish towel tucked onto the tray.
Coffee dripped from the edge and she caught it with her apron.
"I'll bring you a fresh plate," she said gently. "Something warm would do you good."
"I don't want your food," I hissed, fighting back tears. I would not cry in front of these people. "I want out of this room."
Anya avoided eye contact, but she appeared to get the point.
But the guard didn't leave until the maid was gone and then he locked the door behind him again.
I was too tired to chase after them this time. There was no way out of this room, anyway.
There was coffee on my bare legs and a smear of pesto stuck to my foot.
My dress had cheese and mayo on it and I looked down at myself and almost laughed at how pathetic I appeared.
For a woman who had so much fight, I looked more like a dirty, homeless person, and it disgusted me.
I peeled the dress off and dropped it on the floor. I couldn't stand the feel of it now.
It reminded me of everything I wanted to forget about the last twelve hours.
I had chosen this dress specifically to catch Nikolai's eye before I knew "Niko" was the most ruthless criminal in the city and that he'd been catfishing me. Enough to get me to sleep with him before his big reveal, which was another sore spot.
Wanting to wash the memory of him off my skin, I walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go.
It steamed up the room and fogged the mirror before I stripped my panties off and climbed in.
The water scalded my skin, and I stood there under it with my eyes closed.
The heat loosened my chest and I let my head hang and breathed until the tightness in my throat eased enough that I could swallow without wincing.
When I pressed my forehead to the cool tile, it was refreshing.
My thoughts wandered to my father and what he was doing right now, whether Nikolai had told him where I was yet or demanded a ransom.
I didn't even know what he wanted other than the fact that he told me my father had to back off.
But I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t get involved in my father's business at all. How would I begin to know what I could offer this man to make him let me go?
After agonizing for long enough, the water started to go cold. I scrubbed my skin and my hair with some shampoo left in here. It was made for men and made me smell like Nikolai, but the cheese and coffee washed off.
Then I got out and dried off and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes were puffy and bloodshot and there was a red mark on my neck from last night that I didn't want to think about. And Anya was right. I looked tired.
It made my stomach growl again, and I wished I hadn't turned her offer of a second meal away. I was starving. And I was naked.
I had no clothes. My dress was ruined with coffee. I wasn't putting it back on. And my panties stank like sex, which I didn't need to be reminded of—no matter how good he made me feel.
So I went to his dresser and pulled open drawers until I found a pair of black boxers and a white T-shirt.
They were both too big, but I rolled the waistband of the boxers twice and the shirt hung to my thighs.
It made me sick to wear his clothes, but the alternative was being naked, and I wasn't giving him the satisfaction of that if he walked in.
Then I climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to my chin and started going through every conversation I'd had with him.
How he randomly bumped into me on campus when I was hanging out with Ariana and we exchanged numbers.
The way he'd asked me about my day every morning and sent good night texts every night like he actually cared.
The late-night texts where he told me about his childhood in St. Petersburg and how his mother used to sing to him while she cooked. The time he told me he'd been cheated on…
Was I stupid?
But I could sense the pain in his words even through the screen.
But was any of it real?
The cooking class. The books.
The way he knew who Eric Ripert was and connected him to Bourdain like it was nothing.
Was that research?
Did he sit there scrolling through my messages to my friends, mining my social media, building a profile of who I was so he could become exactly the man I wanted?
It made me feel so dirty. So exposed.