Chapter 5
NALA
I smell smoke.
I jolt awake to screaming and footsteps pounding above the ceiling. I blink, squeezing my eyes shut then open, fighting through the brain fog of sleep and waking up.
Something’s burning.
The harsh scent of smoke hits my nose again.
Oh my God. There’s an actual fire. I scramble off the mattress, legs shaking as I stumble through the pitch-black basement.
My eyes slowly adjust, letting in the barest amount of light as I find my way to the staircase.
I grip the railing, taking the steps two at a time.
I lunge for the door handle and yank. It’s locked.
Noooo. Please. No.
“Let me out!” I slam my fist against the door. Nothing happens, so I pound again, harder and harder. “I’m in here,” I scream. “The basement. Open the door!”
Nothing.
No one hears me, or maybe they do, but they don’t understand. I scream again. Language barrier or not, I’m a person yelling at the top of my lungs.
Reality hits me. They don’t care. Madam Belova, the girls who saw me. None of them. They all just left me down here to burn.
I keep screaming. I can’t stop even if it’s useless. I kick the door, desperate to not die like this. I kick it again and again. Over and over, still shouting with everything in me. I do it harder when I see even more smoke crawling beneath the door, burning my throat and choking me.
I can’t be trapped here. I can’t. Sure, I wanted to die, but not like this. I don’t want to burn. It’ll be painful, might take forever before I stop feeling the flames eating at my skin.
I lift my fist, banging and screaming until my lungs ache and my voice cracks. My fists throb as smoke pours in faster now. It hurts to breathe. My lungs no longer just hurt, they burn too. My eyes sting and water.
I'm going to die here. Burn alive or suffocate. This is how it ends for me, in a blaze.
I keep trying to hit the door but my hands feel too weak. Tears stream down my face, as I beg, my voice barely working. "Please. Someone. I'm down here. Please.”
Nothing. I’m alone in this building. Everyone has to be outside already, safe while I burn.
I cough, then cough again, hard and uncontrollable, dropping to my knees at the top of the stairs hoping someone might come.
No one will. I know it now. My hands slip to the floor, my head slumps, falling forward.
I’m dizzy, my eyes on the verge of fluttering close, when a sound breaks through my panic.
The lock suddenly turns. I drag myself off the ground, trying to stand, my head spinning with relief.
Someone’s opening the door. I watch, my breath coming out in harsh ragged spurts as it swings open.
My breath stops. The someone at the door isn’t Madam Belova, coming back for me. It’s not even any of the girls. It’s a man dressed in black clothes, his head and face covered by a black mask with only his eyes visible through the smoke-filled hallway.
I know them instantly, the shape, the color, the coldness behind them.
Roman Ivanov.
I suck in a smoke-filled breath and cough. I don’t understand. Did I pass out? Roman Ivanov just opened the door. I don’t know how or why, but he's here, standing in the doorway straight out of my fantasy.
But… he’s real. All of this is real. I know because my lungs burn and my entire body shakes from coughing so much.
"Come."
I freeze.
"Now," he orders.
I try to move but my legs don’t respond. They’re too weak and still frozen in shock. He grabs my arm, swearing under his breath. “For fuck’s sake. Hurry up, we don’t have time.”
He yanks me through the doorway. A spike of adrenaline immediately rushes through me. My legs finally obey, survival instinct kicking into place, overriding the fear, shock and pain.
I follow Roman down the empty hallway, hearing the distant sound of shouts coming from outside.
The smoke is so thick I can barely see but he keeps a firm grip on my arm, pulling me through it.
We don’t head toward the main exit, instead, he steers us the opposite way, toward the back of the building.
My lungs scream and every breath is agony. My eyes water until everything becomes a blur, but my legs keep going, adrenaline pushing me forward and preventing me from collapsing.
We reach a door. Roman doesn’t seem fazed, he simply shoves it open and cold air hits my face.
Cold air. That must mean… we're outside. I’m outside.
For the first time in seven years, I'm outside. The air freezes my lungs. I suck in huge, gasping breaths and cough hard, over and over. My eyes sting as I blink, trying to adjust to the sudden rush of clean air. I catch Roman lifting his mask as we move. He doesn’t slow or stop as he ushers me toward a car parked at the end of the alley.
The pavement is rough under my bare feet on the frozen ground. I accidentally step on something sharp, piercing my heel causing pain to explode through my foot. I cry out and stumble then feel Roman’s grip tighten around my arm, steadying me until we reach the car.
He yanks the door open. "Get in."
I hesitate, glancing back at the brothel. I don’t know why I do this. Maybe I’m still in disbelief and trying to figure out if it’s real or a dream.
"Get in the car, Nala." His voice is hard, impatient like his father’s.
I snap my head toward him, surprised he knows my name. How does he even know about me?
I remind myself to ask him later. Right now, I do as he says and climb in the car. He shuts the door, slides in the driver's seat, and starts the engine.
I stare straight ahead, too scared to look back, terrified I’ll see Madam Belova chasing after us, ready to force me back into that basement. The farther we get, the more the adrenaline fades and the pain returns. Everything everywhere hurts and I’m so exhausted.
Roman on the other hand looks unaffected by everything that just happened. He hasn’t even said a word to me yet. He’s silent, with one hand on the steering wheel, his gaze on the road straight ahead.
This is so strange. I rest my head against the seat, wondering if this is how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole or Lucy after stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia.
Must be. Because just like those scenes from my favorite books, it feels like I’ve also fallen into a different world. Someone else’s escape.
I don’t understand how Roman can sit there driving, being so calm as if pulling a random girl out of a basement from a burning building is something he does every other day. Why won’t he say something?
I can’t wait any longer, so I ask. "Where…" My voice is hoarse, raw from the smoke and screaming. I try again. "Where are…" I can't finish, my throat feels like it’s on fire.
"I'm taking you somewhere safe.”
I bunch my brows, repeating the word inside my head. Safe. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. He doesn’t know me, but he’s taking me somewhere safe. None of this makes sense.
"Somewhere my father won't find you.”
Oh. My lips part in surprise. He’s freeing me from the Pakhan? Hope bursts to life inside me. Maybe I can go home, back to America and see my sister. If Roman helped me escape, he might also help me leave the country too.
We drive in silence as my thoughts spin with the possibility of what this could mean for me.
Meanwhile, I stare out the window, trying to see Moscow, the city I’ve been locked inside for seven years.
It’s impossible, though. The car windows are too dark and no matter how hard I try, all I can see are blurred streaks of passing lights.
Once again, I’m left in the dark, blind to the world around me.
I have zero memory of how I got here in the first place.
I’ve never seen the street, a single building or any of the cars.
There’s nothing in my memory apart from a weird feeling of having been constantly tired with lots of darkness in between, gaps where time and awareness should be.
Kind of like now.
Me, in the dark about every aspect of my life.
"How long were you down there?" Roman asks, his voice cutting through the silence.
I realize for the first time that he’s been speaking perfect English this entire time. His accent is there, but it’s lighter than his father’s and definitely not as thick as Madam Belova’s.
"I don't..." The words hurt coming out, but I push through it. "Counted New Year's, seven times."
“Hmm.”
From that hum, I can tell he already knew. Does that mean he’d always known I was down there? I want to ask him so many questions, but I’ll have to wait until my throat is better and if I see him again after tonight.
"You turned eighteen last month,” he adds. “October.”
I stare ahead, my mouth open, shocked that I actually did turn eighteen and last month was apparently my birthday. Also… Roman sure knows a lot about me. He doesn’t speak again until the car stops in front of what looks like an apartment building.
"This is it," he says, getting out and opening my door.
I try to move my legs to exit the car, but I can’t. They feel dead, not cooperating with my brain.
He lifts one brow. "We’re here. Get out."
Roman’s tone reminds me of Grigori’s. I don’t want to make him angry, so I try again, grabbing the door frame and giving it another go.
This time my legs fold instantly. They’re done for, no strength left for tonight.
I brace myself to hit the ground when Roman catches my elbow before I fall.
I draw in a breath, managing a tiny step as my bare foot hits the frozen pavement.
Pain immediately shoots through my heel. I gasp and yank my foot up.
His gaze follows to the ground. "You're bleeding."
He mutters something in Russian, bends and lifts me, holding me across his chest. He carries me into the building, up three flights of stairs without slowing, as if I weigh nothing.
Inside the apartment, he sets me on the couch. I look around, just for a second, before the sound of metal makes my stomach drop.