Chapter 5 #2
I turn my head to see Roman standing at the door, sliding a second lock into place.
The basement only had one lock. He adds another and my breathing gets faster, shallow. My pulse races as panic begins to drown me. I stare at him, the truth or my situation finally sinking. Roman didn’t rescue me to set me free; he simply took me from one cage to another.
"Stay there.” It’s not a request.
He leaves the living room, and I hear the faint sound of water running and a cabinet door opening. He comes back carrying a first-aid kit, a bowl of water and a towel.
"Let me see your foot."
He kneels in front of me, holding out his hand. I pull back on instinct, uncomfortable at having someone this close to me after so many years.
"You have glass in your foot. Either I take it out or it gets infected. We both don’t want to deal with that,” he says in a tight voice. “Let me see it.”
I hesitate then slowly extend my foot. He takes it and I go still, fixing my gaze on the wall and trying not to react to the warmth of his hand on my skin. A few seconds pass and I end up peeking at him, watching quietly the way he turns my foot toward the light, inspecting the sole.
"Yeah,” he mutters. “It’s all the way in there.”
He opens the kit, pulling out a fresh pair of tweezers. “This is going to hurt."
I nod. Everything already does. Roman works quickly, his brows drawn together as he gets a grip on the shard and tugs it free. I clamp my teeth, gripping the edge of the couch to keep from crying out and embarrassing myself. He then sprays an antiseptic that burns so much I squeeze my eyes shut.
"Almost done,” he says, wrapping gauze and bandage around it. “Now I’m done.”
He releases my foot and stands, taking the supplies with him. When he comes back, he stops in front of me, holding out a glass of water. I take it, but I don’t drink it.
"It's not poisoned.”
I look up at him, unsure if I should believe that. Then again, it doesn’t make sense to poison me after fixing my foot.
I eye the glass then decide I’m too thirsty to resist. I take a sip. The water’s cold and tasteless, unlike the water from the brothel which always had a metallic tang to it. It hurts going down my damaged throat, but it's the best thing I've tasted in years.
I quickly drain the glass. Roman takes it, his expression betraying nothing, no surprise at how fast I drank the water, refills it and hands it back.
I drink that too. I can't stop myself. I had to deal with so many years of having to ration water, right now this feels like paradise in comparison.
"When did you last eat?”
"Yesterday.” I pause to cough, then add, “morning.”
He looks me over, taking his time to scan my appearance, then turns and walks away. I don’t want to think about how awful I must look. I push that away and twist slightly on the couch, watching him disappear into the kitchen. I whip my head around, afraid of being caught staring.
From the living room, I hear a pot being placed on the stove.
I frown, fighting the urge to look back into the kitchen.
Instead, I try to wrestle with everything that’s happened.
Hours ago, I was trapped in a cold basement, choking on smoke and certain I was about to die.
Now I’m sitting on a couch in a warm apartment with Roman, who just might be cooking something for me to eat.
There’s a reason. I’m not that stupid. I just don’t know what. What could he possibly want from me? I don’t think he knows about my gift. His father wouldn’t have told him, so why is he locking me in here? Does he think the Pakhan might pay ransom for me?
A few minutes later, I turn to see him setting a bowl with steam rising from it, on the table that separates the kitchen from the living room. It smells good, like actual food and not gooey slop.
“Eat,” he orders, catching me staring.
I limp over, sitting in the chair he pulled out for me.
He nods once, like I’m doing what he expected, then takes the chair across from me.
He relaxes back, simply watching me. It’s awkward.
He, too, knows it’s awkward. I can tell from the way his jaw bunches that he’s doing this one hundred percent on purpose.
Still… he made me soup.
Ignoring his gaze, I take a spoonful of it. The soup is hot and delicious and even better than the water. I eat slowly, partly because my stomach is weak, unused to digesting anything other than porridge a few times a week.
Roman doesn’t look away. His eyes track every movement I make. I feel like he’s assessing me, trying to figure out what he’s dealing with.
"You… knew," I whisper, my voice cracking. “Basement?”
"Yes."
"How?"
"Talk. Research."
"The fire?"
"I needed to get you out."
I study him, Roman Ivanov, so calm he’s almost scary.
He looks like he belongs on television, but I know that’s not true.
He belongs in a prison along with his father and all the other Bratva men.
His dark-blond hair is pushed back and slightly disheveled.
He should be exhausted but doesn’t act like he is.
He acts like he has all the time in the world, sitting there dissecting me.
I wish he’d just tell me what he wants from me.
"What..." I stop. A cough shakes my body. "What do you want?"
He leans forward, his eyes gleaming with intent like the predator he is.
"My father kept you down there since you were a kid. He used you for something. I want to know what that something is."
My heartbeat races, my hand on the spoon stills. I drop my eyes to the soup, my appetite fading.
"No.” His voice is lethal. “You don’t do that when I’m talking.”
I force myself to look up, trying to control my breathing before I end up dry heaving.
“Good.” He eases back, shoulders relaxing. “This is how it works. You can tell me the truth now or we can do this later” His eyes harden. "But you will tell me."
A knot forms in my throat. This is about my gift. It’s always about this stupid thing. This freaking curse that will always keep me trapped. I don’t know if Roman is pretending or if he really doesn’t know about my ability. I don’t want to lie so I stay quiet, thinking of what to say.
I stop when I hear him say, "I know about your gift.”
Pressure falls onto my chest. I’ll never be free again.
He taps a finger to his lips, looking carefree as ever while giving me a prison sentence. "I know you see things. That’s why he kept you."
I look up, stunned. How does he know?
"You told him things. No need to answer. I know this is true. You fed him information, secrets, that let him stay ahead of his enemies.” He points a finger at me. “You did that. Don’t lie to me.”
I nod slowly, dread pooling in my stomach. All this time he’d been toying with me. He knew. I look down at my hands, watching them begin to tremble. I curl them tight, trying to breathe in and out. I’m terrified I caused someone close to him to be killed and now he’s going to hurt me.
"What you did for him. You’ll do for me.”
My fingers tighten around the bowl. I should be relieved he’s not going to kill me or hurt me. I am… but… Nothing. I guess I should’ve known this was the reason he pulled me from the brothel. My “gift” All I’m good for. All I will ever be good for.
Suck it up, Nala.
I do. I lift my head, no longer staring at the soup.
“How does it work?” Roman asks. “What do you need to see things?”
“Touch,” I whisper. “Something…belongs to the person.”
“And then?”
“I see. Hear things.” I wince at the pain of talking. “The past. Plans”
“Is it always accurate?”
He pushes forward on his elbow, his eyes narrowing with intent as if this is what it all boils down to.
“Yes. But…” This is the bad part, the one that used to get me beaten. “I don’t control…what I see. I try. Doesn’t always work.”
His gaze scans my face, like he’s trying to decide if I’m lying.
“That’s how you helped my father? You touched things and told him what you saw?”
I nod.
“What about different languages? Does that matter?”
I shake my head. “I just… know.”
He shifts in the chair, nodding slowly. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He’s not done. I lower my head to have another spoonful, pausing at his next words. “From now on, you do what I tell you. You give me the information that I need, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
I let the spoon slide back into the bowl.
I know what Roman means when he says I’ll be taken care of.
It means absolutely nothing. It means whatever he decides.
I might not be educated because I didn’t finish middle school, but I learned enough from my readings for the Pakhan.
I learned what men like Roman and his father are capable of.
They hold all the power and can kill you with a word or a nod to someone else.
They could even kill you with their bare hands simply because they felt like it and not lose a minute of sleep afterward.
You don’t argue with these men.
You don’t attempt to negotiate.
You do what they want and maybe, just maybe life won’t be so horrible.
"Okay,” I whisper.
Roman nods once. “Now finish your soup.”
I eat the rest even though it’s gone cold. When I'm done, he leads me down the hall and opens a door. “This is your room.”
I enter, looking around at this room, my bedroom. There’s a bed, beside it is a lamp on a nightstand and a dresser against the wall. An extra blanket folded neatly lays at the foot of the bed.
"There’s clothes in there,” he says pointing to the dresser. “That’s your bathroom through that door. It should have everything you need. If it doesn’t, let me know.”
I stare at the bed, fascinated that it’s an actual bed with a headboard and frame. Not a mattress on the floor.
"The windows don't open,” he adds, a hint of warning in his tone. “The blinds stay down. Don’t touch them.”
I nod, because I have no other choice other than agreeing with everything he says.
He tilts his head to the side, searching my eyes, checking to see if I understand. Whatever he sees must satisfy him because he turns to leave.
“Roman,” I say hesitantly.
He stops and turns.
Despite everything, knowing what he expects from me, being here in this apartment, seems ten times better than being in the basement, cold, starving and on the verge of vomiting from fear at the thought of seeing Grigori every week.
"Thank you,” I push past the rawness of my throat. “For…getting me out.”
He looks at me for a long moment, nods and leaves. He closes the door behind him, locking it.
I move to the bed, sigh, close my eyes, shutting it all out. Tonight, for the first time in seven years, I fall asleep above ground. With a new captor I hope won’t be as cruel as the last.