Chapter 5 Sage #2
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
” My voice cracks again despite my determination to keep it steady, but I push through the break, forcing the words out.
“Thomas Bellamy is the only name I know. My father died when I was nine. A car accident on a mountain road, the story the sheriff told my mother in our living room while I hid on the stairs, listening to every word. I don’t know anything about someone named Ray. ”
The name means nothing to me. Less than nothing.
But the way Luka watches me now, as if every micro-expression on my face might reveal some hidden truth, tells me the name should mean something.
That in his world, in whatever dark circles he moves through, Ray Bellamy carries a power I can’t comprehend.
His eyes narrow, hazel shards flecked with suspicion that borders on contempt. “Lies have cost men their lives. Choose carefully, printsessa.”
The endearment cuts deeper than the threat. There is no affection in it, no softness. Just irony laced with warning, reminding me he holds all the power in this room and I hold none. That my life might depend on answers I don’t have.
I stroke Vega's head, grounding myself in the steady thump of his breathing and the familiar texture of his coat under my palm, but my heart still slams hard enough to bruise my ribs from the inside. My pulse pounds in my ears, nearly drowning out my own thoughts.
I think about Hope, alone in our cottage on the edge of town.
She’ll wake up in a few hours, expecting to find me in the kitchen making coffee, preparing for another day at Bean & Bloom.
Instead, she’ll find an empty house and no explanation.
The panic that will grip her when my phone goes straight to voicemail might trigger an episode if she spirals too far into fear.
I picture Jenny arriving at the café tomorrow to find the door locked, and the lights off.
She’ll wonder where I am, call, and get nothing.
She’ll try to keep it running on her own, but the revenue will slip away, and the bills will keep piling up, indifferent to the fact that I’ve been stolen from my own life.
I think about my mother, buried three years now in the cemetery on the hill overlooking town. About how she would handle this moment with the same spine of steel she showed when creditors called, and medical bills mounted. When life delivered blow after blow, and she refused to stay down.
Beneath the scrutiny of a man who could ruin me with a single command, I realize the truth with crystalline clarity.
I don’t know who Luka Barinov is. Not beyond surface observations and overheard fragments.
Not beyond the way he drinks his coffee and watches me as if I’m a threat rather than a woman just trying to keep her family afloat.
But he already knows too much about me. My name. My café. Perhaps my routines, vulnerabilities, and the sister who depends on me for everything. And that imbalance terrifies me more than a locked door, or the cold promise in his eyes that he will have his answers whether I possess them or not.
The thought of Hope breaks through the haze, turning panic into purpose. I push myself up straighter on the bed, my hand still buried in Vega's fur as if he might brace me through what comes next.
“I need to speak to my sister.” The words come out stronger than I feel, but I force authority into them anyway. “Right now.”
Luka's expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture tightens. “You are in no position to demand anything.”
The dismissal in his tone ignites a reckless heat in my chest. I swing my legs off the bed, standing on shaking knees that threaten to buckle but hold through sheer stubbornness. Vega lifts his head, watching me with those intelligent eyes that seem to understand more than any dog should.
“Kidnapping is against the law,” I snap, my voice rising despite every instinct that warns me not to provoke a man who clearly operates outside the boundaries of legal consequence. “You can’t just drag people off the street and lock them in rooms, no matter how expensive the sheets are.”
He remains motionless by the door, immovable as granite, but I see the slight tick in his jaw that tells me I have struck a nerve. “Your understanding of my capabilities is limited.”
“How long?” My hands ball into fists at my sides. “How long do you plan to keep me here?”
“Until I have what I need.” His answer comes with the cold finality of a judge leaving no room to argue.
The words steal the breath from my lungs. Until he has what he needs. And if I can’t give him information I don’t possess about a man whose name means nothing to me, then what?
My anger drains away as quickly as it flared, replaced by fear. I hate the way my voice breaks when I speak again and the tears that sting the back of my eyes.
“Hope is sick.” The words tumble out in a rush, no longer a demand but a plea.
“She has severe epilepsy. That means she can’t be alone for too long, and stress can trigger seizures that could kill her if no one is there to help.
” I take a shallow breath, my chest tight with panic that has nothing to do with my own captivity.
“She’ll wake up, and I won’t be there. She’ll worry.
The worry will cause an episode. Please. ”
The please strips away a layer of pride I can’t afford to lose, but I force it out anyway because Hope matters more than my dignity. She has always mattered more than anything else.
“I just need to tell her I’m okay. That’s all.
One phone call. Please.” My voice drops to a whisper, all the fight draining out of me and leaving only desperate honesty.
“She’s twenty-three but she depends on me.
If something happens to her because you took me, if she has a seizure and no one is there—”
I can’t finish the sentence. I can’t voice the nightmare that plays behind my closed eyelids every time Hope's medications fail and I find her on the floor with blood on her lips from where she bit her tongue. The terror that one day I won’t be fast enough, or get to her in time, and she’ll slip away while I stand helplessly and watch.
Luka studies me with those guarded eyes, his expression a wall I can’t see past. Vega’s soft breathing and the faint whisper of wind against the windows are all that break the silence.
When he finally moves, it’s to pull his phone from his jacket pocket.
He doesn’t hand it to me or step closer.
He just holds it in one large hand, his thumb hovering over the screen.
“You will tell her you are safe,” he instructs, his voice cold but not cruel. “You will say you had to drive to Denver for a last-minute supplier run. Specialty beans. Equipment parts. Nothing more.”
The excuse is believable enough, but it’ll still sting, because Hope will wonder why I didn’t tell her sooner. My chest aches from the lie, but the relief hits hard enough to make my knees weak.
“Yes. Yes, I will,” I promise. “Thank you.”
But he doesn’t dial. Instead, he watches me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“If you deviate from those instructions,” he continues, each word laced with warning, “if you attempt to communicate your location or circumstances, the call ends immediately. And you do not get another one.”
The threat is clear. This isn’t mercy. This is calculation. A tool to keep me compliant and ensure my cooperation by dangling the one thing he knows I can’t bear to lose.
I nod, not trusting my voice, and watch as he finally touches the screen. The phone rings once, twice, three times before Hope's sleepy voice answers.
“Hello?”
The sound of her voice nearly breaks me.