39. Lila
Lila
The room smells like fish and diesel. I hear seagulls and a clanking bell that tells me I’m probably in a warehouse down by the docks.
I didn’t see where they brought me after they snatched me from the house. They put a bag over my head and threw me in the trunk of a car.
I look around. One door. No window. A single lightbulb overhead. The walls are corrugated metal. Nothing in the room I can use as a weapon.
I pace the room.
My wrist hurts. One of them grabbed me by the arm when they pulled me out of the house, and I twisted it as I tried to get free. I don’t think anything is broken.
Cinder. The image of her going down, with blood on her sleeve, still fighting even as they pulled me toward the door… I push it away. She was alive. I saw her moving. I hold onto that and pray they didn’t kill her. I cannot have any more blood spilled because of me.
The echoes of the women screaming and the rapid succession of bullets will haunt me for the rest of my days. Considering the situation, my days might be limited.
I hear footsteps outside the door and the deep timbre of men’s voices. I have no idea how many men are out there. I can’t fight them all, but I will take down as many as I can.
The lock turns.
The man who walks in is not one of the guards. He’s older. Dark suit and no tie. He could be someone’s grandfather at a Sunday dinner, except for the two men who come in behind him and position themselves near the door.
“Lila.”
I don’t have to guess who he is. The man who’s been trying to kidnap me since I was a little girl. The man responsible for my mother’s death.
I’ve pictured him as a huge man. A monster. The man who had me living in fear for the past nine years.
He’s smaller than I imagined.
And he’s three feet away.
“Arlind,” I say.
He smirks, enjoying his name on my lips.
He looks around the room with mild distaste. As if he isn’t the one who put me here.
“This isn’t what I would have chosen,” he says.
“I’ll survive the ambiance.”
He clasps his hands in front of him. “Your father was a foolish man,” he says. “He crossed me.”
“He sold me.”
“He paid a debt.”
“With a life that wasn’t his to give away,” I reply.
He shrugs. “You’ve been difficult.”
“So sorry to try to live without being one of your sex slaves.”
“Your husband is a problem.”
“Totally agree,” I say.
“Your father’s debt was substantial.” Arlind moves closer.
“If someone owes you money, I would think you’d want them alive so they could work to pay you back. It’s not my fault that you killed the man who owed you the debt.”
“Your mother was resourceful,” he says. “She lasted longer than I anticipated; I’ll give her that.”
“Don’t talk about her,” I hiss.
He smiles, and I hate that I let him see any emotion.
“Sokolov will come,” he says. “He’s emotional. Predictable. He loves you.” He says the word “love” like it tastes bad. “That’s his weakness. You. And I will make him pay for taking what’s ours.”
“I’m not yours,” I hiss. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
“When he comes, I’ll have what I want from both of you.
He’ll make concessions he wouldn’t otherwise make.
He’ll give up territory, operations, and supply chains.
He’ll do it because you’re standing in the room.
” He looks at me without malice. “You’re a tool, Lila.
You belonged to us. He took what’s ours. ”
I’ve never been so disgusted. He’s enjoying this. Stepping closer to intimidate me.
Big mistake.
I’m measuring the distance between us.
“This is your mother’s fault. If she had left well enough alone, your husband wouldn’t have to die tonight.”
The buzzing in my ears is the same sound I remember from the parking garage. I will not allow him to kill Maksim.
He takes another step closer.
I move faster than he expects. I close the distance before his guards have processed what’s happening.
My nails find his face first, and I drag them hard across his cheek, feeling the skin give way.
He lets out something close to a scream.
I grab his collar with my other hand and drive my knee into his stomach.
He folds.
I pivot toward the door, toward the guard on the left, who is closer and slower, and I get one good strike to his throat before the second one has his arms around me from behind.
I throw my head back, and the crack is satisfying.
He swears in a foreign language. His grip loosens just enough for me to get an elbow into his ribs.
But there are two of them and only one of me, and Arlind is straightening up, with one hand pressed to his face and blood running through his fingers where I clawed him. The measured calm is gone.
The guard locks both arms around mine and lifts me off the floor. I kick hard and connect with something, but he doesn’t drop me.
Arlind stands in front of me, breathing hard and snarling. He takes out a folded handkerchief and presses it to his cheek. He looks at the blood on it, then at me.
“There she is,” he says quietly. “I wondered how long that would take.”
I don’t say anything. This is not over. This is not how it ends.
“Put her down,” he says. “And secure her hands.”
The guard drops me but keeps hold of my arm. I don’t fight it yet. I’m saving what I have left.
Arlind looks at me one more time and moves toward the door. He pauses with his hand on the frame.
“Sokolov will come,” he says again. “And when he does, I’ll allow you to watch me kill him. He’ll die knowing we own you.” His eyes rake over my body. “Every inch.”
He walks out.
The door locks behind him.
The guard zip-ties my wrists in front of me, which is a mistake. In front, I can still fight.
Maksim will come.
And he’ll die trying to save me.