Chapter 29
Quinn
Acloth bag is placed over my head and I’m dragged out of my cell. My bare feet slap against concrete, and the ground starts to feel warmer as more light filters through the fabric covering my face. I’m being led out into the open, and the sun’s shining.
I’d lost track of time in my constantly lit cell.
I can’t tell if the food they’re giving me is for breakfast, lunch or dinner because it’s the same grey slop every time.
I can’t even be sure I’ve had three meals a day.
My welfare is low down on their agenda. I’m still in my underwear and I haven’t had any water to wash with. I’ve barely had enough to drink.
The fresh air is a welcome relief, but it’s dry and scorched, and I don’t hear the birdsong I’d become familiar with in Poulton Springs. I’d already worked out that I wasn’t being held in Barrett’s stable block.
The weathered masonry and peeling paint of my cell had quickly robbed me of the last vestiges of hope that I was being kept somewhere where Reid could find me.
Wherever I am, the climate is alien to me.
It’s been unbearably hot in my cell, and the dry heat is the confirmation I don’t want that I’m far away from Illinois, and Reid.
I can’t keep up with Mikhail’s long strides, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.
A doctor had given me an all-too-thorough examination while two men held me down, and I presume the results of whatever tests he’d conducted are back.
I’m theirs to do with as they please – just like they’re doing to all the other women I can hear crying out in various languages.
I’d tried calling out to them, but they’re too afraid to answer.
None of their cries sound like Blake, which I try to take as a good sign.
When I step on a stone and stumble, Mikhail curses in Russian, and grabs hold of my neck. “Walk like a fucking regular person,” he hisses.
“You mean someone who doesn’t have a bag over their head and their hands tied in front of them?”
He tightens his grip on my neck. “There are steps in front of you. Walk up them or I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”
I make slow progress, too slow for Mikhail and he hauls me off my feet.
Only he doesn’t throw me over his shoulder, he carries me bridal style into another building.
The care he’s displaying feels ominous, and when he starts carrying me up a set of stairs, I struggle against his hold. That’s where the bedrooms will be.
“If I drop you down a flight of stairs,” Mikhail says carefully, “you and I are both going to wish we were dead.”
I don’t understand why Mikhail would face punishment, but I don’t care.
Despite my continued resistance, he reaches a door and kicks it open.
My feet are set down on linoleum, or some similar floor covering that’s practical for efficient clean-ups.
I wish I didn’t have such an active imagination sometimes.
When Mikhail pulls off my face covering, I’m standing in a dimly lit bedroom with a queen size bed.
There are closed shutters on the outside of the windows, and bars on the inside, but compared to my last holding cell, this is luxurious.
Except it’s not built for my comfort. It’s for my captors’ pleasure. I can’t believe it’s come to this.
In desperation, I look over at the dressing table. There are brackets to hold a mirror, but the mirror is missing. I would have smashed it and used a shard to cut Mikhail’s throat, but I presume that’s why it was removed. I’m defenseless, and so damn stupid. How did I ever think this would work?
Mikhail must see the sense of futility in my face because he unsheathes a knife and turns it in his hand, soaking up my growing terror. “I have orders not to harm you, but if you cause any trouble, there are ways I can make you suffer that won’t be pleasant.”
He has orders not to harm me? Does that include not going through with his threat of breaking me in? I don’t know what to expect next, and I’m stunned when Mikhail grabs my bound wrists and slices his blade through the ties like butter.
“Why am I here?” I ask, rubbing my abraded wrists.
“Do I look like a fucking tour guide?” he snarls. He tips his head to the far side of the room. “There’s a bathroom. Get cleaned up. Ilya will see you when he’s ready.”
The leap I make isn’t a pleasant one. Is Ilya keeping me for himself? Fuck him if he thinks I’m getting washed.
Once I’m alone, I pull a gloriously clean sheet from the bed and wrap it around me. I perch on the edge of the mattress and rock myself as I await my fate.
By the time I hear approaching footsteps, the broken sunshine through the shutters has grown less intense.
Ilya knocks before he enters, and immediately wrinkles his nose. “You smell disgusting.”
“So?”
He drops a paper bag by the door, and circles the bed. I shuffle backwards across the mattress, but he doesn’t attempt to grab me.
“Silly girl,” he says as he rests against the dressing table, legs crossed and arms folded. “I would never fuck something a Griffin has played with.”
“Pleased to hear it,” I say with a sneer that hides my overwhelming relief. “Why have you moved me?”
Ilya sweeps his arms out wide. “This is your new home until we can get you back to Russia.”
I should have known it was too soon to feel any relief. “Russia?”
“You’re to be my uncle’s new pet until you produce an heir.”
I can feel the blood draining from my face. I know Ilya’s deliberately drip-feeding me information to confuse and upset me, and it’s working. “Vasili wants to impregnate me?”
Ilya smiles for a long beat, then says, “Not his heir, you stupid bitch. A Griffin heir. Congratulations, Quinn. You’re going to have a baby.”
“No, I’m not,” I say with a shaky breath. I can’t be. It’s another of Ilya’s games. “Is that what you’ve told Reid? Have you spoken to him?”
“Oh, he was thrilled,” he says with a hollow laugh that he quickly cuts off. His features darken. “His brothers not so much. They called you a whore. Said you had probably slept with half my men given where your loyalties lie. And they do make a valid point. Have you been sleeping around, Quinn?”
“No!” I say, too horrified at the accusation to do the sensible thing and not tell him anything.
“I hope not for your sake. I’m already having a hard time convincing them that you and the spawn you’re incubating are worth protecting.” He stands up. “I’d love to stay and chat more, but that smell is burning my nose. And we’ve got nine whole months to plan how to exploit the situation.”
There are so many questions I want to ask, but I listen to my body rather than Ilya’s word play. My breasts have been feeling heavy, and despite the slight cramping, I haven’t started my period. I’m never regular, but maybe I am late, even by my standards.
Ilya’s at the door, and there’s only one question I need him to answer. “Where’s Blake? If you do send me away, can she come too? Can I speak to her?”
He pauses. “We do need to tie up that loose end,” he says as if agreeing with me.
“But if we’re back to making bargains, get cleaned up and we’ll speak again.
” He kicks the bag he’d left by the door.
“We’ll get around to organizing clothes for you, but in the meantime, you’ll have to wear what you came in. ”
I hold myself tense as I wait for the door to close. Worries about whether or not I’m pregnant are pushed to the back of my mind as I stare at the bag on the floor. Has Ilya just made his first mistake?