Page 8 of Regal Queen

In the beginning, I'd been kept in a room down the hall from Dimitri. I'd tried escaping exactly four times before he moved me to this room, switching from trying to get information from me in that room to using the basement as psychological warfare.

I'd tried escaping from this room too but it was almost impossible, even though Ivan was slowly making a hole in the concrete block near his bed with the butter knife. It was still slow going.

After finishing my sandwich, I thanked Ivan for making it, then hobbled my way over to the mattress, collapsing on it. Even with my thoughts racing, I fell asleep quickly.

The next few days were especially brutal. It was all I could do to land on my mattress each day, barely acknowledging Ivan's minstrations, rolling over onto my side when his muted voice told me that he was done.

The next day, I came back without the tip of my finger. He managed to bandage it before I cried myself to sleep that night, the pain was so intense.

The darkness was beginning to win, especially after a brutal session that left a ringing in my left ear and a spinning of the room around me. I couldn't hear very well from it after that.

Still, I vaguely remembered Ivan's brushing my sweaty hair from my face, mumbling softly. He put a cool cloth to my face that night.

I think I had a fever, my finger was probably infected, even though he'd used up the rest of the ointment on it.

One day blended into the other, and soon, I didn't know how long it'd been since I'd arrived.

It didn't even matter anymore.

I’d given up on escape, given into the fact that I wasn't getting out of this place alive.

I just had to hang on to my secret, it was the one and only thing that made me brave.

Aster’s childish face, her bright innocent eyes with blazing red hair and a bright sparkly personality to match it. Her dark green eyes, the same color as mine, were so ferocious. She was wild and untamed.

She didn't end up with a father like mine. Her dad wasn't in the mafia but a wealthy governor and she was the apple of his eye. She owned that place as if she was the mistress, and I would never, never be responsible for extinguishing that fire.

I would go to my fucking grave with my secret.

A deep rumble woke me. I blinked my eyes; it was dark, with only a small lamp lighting up the room.

The rumble happened again but this time I acknowledged the moving of the ground that came with it.

Ivan scrambled to his feet, coming over to shake me to make sure I was awake, his voice too muted to understand.

I shook my head, trying to hear him. He grabbed my face, turning my head so he could speak in my good ear. "Get up. They're here to rescue you."

Then he let me go, and I fell to my hands and knees, scrambling off the bed even though my whole body was in agony.

Ivan was running around the room and soon, he was shoving his clothes in my hands.

"Put these on, the boots first."

"What about you?"

"Don't worry about me, my little flower. I will be okay." At my rebellious look, he fell to his knees, grabbing my feet and shoving my feet into his large boots.

Giving in, I helped him put on the other one, then he yanked me to my feet.

My body protested at the movement, my bones and muscled screaming at me to lay back down. Ivan wrapped me up in his thick coat and began pushing me towards the window.

"Stop," I hissed, "we can't get out there. We already tried it."

The ground shook again with a resounding boom. There was yelling and screaming outside our door.

"I figured it out." Ivan was urgent as we reached the window. He gripped the iron gate covering the window and tugged. For the first time, I noticed that his fingers were torn and bloody.

I squeezed my eyes shut, biting down on my tears. He'd done this for me, tore his fingers up to figure out a way out of here.

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