Page 59 of The Arrangement

Chapter 31

Tory

I’m pacing back and forth like a caged animal in this basement room that's become my temporary prison. How long has it been? Twelve hours? A whole day? Without a clock, time's turned into this abstract thing that just stretches and folds on itself.

The door's bolted shut, solid and mocking any fantasy I have of a dramatic escape. I've given it the once over, twice over—no luck. No loose hinges to exploit, no overlooked tools lying around, and no windows I can crawl out of.

So, here I am, stuck, trying not to spiral into panic or despair. Maksim's out there, and if I know anything about him, it's that he's turning the city upside down to find me. That thought alone offers a sliver of hope in this dim, clock-less room. I have to stay calm, stay smart, and wait for my moment.

In this spartan cell, there's one thing that actually catches my eye—a pool table. In the middle of my makeshift prison stands this relic of leisure, stripped of its felt and glamour, looking as out of place as I feel. But the object beside it really piques my interest—a lone pool cue, forgotten or perhaps left behind as some cruel joke by my captors.

I approach it cautiously, as if it might vanish the moment I acknowledge its existence. Picking it up, I'm struck by its heft, the solid feel of it in my hands. It's not exactly Excalibur, but in the absence of knights and swords, it feels pretty close. It could be a weapon, I muse, the thought both empowering and terrifying.

I take a few tentative swings, trying to mimic every action hero I've ever seen, hoping I don't look as ridiculous as I feel. The air swooshes quietly with each movement, the sound oddly reassuring.

The reality of my situation is stark—trapped with limited options and even less experience. But this pool cue, this unexpected ally, offers a sliver of hope, a means to fight back when the moment comes. And as I practice my swings, I feel a growing determination. I may not be ready to take on the world, but I'll be damned if I don't put up a fight.

There’s a small slit in the door I hadn’t noticed before in my attempts to find an escape route. Curiosity piqued, I tiptoe closer, the weight of the cue now feeling like potential, like opportunity.

The voices on the other side are muffled, the words indistinct, but there's no mistaking the bored tone of guard duty gripes. My fingers itch to reach through, to maybe catch a snippet of useful information, but the slit's too high, too narrow. Then it hits me—the cue.

Gently, with the sort of caution you'd use handling dynamite, I nudge the face of the slat open with the pool cue. It's a small victory, but the voices filter through more clearly now. One's unmistakably Nicky, his distinct accent carrying a mix of annoyance and impatience. The other voice, deeper, gruffer, belongs to what can only be described as typical goon material.

They're lamenting their current assignment—me, essentially. How babysitting duty's beneath them, how they'd rather be out there, in the thick of whatever nefarious plans they've got brewing.

"I wish we were doing anything more exciting than babysitting," the other guard grumbles, unaware of just how keenly I'm listening.

"Just wait," Nicky replies, his tone lowering into something more ominous. "There's going to be more than enough action for us in the next few days."

The other guard, obviously interested, presses him. "What do you mean?" His voice is rough, eager for a glimpse into the plan.

Nicky hesitates, a brief silence hanging in the air. "Aleksey said not to spill the beans," he admits, but the other's prodding seems to break down his resolve. "Alright, alright. Tory's here as bait. Aleksey's convinced that by taking her, he's thrown Maksim off his game, got him all emotional."

My heart skips a beat, the gravity of my situation sinking in even deeper with every word Nicky spills.

"He's planning to use her to draw Maksim into a trap, right here at Aleksey's house, where he'll be taken out. After that," Nicky's voice grows colder, "it's war. Maksim's crew will be wiped out, and Igor... Igor will be overthrown."

The other guard's chuckle sends a chill down my spine, their casual discussion of violence and betrayal echoing ominously in the cramped space. They're talking about an upheaval, about using me as the linchpin in a plan that could destroy everything Maksim and his father have built.

As I step back from the door, the pool cue suddenly feeling heavier in my hands, a potent brew of fear and resolve settles over me. They may see me as just a piece of bait, a pawn in their grand scheme, but I'm not about to sit quietly and let Aleksey's plans unfold. Maksim is out there, and if there's even the slightest chance he's coming for me, I need to be ready.

I'm no action hero, but standing here, holding this pool cue like it's my blade, I'm sort of forced into the role. I tuck myself behind the door, figuring if it swings open, I'll be hidden behind it.

I hear the other guard head out, then wait a few minutes… alright, it's showtime. I take a deep, not-at-all-calm breath and yell, "Hey, I could really use some water here!" Louder than I expected, my voice bounces off the walls, sounding way more confident than I feel.

Makeshift weapon in hand, my heart is doing the samba in my chest. I'm not looking to kill anyone, but if it comes down to protecting my little plus-one, you bet I'm going to swing this thing like I'm going for the fences.

Waiting for the door to open feels like an eternity, each second ticking by with my heart rate ratcheting up a notch.

Just when I'm starting to second-guess my whole strategy, the sound of a key turning in the lock snaps me back to the moment. Alright, Tory, this is it—no more rehearsals. I grip the pool cue with both hands, trying to channel every badass movie hero I've ever seen.

The door swings open, and there it is—an arm stretching into the room, a bottle of water in its grasp. Without a second thought, I swing the cue with all the might I can muster, targeting the arm. The impact sends the bottle flying, smashing against the floor, water splashing everywhere.

Nicky yells out—a yelp of surprise and pain that tells me I've hit my mark. But there's no time to celebrate; I'm already pulling the cue back for another go. I turn toward Nicky and aim higher; the cue connects with his chin in an upward swing. The look of shock on his face would be comical if the situation weren't so dire.

Not giving him a chance to recover, I swing one more time, harder, catching him at the back of the head. Down he goes, hitting the ground with a groan that tells me he won't be getting up anytime soon.

I stand there for a second, pool cue still in hand, staring at Nicky laid out on the floor. Part of me can't believe that actually worked.

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