Page 26 of Savage Warrior

“You know that I was.” This is becoming ridiculous, but I don’t point that out for fear his relatively calm demeanour could change in a moment.

“From Belarus? And brought to the UK by traffickers?”

When I simply stare at him, he goes on. “You somehow got away and ended up here?”

I nod, slowly.

“It was the traffickers who gave you those bruises? Am I right?”

“Bruises?” I echo.

“All over your body. I saw them yesterday, in the shower.”

Ah, yes. Of course. I decide to go along with his bizarre questioning. “I was beaten and kicked for fighting back. They put a hood over my head. I thought they would kill me.”

“And that’s what you thought I would do as well. That’s why you ran yesterday.”

I nod. “You have a gun. You burst in here and threatened me. Is it not obvious?”

“Fair enough. But you ran out with no coat, no shoes. What were you thinking? You would have died if I hadn’t found you.”

“I might die anyway.” I tip up my chin. “I prefer to take my chances. I won’t go back there, to them. You will have to kill me first.”

He leans back and regards me with those inscrutable slate-grey eyes. “That’s not going to happen.”

“What—?”

“You won’t be going back, and I won’t kill you.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to you. I have no connection to any traffickers. I certainly won’t be handing you back or selling you. Is that clear enough?”

“I don’t believe you.”

He shrugs. “Please yourself. But understand this, if you run again, you’re on your own. I won’t be coming after you a second time.”

I open my mouth then snap it shut again. I can barely take this in.

He’s not one of them? Truly? Can I trust his word? And… what other choice do I have?

I blurt the one question that occurs to me. “If you didn’t come here looking for me, then… why?”

His features split into a half-smile. “Well, that’s a different story altogether, and not one for today. Let’s stick with you for a while.” He gets to his feet and refills the kettle. “More coffee?”

“Yes, please.” If nothing else, it might help to steady my nerves.

He places a streaming mug in front of me and retakes his seat. “So, I have the broad headlines, I think. Now for the details. Tell me exactly what happened.”

I draw in a breath and wrap my hands around the mug. It helps to keep them from shaking as I relate my tale.

For the most part he’s quiet, only interrupting to ask for clarification from time to time.

“How many men did you see?”

“Do you know any of their names?”

“How many other women?”

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