Page 25 of Savage Warrior

He frowns at me but continues. “Where in Belarus?”

“Lida.”

“You are a long way from home, Arina.”

It’s not a question, so I don’t bother to answer. He’s probably just trying to trap me, to find a reason to use his fists. Like they all do.

He takes my empty mug and places it in the sink with his own but makes no effort to wash them. I guess that will be my job. I should get dressed and start cleaning up before he orders me to and gets mad. No doubt he’ll have plans to drag me back to wherever the others are being held as soon as he can.

I’m still draped in the towel he wrapped me in after the shower. I cringe, recalling that peculiar episode. It was odd, he seemed almost caring, the way he came out and found me, then carried me back here. He got me warmed up and put me to bed. Anyone would think he wasn’t part of a cold-blooded sex trafficking gang, who somehow tracked me down and is now intending to sell me to anyone with the cash.

I glance around in search of my clothes but can’t see them. I’ve no alternative but to ask him.

“Still wet,” is his succinct answer.

“Oh.” Does this mean I’ll be dragged back out into the snow in damp clothes?

He crouches beside a large hessian holdall and produces a dark-grey T-shirt. He tosses it to me. “You can wear that for now.”

Utterly bewildered, I clutch it in my hands and stare at him.

He straightens. “Put it on. We need to talk.”

My heart sinks. There’s just one way these men ‘talk’. But I know better than to disobey. I need to gather my wits and hold myself together if I’m to survive this. I escaped from them once, I can do it again. Surely.

I pull the T-shirt over my head. It’s huge, down to my knees, but being at least partially clothed gives me the confidence boost I need. I already feel less vulnerable.

“Come over here.” He’s seated at the table, and he gestures to the one other chair opposite him.

I do as I’m told but find myself too nervous to meet his gaze.

He’s having none of that. “Eyes on me, Arina.”

I obey, and I’m struck by just how unlike his accomplices this man is. He’s younger, for a start, no more than thirty. And handsome, in a hard-edged sort of way. His features are stern, uncompromising, as though he doesn’t find much to smile about. Slate-grey eyes regard me with an expression almost of distaste, as though he simply wants me off his hands as soon as possible.

His first words, delivered in heavily accented and stilted Russian, confirm that.

“So, Arina Kovalyova, give me one good reason why I should not turf you out right now?”

Not for the first time, I am lost. I open my mouth, but I have no answer. His question makes no sense.

“Well?” he prompts me, though without the barely veiled threat of imminent violence I had expected.

I give him the only answer I can come up with. “Because you want to sell me.”

One eyebrow lifts. “Do I? What makes you think that?”

He’s goading me, trying to trick me… Even so, I see no other option, I give the only answer I can think of. “That is why you and your friends kidnapped me. Kidnapped all of us.”

His eyes narrow. “I think we are at cross purposes here, Arina.”

“I do not understand…”

He continues as if I never spoke. “…but some things are beginning to make sense now.”

“Are they?” To him, perhaps…

“You were kidnapped? Is this right?”

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