Page 1 of Kristoff

1

“Seriously? Ten?” I shake my head but hand over the money for my coffee. It’s not like I have a choice in the matter. Without it, I’ll fall asleep before I get my shot and seeing as there’s not another cafe within walking distance, the barista smiling at me with coffee stained teeth will get his money.

I snag the cup offered and inhale the sweet scent of caffeine. It’s probably the cinnamon I’m smelling, but I lie to myself that the caffeine will work better if I can smell it, too.

The sun barely shines through the overcast sky, but it’s enough to make me put on my sunglasses. It’s going to be a long day, and I need to get my head on straight.

It’s taken me three years to get this opportunity, and I can’t blow it. Spending most of my savings, I’ve rented a small apartment above a flower shop and have bided my time.

Andrei Dowidoff’s home is nearby, a large estate an hour drive from London. It’s a damn fortress, but not without its weaknesses. I just need to find them - and someone willing to talk. Anyone at this point would be helpful. I just need a solid interview, just one.

Officially, Andrei isn’t being investigated by any department I’m aware of. He’s not the main target, but he’s a big player.

“Excuse me.” An older man with graying hair and deep creases around his eyes touches my arm as I walk past him. “I’m sorry, my car broke down. Radiator trouble, I think, and my cell isn’t working. Do you happen to have one I can borrow to call my son? He’ll come get me.”

I scan our surroundings. The morning rush around the coffee shop has died down and only a few cars pass us on the street.

“Sure.” I pull out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and hand it over to him, unlocking the screen with a swipe of my finger before he takes it.

He thanks me and starts to punch in a phone number while I sip my coffee. His fingernails attract my attention. Trimmed low and clean. Not a spec of dirt or oil on his fingertips at all.

When I turn my gaze up to his face, I find him grinning at me. He shrugs, but before I can question him, thick fabric is smashed across my mouth and nose. A sweet pungent smell invades my senses as I struggle. Arms wrap around me from behind, and I throw my head back, aiming to hit the bastard’s nose. But I miss. My vision blurs. I try to hold my breath while I fight to break free, but it doesn’t take any time at all for the chemical to take over.

I drop my overpriced coffee. My muscles weaken, become heavy, and my struggles are too pathetic to do any good. The darkness takes over and wins.

Darkness almost always does.

———

Myeyelids are heavy when I try to blink them open. A dense fog still fills my vision, and there isn’t enough light to give me any sense of where I am. An itch on my nose becomes annoying, and I try to lift my hand to rub it away. I can’t move my hands; they’re bound behind me.

Bound, drugged and alone with no idea of where I am or how I came to be here. I force myself to raise my head and get a good look at the room I’m in. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough to realize it’s more a cell than a room. The floors, the walls, the ceiling, all concrete. A single bulb hangs over my head, but it’s not lit. A thin line of light illuminates along the bottom of the only door in the room. It’s probably steel enforced.

Shaking my head, a sad attempt to rid myself of the lingering cloud, I try to focus my thoughts. Testing my feet, I realize my ankles are bound to the chair. My shoulders burn from the bondage. A burn I usually welcome, but this isn’t a dungeon. And there isn’t a safe-word that will get me out of whatever mess I’ve put myself in.

I inhale a deep breath, choosing to ignore the rotting stench of the room. I need to clear out as much of the chemical from my body, and cleansing breaths are as good as I can do being tied up.

The door creaks when it’s opened followed by a bright white light shining directly into my face. I clench my eyes closed and turn my head, not needing anymore discomfort. Booted footsteps head toward me, two sets.

“Good, you’re awake,” a deep voice says with a thick Russian accent. I open my eyes and look sideways up at him. He’s older than I would have thought from his voice. Thick dark hair with hints of silver at the roots. His mustache is pure gray, and the deep wrinkles on his brow giveaway that he’s past his middle age.

I blink a few times, looking past him. Another man, not as old, stands in the doorway, blocking most of the light and casting himself in a dark shadow. I can’t make out his features, but his large, muscular build is easy to see.

“I have to say, Danuta, I am surprised you were so easily taken. You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long, and so easily you were plucked.” His accent makes it hard to understand him through my foggy mind, but I’m pretty sure he called me Danuta.

It’s probably the drugs he gave me, but I start giggling.

“You - idiot,” I laugh and tug at my binds.

I’m rewarded quickly for the insult with a hard slap across my face. The pain radiates through my jaw and makes golden stars dance before me. Grunting, I shake my head. That didn’t help clear up the haze.

“Chertovski suka!” He spits on the ground at my feet. My bare feet. I ignore the fact that he’s just called me a fucking bitch and concentrate on my clothing, or lack thereof. I’m naked. Completely exposed.

He has my full attention now.

“I’m not Danuta,” I state, working my jaw open and closed. I press my knees together as best I can, given my feet are bound spread apart. “You have the wrong girl.”

He gets closer to me, and I can smell the cigar smoke on his clothes. His eyes narrow, and he examines my face, grabbing my chin and turns my head one way then the other.

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