Page 3 of Kristoff

“You know Danuta then?” he accuses but doesn’t move the knife. So much blood covers my shoulder. My stomach swirls into nausea unlike any I’ve felt before.

I nod. “Stop. Please,” I beg, and hate myself for it at the same time. Danuta wouldn’t be so fucking weak. She would already be untied and have his throat between her hands.

“Tell me.”

Things won’t get better once I do. Things could get a lot worse. But the pain is too much.

“She’s my sister!” I say with the last gust of energy I have. “My older sister,” I whisper.

Andrei yanks my chin back until I’m looking right into his eyes. He’s searching me, to see if I’m lying probably. Like he’s a detective now. He has to know I’m telling the truth. Danuta wouldn’t have caved so easily.

He jerks the knife from my shoulder and a new burst of pain erupts. I scream, burning my throat from all of the yelling. My head drops forward when he lets go of my chin.

“You are a stupid girl,” Andrei says with disgust dripping from the words. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it, but it’s the first time I’ve agreed. Coming to Europe, chasing the story, may be the dumbest thing I’ve done to date.

“Your men grabbed the wrong girl - but I’m the stupid one?” I laugh between sniffles. I’ve never handled stress well.

“You want a story about sex trafficking? I will accommodate you.”

Pain bursts through my head and the lights go out again.

2

“Fuck,” I groan, grabbing my head as I wake for a second time. For a moment, I forget where I am, who I’m with, but it comes back. In a rapid flood of memory and pain, it’s all clear again.

My shoulder aches, but the pain is much less. I’m lying on the floor, not tied down to the chair anymore. I touch my shoulder and find it’s been bandaged. The blood has been washed away from my arm and the rest of my body where it had dripped while Andrei had his fun.

I push myself to a sitting position, hissing at the burn in my wound and lean back against the wall. I’m not in the same room.

The floor is still concrete, but the walls - they’re not walls at all. They’re bars.

I’m in a fucking cage.

The chill from the floor seeps into my naked skin, sending shivers through my body. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them, hugging myself. I try to ignore the pain in my shoulder and look around. There’s another cage a few feet from mine, but it’s empty. Bare bulbs hang from the ceiling, one in each of the cages and more outside. The bulb in my cage is lit, and one near the door. Even if I find a way out of my cage, I bet that door is locked.

I push my dark hair from my eyes, tucking it behind my ears and move to my feet. I can’t just sit here and wait for my executioner to show.

The other bulbs in the room light up, just before the door opens. A man walks in, over to my cage. He stands with his hands flexed at his sides, his shoulders are broad and he’s tall. My head reaches his shoulders.

“Move back,” he orders, his Russian accent somewhat watered down. I recognize the voice. He was the second man in the cell with me. What did Andrei call him? “Now.” He points a finger at me.

I step back until my heel touches the bars at the back of the cage. Remembering my nudity, I fold my arms over my chest and try to cover my sex with my hand.

He pulls out a key and jiggles it into the lock, opens my cage and steps inside. He pockets the key again, and stands with his arms crossed over his chest, just inside, staring at me.

There are no scars on his face that I can see. Square jaw, dark eyes, everything points in the direction of scary, but I’m only slightly nervous. Unsure of what he’s here for, and what he might do to me, I keep my guard up, but I don’t sense anger in him. Not like Andrei - that man oozes crazy.

Walking toward me, his focus seems to be on my shoulder. I jerk away when he reaches for the bandages, but he grabs my arm in a vise grip.

“Don’t ever pull away when I touch you.” His voice is dark, deep and commanding. A tone that would have easily made me eager to follow him if we were back in New York and there were dungeon monitors walking around us. But we aren’t in New York, and this man isn’t a dominant looking for a fun night.

This man is dangerous.

“Don’t touch me,” I say and pull away again, but his grip is too hard and all I manage to do is hurt my shoulder more by pulling on it.

He shakes his head. With my arm in his grip, my breasts have been left exposed. A fact he capitalizes on. He pinches my nipple, pulling on it until I step closer to him. The burning pain catches me off guard, and I yelp.

He doesn’t release me even when I’m practically on top of him. Instead, he leans down, bringing his lips to my ear. “Every disobedience is punished. Learn this quickly and save yourself a lot of pain.”

---