Page 10 of Unleashed

"I think she's waking."

I blink and open my eyes again and realize what I thought I was seeing was just in my imagination, my half-conscious awareness. Because my hands arenotin front of me. They are tied to the bed, shackled with metal handcuffs. I gasp and try to move my legs and realize they are cuffed too.

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"Don't fight it.” The voice belongs to the small woman at my bedside. I don't even know if I can call her a woman. Girl? She's definitely younger than I am, but I couldn't tell you my age, no matter what you offered me. "Don't speak right now. You're in recovery."

Recovery from… what? Did I have surgery? That must be it. I had surgery, and they gave me medicine that made my brain forget everything for a little bit. I breathe through my nose andexhale. In a little while, it will come back. I’ll remember why I’m here.

What is my name? I never knew how important it was to remember my name until I couldn't.

I yank my wrist, but the metal is unyielding. I pull my ankles, and it's the same thing. I need help. I ignore her advice because I have something to say.

"Why am I like this?" My voice wobbles.

The young woman looks concerned.

"You really don't know?"

I shake my head, but it hurts. It feels like my brain is going to explode out of my skull.

“Never mind that. We'll have time to get to that. Tell me, are you in pain?"

Finally, something I can answer. “Yes. So much pain.” The words come out in Russian.

I speak Russian. I understand Russian. Something I can hold onto.

"She needs morphine," the young girl says quietly. I didn't notice the other person in the room, dressed in white.

"No," I say, my voice shaky. I know that morphine will make me disoriented, and I don't need to be more disoriented.

The young woman, who stands in the shadows—I don’t know who she is, stares at a man beside her. I blink. I didn’t realize anyone else was in the room. “Sir?”

She’s asking him for permission? Wait. Do I know that man? He’s tall and broad and towers over the two women.

“No morphine,” he says in a low growl of a voice. “No painkillers at all.”

No painkillers? I’m bound to this bed and not allowed anything for the pain. A moment ago, I contemplated not having them at all, but being disallowed them is another level of cruel. I stare at the man, trying to place him, but he’s shadowed and unfamiliar.

The girl’s voice trembles as she protests. "Rafail, that's too cruel."

I don’t know the name Rafail. But I don’t even knowmyname.

“Since when do I give a shit about that?” he snarls, turning away from the deprecating look she gives him.

“Please,” I say, my voice trembling. “Someone tell me how I got here. Who I am. What happened?”

The man steps out of the shadows. I note the sharp angle of his jaw, the utter coldness in his cruel eyes. For some reason, he’s vibrating with barely controlled rage, directed straight atme.

“Wait,” the woman says with concern. “She doesn’t know who she is.”

His unconcerned shrug troubles me. "Not out of the ordinary." Turning back to the woman in white, he orders, "Give her water and food so she can keep her energy up.Nomorphine."

I watch as she prepares a cocktail of sorts for me with deft fingers.

Questions spin through my mind. I open my mouth to speak to the woman, but he’s watching me. I don’t trust anyone in thisroom. My instincts tell me I can at least trust the gentle one, but I don't even know who I am. Can I even trust my instincts?

While they talk in low voices among themselves, I note everything I can. First, I am shackled to a bed. The woman next to me is friendly enough, but she obeys the big, muscled man.

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