Page 80 of Wicked Arrangement

So, someone clearly told him about the original drop-off location. I’m glad I trusted my gut to move it. If someone told him of the new locations, it was either too late to inform him or he didn’t get to the new one in time. Although it’s a win finally having Sharkozi in our custody, I don’t hold out much hope for him talking. He’s old-school Russian Bratva, he’ll die before he talks. As much as I want information from him, I’m more than happy to oblige him with death.

“The money should be with you now,” Thomas says with a smile before adding, “I have to admit, I was surprised that you changed the location at the last minute. Anything I should be worried about?”

“You know how it is, you can never be too careful,” I reply noncommittally.

Thankfully, Thomas doesn’t press the issue, he smiles and nods. “Smart man, that’s why I like you, if you hadn’t suggested it, I would have done so myself.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I reply, “I always want to work with smart businessmen and men with honor.”

As the men finish loading up the last of the cargo, Thomas turns to me. “How about a drink to celebrate?”

Usually, I’d decline, not wanting to mix business with pleasure. Still, given the relief I feel having successfully completed this much-anticipated transaction and apprehending Sharkozi, I decide to throw caution to the wind.

“Sure, sounds good.”

At least this will distract me from thoughts of Kim and my child she may or may not be carrying.

Chapter 42

Kimberly

It’s been almost three weeks now that I’ve been held captive, at least as far as I can tell. Time has lost all meaning here. The only way I know another day has passed is by Amelia’s daily visits, she could be coming more or less often than that and I’d have no idea. By now, despite my best efforts, the room I am in has become a stinking mess. I’m still wearing the clothes I had on when I was taken, they’re covered in grime and sweat. My hair is matted and dry. I yearn for a long, hot bath or even a cold shower, anything to feel clean again.

When the door opens, I don’t even bother to look up from where I’m lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, I’m so numb to Amelia’s cruel visits now.

“Get up,” a gruff man’s voice barks, catching me by surprise as I realize it’s not Amelia at all.

Not wanting to risk a beating or worse, I stand up, my movements slow and stiff from lack of exercise and feeling weak from lack of proper nutrients. Again, my mind immediately goes to my unborn child. What impact will these weeks of captivity have on my baby?

“Go,” the man grunts, gesturing toward the open door.

I stand frozen for a second, uncertain. I’ve never been taken outside of the cell before, is this a trick? A test of some sort? Suddenly, the prospect of leaving these four walls isn’t as appealing as before. Does this mean I’m being released? Or,more likely, I’m about to walk the plank and they’re finally going to kill me.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Fucking move, I haven’t got all day,” he barks, prompting me into action.

Feeling like a death row inmate taking their final long walk to the electric chair, I trudge down the corridor and up the stairs. Soon, we reach a door that, to my surprise, takes us into a supply closet. From here, we walk out into the grand marble foyer of a mansion. The space is so bright it causes me to wince, unused to bright light after spending so long in the dimly lit cell. The pristine white marble and sparkling chandeliers make me feel even filthier than before.

The marble floor feels cold under my bare feet as the man leads me across the foyer and down a corridor. Eventually, we reach two solid oak doors that open into an impressive office space. Inside, seated behind a large, ornate desk, is a man I don’t recognize. He’s probably in his early forties, he’s not an unattractive man, but his eyes are a little too close together, his nose a little too crooked, and his cruel lips too thin to make him conventionally handsome.

“Miss Walsh, it’s good to finally meet you, I’m Bogdan Sharkozi,” he says with a shark-like grin, revealing a wide set of sharp teeth. Unlike Yaroslav, who speaks English with a slight Russian accent, this man speaks perfect unaccented English, almost as if he was born and brought up here.

I stand there, unimpressed. I’m not about to pretend I’m a guest here, not a prisoner. He must realize I’m not going to respond as he carries on.

“Please, take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the one in front of him.

“I’m fine standing,” I state, not wanting to get too close to him.

“I insist,” he says cordially but his henchman forces me into the chair.

“You must be wondering why I called you here. Well, I have a proposition for you. In exchange for your freedom, I need you to do something for me,” he says, steepling his fingers and watching me intently.

“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him suspiciously.

“In exchange for your freedom and your life, I would require you to feed me back information about your beau, Yaroslav Volkov, and the whereabouts of a certain person he is holding captive.”

“So you want me to be a spy?” I ask, disgusted. “There’s no way Yaroslav wouldn’t see through it, and besides, even if he told me anything about his business, which he doesn’t, I won’t betray him like that,” I snarl. I refuse to be a pawn in this fucker’s game.

He looks amused, as though I’ve said something charming or cute. “I thought you might say that. Which is why I decided to have an added incentive for you.”

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