Page 100 of Devious Secrets

“It’s going to be all right.” I bolster my voice. “My husband is going to come; he’s going to get us out of here.”

Alexander isn’t going to let anyone hurt me. He will burn the city to the ground to find me.

I sink back to the ground, pressing my back against the wall I share with my new roommate.

“He’ll find us.”

“Well, I hope he has an army with him,” she says with a bitterness to her tone. “There are at least twenty men upstairs right now.”

A door creaks open, cascading our little cells in bright fluorescent lighting. I wince from the discomfort and turn my head to the side. It’s too much at one time.

Clicking of heels against cement tick off each step our visitor takes as she makes her way toward us. The light shining behind her keeps her face hidden from view.

It’s only when she steps up to my door that I catch the whiff of her stuffy perfume. I know this scent; it’s like a blend of stale rose mixed with the damp musk of old fabric. And I’ve only ever known one person to wear it.

“Cheryl?” I blink until my eyes adjust to the lighting, and then she comes into focus.

“Hello, Megan.” Her thickly painted lips spread into a wide grin. She’s wearing a deep-green dress with a white pearl necklace. Her red hair is swept up into a French twist and pearl droplets dangle from her ears.

“What’s going on?” I wrap my hands around the thick, chilled bars. The grime and dirt of the place covers them.

Cheryl sighs. “You have something that I need. Once you give it over, you’ll be free to go.”

“I don’t understand. What do I have?”

“The flash drive.” The facade of pleasantry drops with her demand.

“I don’t have it,” I say quickly.

“You saw it.”

“I don’t have it anymore. They took it from me.” She has to know the Volkovs are never going to give over that drive. And knowing that could make her desperate.

Life experience has taught me being desperate makes people do really stupid things.

Like sneaking into a Russian Mafia’s secret club office to seek out blackmail information for the Italian mob. I can mentally flog myself later for my previous stupidity, but first I need to get out of my current mess.

“Then we’ll have to figure out a way for you to get it back.”

“You want me to steal the drive from my husband and hand it over to you?” Hopefully, she’ll hear the insanity inside the statement.

“Since he’s your husband, it should be an easy thing to accomplish.” Her smile twists as her eyes roam over me. “You’re a pretty thing, I’m sure you can get him wrapped around your little finger easily enough.”

“Alexander Volkov,” I deadpan. “You think he’s dumb enough to fall for something like that?”

“He was dumb enough to think marrying you would keep you safe,” she snaps.

“I’m not doing it.” I grip the bars of my door tighter. “You and Marco can go fuck yourselves. I’m not doing anything else for him.”

She runs her tongue over her top teeth, then lets out an exaggerated sigh with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You really are a stupid girl. When Marco suggested having you get the drive, I told him you’d fuck it all up, and you did.”

“Hey. I’ll go. I’ll get whatever you need,” the woman in the cell beside me pleads.

Cheryl leans to the left, trying to peer into the second cell. When she can’t quite get a good look, she walks over to her door and pulls out a key from the pocket in her dress. The door creaks eerily as it swings open, and a small woman steps out.

She’s young, barely eighteen if that, and naked. Bruises cover her arms and legs, purplish handprints on her thighs. A scab has formed over a deep cut on her left breast and her hair is pulled up into a set of pigtails, exposing the dark bruises around her neck.

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