Page 8 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
Shit!
Was I…?
No. It can’t be. I can’t be kidnapped. Why would anyone even wanna kidnap me? I’m a nobody.
I drew a deep, long breath in an attempt to calm my nerves. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Again and again until I felt a little bit better, not even to bring me peace, but just enough to help me think.
Okay, okay, Wren, what’s the last thing you remember?
I closed my eyes, cocking my head to the side as images of how I spent my day came rushing back all at once.
It started out like every other day; I woke up, did my chores, had my bath, and headed out to school. I attended boring classes, and although taking more street photos was on my to-do list, I skipped that activity because I had a little migraine.
So, after classes, I headed straight home, took a shower, watched some TV, and then…and then….
Holy shit.
I flinched at the memory of a huge palm sealing my nose with a drugged handkerchief from behind. Someone must have snuck into my place either before or after I got home. Maybe they followed me, and while I was sitting on the couch with my eyes fixed on the flat-screen TV, they sneaked up on me from behind.
No face, no sound. Nothing. Just the intoxicating scent of whatever was laced in that handkerchief. Next thing, I woke up in this dark room.
Clearly, someone had kidnapped me. But why? I was just a college student trying to figure out my life. What did I do to attract unwanted attention to myself—kidnappers’ attention?
It took a minute of struggle, but I was able to sit upright. My eyes wandered the dark room in search of any closure as to where I was holed up. Sadly, there was nothing to behold. But as the seconds ticked by fast, my eyes started to adjust to the darkness.
That’s when I spotted the single door across the room with no handle on my side. There were no windows, but at the upper corner of a wall, there was a small blinking red light. A camera.
Great, I was being watched.
It was useless trying to get the zip ties off my wrists; the more I struggled, the more they tightened, cutting deeper into my flesh. My throat was dry, not from thirst alone but alsofrom fear. I thought about making a noise, calling out for help; however, I realized that wouldn’t do me any good.
There’s no way anyone would come to rescue me simply because I screamed for help. No. It would only alert my kidnappers that I was awake. Besides, I was most probably being held in a facility leagues from civilization. Or, somewhere in the city where no one would easily find me.
So why waste what little strength I had left on something as helpless as screaming?
This wasn’t the time to panic; it was the time to think, not about why or who kidnapped me. But about how to get the hell out of here. If, of course, it was possible.
The only way I could think of at this moment would involve that door opening. Maybe a glimpse of the outside or the appearance of my captor would hint at something helpful.
That said, I would have to sit tight and wait for someone to come in through that door. This wasn’t a solid plan, but it was all that I had outside that darkness that wrapped around me like silk.
So, I sat there. Waiting. Thinking of a million and one things all at once.
After what felt like an hour, the door creaked open, easy and slow, dim light spilling into the dark room. My heart sank into my stomach, and my breath lodged in my throat. I tightened my jaw, eyes wide with shock and fear as I watched a tall figure—a man—draw closer to me.
His face was concealed in the shadows, but two things stood out: his flashy red tie and the burning tip of the cigar between his fingers. His cologne filled the air in the room, masculine and intoxicating. I wasn’t born into wealth, but I knew expensive cologne when I smelled it.
This man’s cologne was not cheap; it must have cost a fortune.
And the way he moved, slow and deliberate—he exuded an air of authority. His black outfit blended seamlessly with the darkness, accentuating his lean, athletic frame and ruggedness. He lifted the cigarette to his lips, dragged on it, and then slowly released a puff of smoke.
There was no way this man had kidnapped me, at least not directly. He was far too sophisticated to handle something as petty as kidnapping himself. His guys were probably responsible for it.
But why? What did he want with me?
He didn’t look familiar; our paths had never crossed. So who was he, and how did I manage to get on his naughty list?
His polished shoes scuffed against the pavement as he approached me with a hand in his pocket.
