Page 11 of A Pawn in the Game
“Great! We can start,” Leon says, approaching her.
CHAPTER 7
Sophie
Leon, the brother, unlocks my handcuffs, grabs me by the arm, and brings me to the chair. His touch isn’t rough but I’m so weak, I know it’ll bruise. I fall into the chair with a thud, my teeth clattering. He looks more like a billionaire CEO than a guy who has a gun hidden on him but something about his persona inspires even less trust than his thug of a brother.
Boss-man sets up a phone to record in front of us.
This is pointless.
My dad couldn’t care less about me. But if they knew that, I’d become expendable. I have to stall this as long as I can. As long as I need to find my way out of here. I just need to put on a good show, pleading with my daddy dearest to save me.
I need to sell this.
But as boss-man clicks record, cold metal presses to my temple. The unmistakable scent of gunpowder fills my nostrils, and my tears start on their own. My mind reels with memories it worked so hard to suppress. He pushes my shoulder, urging me to talk, but I can barely catch a breath, stuck in my past.
“Please,” I plead into the phone. “Please.” But my head’s not there.
I’m eleven and helpless again.
“Please.” I shake my head.
A cold voice breaks through my sobs. “You know what you did. You have a week to turn yourself in or your little daughter will end up just like the man you betrayed.”
The gun fires, and for a moment, I think this is it. I’m dead.
But as my ears buzz from the sound, making my head spin, I realize this is surely not how death feels like. My hand lands on my temple, checking it for blood and coming up short. Eyes full of tears, I try to make sense of what happened, but it’s too blurry for me to see. It takes me a full minute to focus enough to realize that the wall next to the bed sports a hole in it. One that wasn’t there before.
I close my eyes on a quiet wail, trying to get my breathing in check.
“Was firing the gun really necessary?” boss-man asks, his voice laced with irritation.
“We want him to react, don’t we?” his brother responds, sounding completely unaffected by the gunshot that still rings in my ears.
“Jebena glupost.”
My eyelids are too heavy to lift and when I finally open them, both men are gone.
I’m still in the chair, like I’ve been paralyzed. My muscles unclench and I jump up, trying for the door.
The doorknob doesn’t move, and I thump my head on the wood, my heart racing again.
It’s futile. But I had to try it.
I drop back down on the bed, stuck in my thoughts for the rest of the day. At some point, a new guard appears. His neck tattoo peeks out of the uniform black turtleneck as his eyes stare at me with disdain.
I refuse the tray with spaghetti and meatballs he offers me, turning to theother side.
That night, for the first time in almost ten years, my nightmares reappear.
CHAPTER 8
Luka
Acool draft sifts through the broken windows of the long-forgotten textile factory. It’s a blessing, considering the amount of rat shit scattered over the concrete floors. The crisp hundred-dollar bills rustle as I count them, loving the feel. The world has gone too fucking virtual. Hearing my phone peep with a payment isn’t nearly as satisfying as this right here.
“You know,” a shaky voice breaks through my thoughts. Finishing counting, I turn my attention to the low life behind me. “The Russians have offered me a lower price.” I purse my lips, so he quickly continues, “I love working with you. But business is business.”
