Page 20 of A Pawn in the Game
So I undress in the small grimy bathroom with doors only halfway shut, keeping an ear out for the noise outside.
Luckily, it’s silent. The only sound is the water dripping over my naked body as blood washes down the drain. A snort escapes me, remembering how I woke her up in the middle of the night, my face splotched with blood.
I know how to send a message. To get a job done. I’m not an expert on how to console someone. Or make them feel better.
Dressed in clean clothes, I exit the bathroom. Her breaths are even as she sleeps in a peaceful slumber, her cheeks still glowing with the moisture of her tears.
I exhale a relieved breath and lie down on the couch. My eyes are fogged as I type a text to Ivan, telling him to buy some normal clothes for Sophie. My phone pings with a response, but I’m already drifting off to sleep.
CHAPTER 11
Sophie
As I lie awake unmoving, my brain tries to put the pieces together. I went to sleep. My mind replayed my most dreaded memory over and over again, then a rough voice woke me up. A figure covered in blood. A chill creeps up my spine. It was like something out of a horror movie.
But as soon as I realized it was boss-man, I’ve managed to relax and get some sleep. Actual sleep, not the torturous excuse for it like I’ve experienced the last few days.
Was I dreaming?
On a wide yawn, my torso lifts off the bed. A figure is splayed over the couch, his legs way too long for it. His arm rests over his face, the giant biceps even more intimidating than usual.
So, I wasn’t dreaming, after all. I’m glad he woke me up from my personal hell, but whose blood was that?
I use the bathroom, noticing another towel drying next to mine. A black pile of dirty clothes sits underneath the sink.
Did he shower here? Could I have escaped while he did?
He’s still sleeping as I get out of the bathroom. He’s now curled on his side, his hands placed underneath his cheek. A giggle fights to escape. Seeing this massive, dangerous man sleeping like a princess is ironic. His forehead is free of the wrinkles typicallypresent, his lips looking different now that they’re not pressed into a thin line. He’s also comically large on the small, weathered couch. There’s no way his back won’t be killing him after he gets up.
My gaze lands on the door, the key resting peacefully in the lock. I suck in a breath, my heartbeat picking up.
Could this be my chance?
This is a sex club. And even though I don’t have a clock here, I’m pretty sure it’s morning. There’s a good chance upstairs could be empty, no? Or maybe some cleaners who won’t know better about who I am?
Before I come to a decision, boss-man groans out, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt raises, revealing a piece of his midriff, covered in tattoos.
There goes my plan of escaping.
I file the idea for another day, the actual possibility of escape blooming in my chest. They’ve grown used to me. They don’t think of me as a threat. And that’s exactly what I need to work on, if I plan to stand a chance.
“Mornin’,” he rasps.
“Why were you covered in blood yesterday?” I’m trying not to sound accusatory, but showing up covered in blood is pretty damning.
“Just saving the world. You know how it is.” He shrugs, rubbing his eyes.
I let out a snort, and he shoots me a puzzled look. My mouth opens to respond, but his phone rings.
“Da?” he says, answering.
I know ‘da.’ It means yes. At least in Russian. Maybe it means the same in his language.
“Jebemu.” Likely a curse. “I’ll be right there.”
He ends the call, jumping up to his feet. His sudden exit gives me hope of being left alone for a few minutes, handing me the perfect opportunity to make my escape, but as soon as he reaches the key, he turns around.
“Don’t even think about it,” he says, slipping out. I barely process his words before another guard steps in, the one who helped kidnap me.
