Page 25 of A Pawn in the Game
The morbid thought sends shivers through me. Ironically, it’s also soothing. My mind is much more familiar with these thoughts than the shitty positive psychology ones I try to force onto myself.
In the evening, Luka returns. Or at least what I think is evening. He drops a bag with food next to the chessboard and slumps down onto the couch.
“Wh-what time is it?” I dare to ask. He’s obviously ignoring me, but the need to know is consuming. There’s something so disorienting being in a windowless room without a clock.
His jaw tics as he glances at me. “Seven.”
“Seven,” I repeat, barely audible. It’s when Alan and I take our walks every single day. And even though I dreaded those walks most days, I would give anything right now to secure a collar around his neck and take a walk in the dark.Where is he?
Tears prick behind my eyelids, but Luka doesn’t speak to me, rather clacking on his phone and handling phone calls strictly in the foreign language. I swallow the lump in my throat, unwilling to examine why his lack of attention seems to hurt me.
I focus on studying the chessboard best I can with a watery vision. I haven’t played in a long time, but I can still see pieces moving in my head. After three excruciating games against my biggest enemy—myself —I decide it’s time for bed.
Luka is still ignoring me as I start my nighttime routine. Well, the simple, hostage-friendly nighttime routine. I take a shower, ready to dress back into my dirty sweatshirt and sweatpants. I know I have clean clothes in a bag that the guards brought me, but they’re way too tight and skimpy for my taste. And even though no one touched me inappropriately since I was here, this is still a dungeon of a sex club, and these men are still criminals.
Turning the faucet off, I grab a towel to dry myself. I move the shower curtain and step out of the tub, my eyes scanning the room immediately. It takes me a second to realize what’s different. Nothing stands out. My toothbrush is leaning off the lime-scale covered sink. The door is still closed, but my clothes are no longer sitting on the lid of the toilet seat.
My eyes move frantically around the small room, as if the clothes decided to play hide and seek while I was in the tub. But they are nowhere to be found.
The only probable explanation is that Luka took it. The bastard was angry with me, so he took away the items that clearly brought me comfort. My breathing picks up, but instead of desperation opening a pit in my stomach, my insides fill with rage. He might be my captor, but I still have my dignity.
And I won’t let them take it away.
My hands dig through the bag of clothes he got me, finding a black tank top and a pair of leggings. They’re my size, but it’s not something I would ever wear in public, let alone in front of the people holding me jailed.
I stomp out of the bathroom, and slam the door behind me, my mouth already parting on the first swear words, but there’s no one there. The couch is empty, a dent in it the only evidence Luka was there.
Hope blooms in my chest. It should be evening by now. People are probably upstairs. If I could just get there, I could blend in with the crowd and maybe even convince someone to help me get out of here. Soon, they will find out Dad has no intention of sacrificing himself for me and I’ll be of no use to them. They’ll have to either up the ante, or get rid of me, both things equally terrifying.
This is it. This is my chance.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.I wait for a few heartbeats to see if Luka will return, before stepping a foot in front of the other. And the other. And the other. All the way to the door.
I hold my breath, wrapping my hand around the doorknob, only to realize it’s unlocked.
It’s freaking unlocked. My heart makes a leap inside of my chest. Tears prickle my eyelids as I remember Alan waiting for me somewhere. Maybe one of my neighbors took him in. Maybe they’re feeding him on the streets. But I know he would wait for me. I just know it. I open the door, finding a narrow, dark hallway and a tight staircase leading upstairs. The deep bass music I sometimes hear grows louder. Inhaling deeply, I will my legs to start walking.
I make it three stairs before all hope is sucked out of me.
“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” A short, older man appears at the top of the staircase. A gold chain adorns his wide neck, a white t-shirt wrapping too tightly around his torso. He also sports a brown blazer and as he gets closer to me, I notice the strong whiff of cigarettes coming off him.
Luka walks behind him, his jaw clenched hard enough to break in two. His eyes are as dark as gunpowder, and seem as flammable, too. His brother, the one who held a gun to my head walks after, my breath catching in my throat.
I retreat back to the room. To my cage. My shoulders slump in defeat. The old man’s eyes are trained closely on my form, and I remember what I’m wearing. My skin prickles.
Finally, he pulls his gaze away from my frame long enough to snap at Luka. “This is what you mean when you say you have it under control?”
“Uncle Toma,” he bites out, barely moving his lips. “I do have it under control. I just don’t appreciate unannounced guests.”
So, this sleazy creep of a man is their uncle.
“Well, excuse me for caring enough about my brother to want to check on things myself.” His lips turn down in a disgusting show of fake sadness.
This man doesn’t give a shit about his brother. But he obviously gives a shit about me.
“Though I can certainly see why you wanted to keep this pretty little flower all to yourself.” The man presses a thumb to my chin and bile rises in my throat.
I drop my gaze down, noticing how Luka’s fists clench at his sides. “She’s my prisoner, not my plaything,” he says.
