Page 39 of A Pawn in the Game
“No. But it’s taken out of context.”
“What context? The context of the cushioned, sheltered life you’ve been living?”
If only my eyeballs could emit high-energy photons right now, he’d be dead on the spot. “You know nothing about me,” I bite out. “Or the life that I’ve lived. You might be keeping me hostage, but I won’t stand here and listen to you diminish my feelings or struggles. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom.”
I start in a random direction, hoping to find the bathroom. He trails behind me, but I don’t bother looking back.
The nerve of him, talking about my life like he knows shit about it. Like he knows how hard it is for me to get out of bed in the morning, or force myself to eat, or take that damn walk because the outside world terrifies me. How hard I’ve worked to stop having nightmares and to get off medication.
And it was all pointless, since because ofhim, I’m back to square one.
Tears prick my eyelids as I try to train my breath and find the bathroom. It’s as lavish as the rest of the place, with a massive red velvet chaise lounge placed in the middle of the waiting room.
I enter the ladies’ bathroom, slamming the door behind me. With my heart heavy, I approach the marble lavatory. My vision is fuzzy as I look up in the mirror, so I splash some water on my face. Thank God I’m not wearing makeup. The cool water grounds me. I press a paper towel to my soaked skin, only to be startled by the sound of the stall opening.
Shit. Why did I think I was alone?
My face still covered, I inhale deeply before removing the paper towel. My stomach rises to my throat, my pulse reaching a worrying pace.
Instead of a wealthy woman in an impressive, expensive dress, a blond man stands in front of me in an intimidating suit, his skin almost translucent. His face is marred with tiny scars, but the scariest part about him is the smile he sports.
“What a lucky coincidence,” he says in a heavy Russian accent.
“I-I’m s-sorry?” I try to act like I don’t know why he’s here, but my voice betrays me.
“You must be Sophie. I’ve been looking for you.”
“I think you got the wrong person.”
I turn to head out, but he reaches for my arm, making me recoil from his touch. Lifting both of his hands in a surrender motion, he says, “You don’t have to be scared of me. I work with your father. He’s been looking for you.”
I don’t know what shocks me more. The idea of not fearing him, or the fact Dad is actually looking for me.
My eyes search the room, trying to find something I can use in my defense. The ceramic soap dispenser looks heavy, but it’s out of reach. “S-so what, you’re here to save me?” I stutter; my voice laced with suspicion.
“Well, yeah. Unless you’d prefer to stay with the Croats.” He says Croats like an insult and snickers at his own response.
Something about this man sends alarms through my nervous system. My palms are sweaty, and my primitive brain is screaming at me to run. But this is what I was hoping for, coming here tonight: friends of my father saving me from my captors.
Before I have a chance to answer, a loud bang sounds at the door. Then another. And another.
“Time to get out.” I recognize Luka’s voice, and my heartbeat picks up even more.
The Russian looks at me expectantly, so I respond, my voice breaking, “I-I’ll be right there.”
I exhale a relieved breath, because I managed to get that out. But the relief is short-lived because Luka barges in, almost knocking the door off its hinges.
His eyes darken, noticing the Russian, and in an instant, he yanks my body flush to his. I bounce off his hard chest, but he keeps me close, his other hand trained on his gun, which is now pointing directly at the Russian.
In the midst of the chaos, I realize the Russian has also taken his gun out as I stare down the barrel.
Spots appear in my vision as my legs grow weaker.
It’s happening again.
And this time, I won’t be surviving it.
“Careful there,” Luka says, his voice too calm for the circumstances. “You don’t want to hurt your bargaining chip.”
