Page 6 of A Pawn in the Game
Still, I try one more time. Two more times. Three more times. As if my body isn’t ready to give up on the fight. As if I could will this door to unlock by sheer hardheadedness.
“Jebemu mater!” I hear behind me, and a hand drags me by the hood of my sweatshirt back to the couch.
“Don’t try this again,” he bites out.
My chest heaves as I try to calm my breath. I speak seven languages, six of which I’ve learned online, and not one of them is the one they’re speaking. The rolled Rs make me think it could be something akin to Russian. Another Slavic language maybe?
By the intonation and inflection of his words, what he said was most likely a swear word. Which gives me no extra info.
Luckily, it keeps my brain busy enough to relieve some of the panic, so the thump in my head slowly fades.
The guy goes back to the bathroom, but this time, I stay put. My gaze trails the room, trying to figure out where I am. There’s a weathered black leather couch, which I’m sitting on, a small table with a couple of chairs and a bed covered in dark sheets. There’s also an X-shaped wooden cross next to the bed, and a black metal cage. Hooks and chains hang from the bedposts, making me swallow around the lump in my throat. This looks like a torture chamber. One that might include being chained to the bed.
Spots appear in my vision.
I need to get out!
The man returns, and I barely mutter out, “Bathroom. I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Be my guest,” he says, motioning to the door he just stepped out of.
I get up and run to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. My heartbeat buzzes in my ears while I take the room in. There are no windows.Fuck.The bathroom is grimy and dated, but the tub is the biggest one I’ve ever seen. It can fit three people comfortably and I don’t know why, but it makes me even more anxious. The white tiles have seen better days, but at least the toilet looks clean. I turn on the limescale-crusted faucet and splatter some freezing water on my face. Drops of it land on my hoodie and a few strands of my hair get soaking wet, but I don’t care. The cold grounds me.
It’s fine, Sophie. You’re fine.
I’m not, of course. But I’m alive. And they haven’t hurt me so far. I’m here because of my dad. Tears prickle my eyelids as my throat constricts.Why doesn’t that surprise me?
They want him, not me.
Still, if they are using me as leverage against him, I might as well be dead. Energy leaves my body, draining it completely. I wash my hands to give them something to do, dry them on my pants and barely get back to the couch before collapsing. I’m in a half-sitting, half-lying position and even though my brain is wide awake, the rest of me feels asleep.
They might not want to hurt me, but they are holding me in a torture chamber, and I have no idea where Alan is.
They might want my dad, not me, but he’s hardly the one to sacrifice himself to save me.
CHAPTER 4
Luka
Iget back to the dungeon after dealing with the dog, only to find Andre scrolling on his phone and Sophie sleeping.
My eyebrows scrunch. This is my first time kidnapping a woman, but I’m used to my victims pissing and shitting themselves by now, not peacefully falling asleep.
“Go on, get some rest,” I tell Andre. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I answer the call. “Yes, Leon. I have it all handled.”
“You’re keeping her where?” he roars out and I shoot a disapproving look at Andre. He takes his mask off on the way out of the room, revealing a blond, messy mop of hair.
“On one of our properties.”
“Which one, precisely?” It’s obvious he knows the answer, but he wants me to say it.
“The club.”
“Which club?”
“My new club.”
“Your sex club, you mean?”
