Page 9 of A Pawn in the Game
Boss-man stands there, fury emanating from him in scorching waves as his chest heaves. His eyes are still dark, but they’re also wide, as if he was afraid of what he’d found on the other side of the door. He watches me for a second before muttering something under his breath.
He reaches his hand out to me, and I do the same, not because I want to, but because he doesn’t seem like one to compromise. Shivers and sobs still wrack my body as he leads me out of the bathroom, sitting me down on the bed.
My brain suffocated with grief, I cry out, not thinking of the consequences, “Where’s my dog? What happened to him?”
Boss-man stops for a second, his face scrunching before saying, “He’s fine,” through gritted teeth.
My sobs continue, his words doing nothing to soothe me. “Where is he?” I say, more to myself than to him.
His calloused fingers turn my chin to look him in the eyes. The intensity in his eyes knocks the air from my lungs. “I said he’s fine,” he grits out, before placing his clenched fists into his pockets. Even through the thick veil of tears, I see his anger.
“Did you even get her something to drink? Or eat?” he yells at the other guard, who looks even shorter because boss-man is yelling at him. He doesn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing, “Deal with it.I skini masku.”
I don’t catch the last part, but the man grabs the top of his balaclava and snatches it off, showing me his face. His hair is longer and lighter than boss-man’s, and he sports a nasty scar onhis right cheek. I’m still studying his features when boss-man slams the door behind him.
I curl up on the bed, hoping the guard is too distracted to cuff me back up, but there’s no such luck.
“Can you please do the other hand now?” I ask him, my cheeks still wet with tears, my voice hoarse from crying.
He dips his head and drags me to the other bedpost, cuffing my other hand. He draws his phone from his pocket and conducts a phone call fully in the foreign language.
Eventually, my breathing settles and my tears dry out. My heart still has an iron fist wrapped around it, thinking about Alan alone on the streets, but a part of me relaxed after hearing boss-man’s words. There’s no reason for me to trust him. But something about the way he said it, about the anger that was oozing out of his every pore, made it feel real. Honest. Something in his gaze, no matter how frightening, eased a part of my anxiety.
The guard opens the door, grabbing a bag from the person on the other side. He drops the bag on the bed in front of me, barely sparing me a glance. I use my free hand to check inside, finding a few water bottles and a giant cheeseburger.
Wedging the bottle between my legs, I turn the cap and down half of it in one gulp, noticing how thirsty I was. The crying must have dehydrated me. I don’t spare a second glance at the cheeseburger, pushing it further away on the bed.
The human body can survive up to three weeks without food. Most kidnapping victims are dead after 48 hours. Meaning I’m way more likely to die at the hands of my captors than I am from starvation. It would be ridiculous to throw eight years of avoiding animal products down the drain just because I’m hungry.
My brain is back in business, which means my panic attack has eased. Once again, I go over all the information I have. By the phone call I overheard last night, this is some sort of sex club. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.
I’m kidnapped and held in a sex dungeon.
So far, they have done nothing to make me think I will besexually abused, but they are mafia men who own a sex club. The odds are… not good. I clench my thighs together in an instinctive, but totally pointless, attempt to keep myself safe. Because if they tried to do anything to me, my chances of fighting back would be slim. Another wave of tears reaches my eyes, and I roll into a fetal position on the bed, sobbing in silence.
CHAPTER 6
Luka
Ismash two whiskey glasses on the floor before finding a clean one, then knock back three shots in a row at the bar upstairs. The liquid burns my throat, but it’s nothing compared to the rage I’m feeling. I can’t afford to be guarding her twenty-four seven. There’s work to be done and the men Leon sent me are idiots. It doesn’t surprise me she had a breakdown, considering the circumstances.
What pisses me off is that she stayed sane through being kidnapped and chained, but loses her shit over the dog?
My father is fucking dead and the only thing she cares about is her dog?
I launch the glass into the shelves, knocking off a couple of bottles. It’s daytime, so the club is closed. It should probably stay closed until I get things where I want them, but that would defeat the purpose of keeping Sophie here.
I rub my forehead, hoping to clear my head, but it’s about as effective as I expected. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I groan, noticing my brother’s name on it.
“Now’s not a good time.”
“Too bad.” The fucker, as usual, doesn’t give a shit about my mood.
“What do you want?” My fingers rake through my hair.
“I’m on my way.”
“Why?”
