Page 93 of Merciless Desires

The sound of footsteps on the path pulls me from my reverie. I turn to see Marta walking toward me, a big smile on her face. In her sixties, she has a matronly air about her. Since I arrived here, she’s been a lifeline, providing friendship and motherly warmth I didn’t even realize I’d been craving.

“Hello, Natalia,” she greets me. “You look radiant today, as always. I thought I would bring you some tea.” She offers the delicate porcelain cup and saucer she carries. The scent of mint and honey wafts up as I accept it.

“You're too good to me, Marta,” I say, taking a careful sip of the hot tea.

She pats my shoulder affectionately. “Nonsense, dear. I'm happy to make sure you're comfortable and enjoying your time here.”

I'm not sure how to respond to that. Enjoying my time here? As a prisoner? She must know I'm not free to leave. I study Marta's kind face. What must she think of my relationship with Viktor? Is she reporting back to him, I wonder? Spying on me? I sigh, setting the tea aside. Even the simple joy of a nice cup of tea must be marred by mistrust and suspicion.

I work up the courage to ask the question on my mind, because what have I got to lose? “Marta, how many others have there been?”

Her brow furrows and she looks at me questioningly. “Others?”

“Other women. How many other women has Viktor brought here and…kept?”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. Then she looks around to ensure Timur isn’t within hearing range and lowers her voice. “You don’t understand. There have been no others. Mr. Ivanov has never brought a woman home. You are very special to him. I see it in his eyes. I have worked for him for a long time, and I have never seen him act the way he does with you. The way he looks at you. I know you think you are a captive and he is the captor, but I believe it is the other way around.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. I’m in shock.

Marta pats the back of my arm soothingly. “Enjoy your tea.” She gives my hand a quick squeeze before bustling off along the garden path.

Does Marta honestly think I have some sort of power over Viktor? Can there be any truth to that, or is she seeing what she wants to see?

As I raise my cup to take another sip of mint tea, a loud sound pierces the air. It takes a second before it registers in my brain—a gunshot.

I whirl around in time to see Timur’s bulky frame crumple to the ground. Blood spreads across the back of his grey suit as he lays sprawled out on the grass.

Bile scorches my throat. My teacup falls from my hand and shatters on the stone below. I choke back a sob, clutching the bench beneath me. What’s happening?

My eyes widen when I see a figure dressed all in black striding toward me. A man. Like some sort of ninja from the movies, his head is covered by a balaclava.

Run. Run.

When I finally get my feet to move, it’s too late. The intruder is already upon me, wrapping one arm around my waist while the other presses a cloth over my nose and mouth.

I struggle for only a moment before the world around me goes black.

Ropes cut into my wrists, rubbing them raw as I struggle against my bindings. The burlap sack over my head reeks of some kind of chemical, making me dizzy. All I can see is inky blackness, but my other senses strain, trying to gather any clues as to where I’ve been taken. The rumble of a truck engine vibrates through the cold metal floor beneath me. The air feels damp and carries the stench of fish. I must be near the docks.

Fear rises in my chest, icy fingers squeezing my lungs as the truck lurches to a stop, nearly sending me tumbling across the floor. Male voices shout. They’re speaking Russian, but their words are too muffled for me to decipher what they’re saying. The metal doors creak open and rough hands grab me, yanking me to my feet. I kick and struggle, but their grip only tightens. They half-lead, half-drag me across uneven ground. My toes bang against the steps as they force me up a ramp.

A metal door screeches open and the sack is ripped off my head. I’m blinded for a moment, eyes watering against the sudden light. As my vision adjusts, I take in my new surroundings. I’m in a warehouse. Dusty windows near the ceiling let in thin streams of sunlight. Crates and rusty oil drums line the walls. The fishy aroma outside mixes with the iron odor of dried blood within these walls. My gut twists in fear.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” A figure steps out from the shadows. He has a shark-like smile and cold, grey eyes.

I recognize him instantly. My father’s murderer.

I look around, but we’re alone. Where did everyone else go?

The man slowly circles me, looking me up and down like a lion sizing up his prey.

“So you’re the little whore who’s managed to defrost Viktor’s frozen heart. I can see why.” He reaches out and strokes my hair. I flinch away, glaring at him defiantly. His lips quirk in amusement.

“A feisty one,” he says in Russian. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, but your mother hid you well.”

He steps closer, trailing his fingers down my cheek. Revulsion rises in my throat, but I force myself not to recoil this time. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Tell me, little one, have you confessed all your secrets to Viktor yet?” When I don’t answer, he grips my jaw, nails digging into my skin.

---