Page 10 of Midnight Sanctuary

“Well? Did you get his location?”

“Yeah, I got it.” He turns to me and stops short when he sees the blood on my hands. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” I growl as Sobakin’s words repeat over and over again in my head. “But it will be.”

5

ALYSSA

I thought things were bad before. That was nothing compared to the hours after Polly was taken.

I underestimated the warmth she brought in this cold cell. I underestimated how much seeing her next to me gave me strength and purpose. When she was here, I had a reason to be calm and focused. To project confidence until it almost felt real.

But now?

Everything just feels fucked.

My hope dwindles faster with every passing second. Even after I finish the contents of the plastic bag of food that those Russian assholes left me, I can’t bring myself to feel anything more than fear.

None of it is for me, though. Every time I close my eyes, I see Polly. Alone and shivering, marooned up on an endless stage with a horde of leering men standing around, licking their lips, wondering how much it will cost to get their hands on her. I struggle against the restraints again and again, even though they’ve proven they aren’t going anywhere and my wrists are basically one giant, pulsing, bloody nerve ending.

I have to get out of here somehow.

I have to save Polly.

I promised her I’d protect her. How can I ever look her in the face again if I don’t? The thought that follows is even worse:what if I don’t even get the chance to ever look her in the face again?A low, guttural sob escapes my throat and I start struggling all over again, thrashing and moaning uselessly.

“Now, now. Let’s calm down, little lamb.”

I freeze mid-struggle. I’m not so far gone that I don’t realize that this voice is new. It’s deep and silky smooth, a voice I mistrust instantly. I peek to the side and catch sight of him.

He’s a tall man, though not as tall as Uri. His broad shoulders are covered in a silk shirt left unbuttoned to mid-chest, revealing an eerily hairless torso. He’s smiling, but it makes my skin crawl, a fact made worse by the unsettling patch of burnt skin swallowing the right side of his face.

I draw in a breath as he moves closer to my bed. “You’re Sobakin?”

He places a hand to his chest. He’s wearing a collection of huge, chunky rings. “Please, call me Boris. You must be the Alyssa I’ve heard so much about.”

He wears an air of sophistication about him. It makes you believe that he could be a civilized man. But I’ve been down here long enough to see through the façade. No civilized man would lock women up in a basement like this. No civilized man would sell off a child into sex slavery. He can be as smooth as he wants—I’m onto the motherfucker.

“Where’s Polly?” I demand, pulling my foot away from him.

“Not here.”

I keep pulling at my restraints. “She’s a child. Don’t do this. Let her go.”

His smile just gets wider. “You’re attached to the girl. That’s precious. But unfortunately, it’s too late to change her fate now.”

He makes it sound inevitable. It’s the same way the doctors and my parents made me feel about Ziva’s diagnosis. I didn’t believe them then. And I’m not going to believe this creep now. I’ll take blind hope over cold acceptance any day.

“Take me instead. I’ll take her place.”

Boris raises his eyebrows. “That’s brave of you—but entirely unhelpful. The men at this particular auction prefer their purchasesyoung.”

I cringe, my stomach twisting in disgust. I have to bite down on my tongue to keep the bile from rising. “You bastard,” I hiss.

“Ooh, I do admire the spirit. I would have thought you’d be much closer to broken at this point. Most other women are.”

I’m already cold, but my skin feels a few degrees colder ever since he entered. He’s done this before. No wonder this cell, the beds, the restraints—all of it feels so worn. The air itself is cobwebby. Like the ghosts and screams of all the women who preceded me here are still lingering between the walls.

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