AllFreeNovel
Share Us
For now, I need to sit and wait. Keep a cool head and let the situation unfold.
I lick my lips for another taste of Willow’s lingering sweetness. If I die today, at least I was able to kiss her one last time, to tell her how I truly feel and hold her in my arms.
Damn my morality. It decides to rear its ugly head at the most inconvenient times.
Saying goodbye to Willow was, without a doubt, the hardest choice I’ve ever had to make. But as long as the resistance fighters held the school under siege, she wouldn’t be safe.
So, I offered myself, the son of President Grigor Kurochkin, in exchange for a ceasefire. It was a risk, but they took the deal.
Willow’s face swims in my memory, her tear-streaked face begging me to stay.
But to protect Willow and save her from my father’s perversions, I must follow the path he’s carved for me.
That is if I survive today.
The car begins to slow and take a turn. Gravel crunches under the tires as we rock from side to side, and something scrapes against the windows. Tree branches, perhaps?
Olininburg and the land surrounding it are flat for miles, which means we’re in one of the inland forests, far from the coast of the Baltic. The terrain out here is known for its rolling hills, and I can feel the car driving on an incline.
We continue for a few more minutes until we finally come to a stop. The vehicle is leveled out, so we must be at the hillcrest.
Car doors open and shut, and I steel myself to be manhandled once more.
When the trunk opens, the faint scent of the earthy forest hits my nose. A fresh breeze tickles the bare skin on my left arm, where I ripped my sleeve off earlier.
Large, sweaty hands grab my forearms and pull me from the vehicle. Pain darts up my arm, and I bite down on my tongue to keep silent.
Someone is always in the wings waiting to steal your power, and the moment you show any hint of weakness, they will strike.
My father is vile, but he did manage to pass on some sage advice over the years.
Sticks and gravel crunch under my shoes as we walk. We reach a set of stairs, which I realize too late when I trip over the first step. My captors pull me up, and our footsteps come down with a hollow noise against wooden floorboards, which creak beneath our weight.
A door opens, and I’m shoved inside. The sound of our steps changes when we walk on a more stable foundation, though I’m certain these floors are made of wood as well. The air in here is stale.
Another door opens, and I’m pulled down a narrow flight of stairs. I can tell because one of the men goes first while another stands at my back. I’m not sure where the third man went.
Two against one. Improved odds, though the bag and my injured arm put me at a disadvantage.
We descend into what I imagine is a basement, and once I reach level ground, my shoes come down on uneven cobblestone. The air is wet and cool, and a musty smell permeates the fabric covering my head.
They pull me to a stop, and the distinct sound of a rickety cell door rolls open. I’m shoved to the floor, and this time, I can’t suppress a groan when my arm hits the stone.
The door rolls shut behind me, and without a word from either of my captors, their echoing footsteps go back the way they came. I hear the door close at the top of the stairs, and then I’m plunged into silence punctuated by a dripping pipe.
Despite having my hands tied behind my back, I manage to roll onto my knees. Hinging forward, I let gravity slip the bag off, which falls to the floor in a crumpled heap.
There isn’t much light down here, so it only takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust. Three of the four walls are solid brick, but the fourth is a row of iron bars stretching from floor to ceiling. It offers a glimpse into a hallway with similar, empty cells across the aisle. Only a dim, flickering fluorescent light illuminates this windowless cage.
A bucket sits in the corner, which I assume is used as a toilet. The only piece of furniture is a stone bench built into the wall, so I take a seat and wait.
Glancing down, I see the makeshift bandage around my arm completely soaked through with crimson. But Willow’s knot has held up, and I’m certain it staved off additional blood loss.
I close my heavy eyelids and let her face fill my mind. Her long, brown hair frames those deep, dark eyes, and all I want to do is lose myself in them.
Before I met Willow, I wouldn’t have sacrificed myself for anyone. Not my country, and certainly not for a girl. My priorities consisted of me, myself, and I, and I had no room in my cold heart to care for anything else.
But then I fell in love.
