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“Calm down, devushka.” His breath smells like rank pickles. “You’re not going anywhere. When Arsen Kirilovich wants something, he gets it. Ponimayesh?”
Hearing Arsen’s name lights another flash of defiance in me. With renewed strength, I drive my boot heel sharply into the man’s ankle. He shouts, jumping as he releases me.
“You bitch!” he roars.
His companions cackle at the display. “She got you good, Kostya!”
He swipes to grab hold of me again. Dodging aside, I sprint blindly away from the group. Where do I go? How do I get away? I’m spinning, tangled in a tornado of mocking faces who all want to harm me. I run to my right, but I’m blocked. To the left is another row of hands snatching for my body. The men have created a funnel that forces me back toward the lounge. Unable to go elsewhere, I dart at the front doors.
This time, I hit the biggest blockade of all.
Arsen clutches my wrists in a single hand. With his other, he cups my cheeks, manipulating me to gaze up at him.
“What a shame,” but now, he’s no longer smiling, “that you won’t be changing your opinion about me, Galina.”
His fingers reach into my pocket, dig around like a second home, and pull out my keys. He dangles them in front of my nose before tossing them to a man nearby. “Move her car. It’s parked around the corner.”
Sucking in breath after breath, I almost miss the crunch of tires pulling up on the curb. Arsen looks over my head. My gaze follows him, and a glossy black Cadillac Escalade pulls up.
“What’s happening?” I ask shakily.
Ignoring me, he thrusts me toward the men. Two of them hold me by either arm, being extra careful this time not to let me attack them.
“Put her in the back seat,” he commands them.
Panic seizes me when I realize what’s about to happen.
“No! Let me go! Stop, please! Someone help me! Someone, help! HELP!” My voice echoes around the empty streets. Arsen isn’t fazed. He watches calmly as I’m pushed into the vehicle.
I know there are people in the area. It’s impossible for nobody to hear my desperate pleas. I can see them peeking through window cracks to witness what’s happening to me, but not a single one intervenes. Nobody is willing to stick out their neck and get involved.
I yell again, shrieking until my throat is raw, but it’s pointless.
No one is coming to save me.
5
ARSEN
There’s an old saying: the devil lives in the still waters.
I suspect Galina doesn’t know this proverb. A shame for her, but wonderful for me.
The inside of the car is dark. In this pocket, only she and I exist. The driver doesn’t matter to me. The men preparing to follow us aren’t important. Right now, for just a moment, all I’m wallowing in is the satisfaction that I’ve gotten her. Galina is mine.
Tugging out my phone, the screen casts a pale blue glow on the car interior. It highlights the edges of her smooth jaw, reveals every loose hair from her formerly immaculate up-do. She’s beautiful, even when she’s terrified. Perhaps … more beautiful, in a way. She reminds me of a colorful butterfly perched on a flower. They stand out from the world, demanding to be noticed. But for all their grandness, a gentle pair of fingers can crush them into dust.
“What are you going to do with me?” she demands.
Such boldness. Even now, here, when she’s trapped with me. Ignoring her, I start to type a message to Mila. I have to let her know the situation as fast as possible. There’s a chance here—a good chance—that we can make something massive happen tonight.
Me: I have what I need to bring the war against Yevgeniy to a quick end. Now you must do your part.
Sending the text, I put my phone back in my pocket. Shifting to face Galina, I place my hands in my lap so my fingers lock together. Her eyes are wide, her chin twitching as she struggles to keep her composure. It would be very easy to break her.
“I said,” her voice trembles, “what are you going to do with me?”
“What do you think I’m going to do?”
