Vladimir is dead.
That should be a good thing, but the fact gasoline is being tossed around while padlocks remain on doors reveals it isn’t.
Vladimir’s captives are being sent to hell right along with him.
We’ll be tortured even more than we already have been.
That isn’t acceptable.
That’s not right.
We’re not animals, so why are we being treated as if we are?
“No!” I shout in Czech, annoyed that Vladimir’s victims will be forced to hell with the men who brutalized them. “You promised you’d come back! You said help was coming.” As tears threaten to slide down my cheeks, I bang my fists on the thick wooden door. “You lied. You lied to all of us.”
I don’t know why the redhead’s deceit is hurting me as much as it is. She was a stranger, so I should have treated her promise as if it were a grain of salt, but for some stupid reason, I trusted her.
How foolish was I?
I continue shouting until the potent smell of gasoline becomes too much for me to bear.
It’s time for me to give in.
To give up.
I’m not strong enough to keep fighting.
“I tried,” I whisper after raising my eyes to the ceiling. “I gave it my all. I’m sorry I failed you again. Please don’t be mad at them. I did the best I could. It just wasn’t enough.”It’s never enough.
As madness steamrolls into me, the deafening thud of people running booms into my ears. Although I’m broken and confused, I peer out of the keyhole again, gasping when I spot the female I saw earlier outside my door.
Is she keeping her promise?
Did she remember us?
Did she remember me?
“Move away from the door,” she requests in Czech, peering at me through the hole. She looks different than she did mere minutes ago—stronger and somewhat relieved.
When she gestures for me to move back, I scoot to the far corner of the room I generally hide out in. I block my ears when the bang of a gun being fired is closely followed by a boot being kicked against my door. When the fortified material shoots open with a whack, I bury my head into my knees. The redhead isn’t alone. She’s with a man who has dark hair, bright blue eyes, and the sneer of a murderer.
Although I don’t immediately recognize him, the dingy conditions Vladimir made me entertain his ‘guests’ in means I must remain cautious. He’s attractive, but that doesn’t mean anything. Only my ‘guests’ lack of morals made them hideously ugly, so I can’t be certain he wasn’t one of them.
I peer at the duo through lowered lashes when the unnamed man instructs for the redhead to stay behind him. He’s so protective of her, his possessiveness is almost suffocating. I haven’t seen that from a man before, especially not in this country.
“It’s okay,” the redhead mutters in Czech, stepping closer to me. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
My eyes bounce between her and her partner when he warns, “Not too close,Ahren.”
I shouldn’t like the fact he thinks I’m a fret, but I do. It means I’m not wholly broken. There’s still some life left in my eyes.
Nodding so he’s aware she heard him, the woman the man refers to asAhrenslowly bridges the gap between us. Although my intuition is warning me to remain cautious, there’s something in her eyes I can’t disregard. She’s been hurt before, the scars peeking out of her shredded shirt exposes this, much less her soul-exposing eyes, but she also looks at peace. Like she has the world at her feet.
I discover thatisthe case when she whispers in Czech, “The devil is dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
I want to burst into tears. I want to shout my relief into the humid night air, but instead of doing either of those things, I accept the hand she’s holding out in offering.
The wetness in my eyes jumps into hers when she drags her thumb against the week-old welts on my wrists. I was handcuffed to my room last week when I attempted to escape while dinner was being served. Vladimir’s goons put them on extra tight, hopeful the pain would discourage me from moving too much when they punished me with more than their fists. All it did was leave slash marks embedded in my skin and grew my determination to escape to an unprecedented level.
