I stare at him like he’s grown a second head when he mouths, “Thank you.” It’s been a long time since I’ve been thanked. Not even after being assaulted against my wishes did I hear those two words.
When Nikolai points to the far back entrance of the compound Trey piggybacked me through earlier today, I follow the direction of his gaze. Considering we’re in the middle of a desert, the mature trees surrounding Clarks is impressive. “They’ll be safer there.”
My mouth falls open when it dawns on me what he’s saying. He wants me to take the captive women into the tree lines to keep them safe. His unexpected chivalry is both pleasing and shocking, however, I can’t do as he’s requesting. I can’t take responsibility for my mistakes out there.
I also can’t protect Trey.
Before I can explain that to Nikolai, a roar projects from a door two spots down from the one we’re standing next to. “What do you mean! You were told to keep him there until I gave word I had finished here.”
The undeniable noise of someone being backhanded overtakes the growling tone not even a second later. It’s closely followed by a pained groan. Although I’d rather no one be hurt, groaning means the person being tortured is still alive. It means we may not be too late.
“Go,” Nikolai demands before shoving me back toward the room that’s oddly silent. It isn’t a rough shove. Just one that reveals his panic. He knows as well as I do if the women commence sobbing again, Achim will be alerted about his approach, and he and his goon will kill Trey and Justine without hesitation.
With that in mind, I race back to the dorm. The reason for the rare silence comes to light when I enter the room three heart-thrashing seconds later. The captives are no longer huddled in the corner of the sterile-feeling space.
They’re nowhere.
The room is completely bare.
As panic sets in, I pivot on my heels to face the room Nikolai is gingerly entering. My scream to alert him to watch his back is gobbled up by a large hand clamping over my mouth. I know who has me in an instant. His smell is nothing out of the ordinary. It’s as familiar as the prick of the needle he jabs into my neck for the second time tonight.
When I fall to my knees, the toxins pumping through my veins too much to keep me upright, Achim slaps a piece of duct tape over my mouth, yanks a hessian bag over my head, zip-ties my wrists and ankles, then tosses me over his shoulder as if I am weightless.
It’s lucky my stomach is empty, or the thumps of his feet as he races us across a sloshy ground would cause me to vomit. Considering my mouth is taped, that could end disastrously. My lungs are already depleted of air since I’m putting everything into screaming out for help. The walls of Nikolai’s compound are built from concrete, but I’m still hopeful.
Hope encourages courageousness, and courageousness encourages miracles.
I could do with a little bit of both.
As Achim jogs us through the trees surrounding Clarks, I scream about how many injustices I’ve been forced to face my twenty-two years on this planet. I tell him how I hate him, and that no matter how cruel he is, I’ll never submit to him. And then I scream to Trey that I’m sorry for what I did and that I hope one day he can forgive me.
If that’s even possible.
Dead men can’t offer forgiveness.
Thirty seconds later, I’m tossed onto a cool and hard surface. The idling of an unhealthy engine reveals I’ve been placed into the back of a transport van, much less the noise of its door sliding shut a few seconds later. The Novaks are well-known for choosing versatility over luxury when it comes to anything they own—captives included.
After the boom of a car door slamming shut adds to the thump of my woozy head, a man asks, “Should we wait for Alexei?”
“No,” Achim replies, “I’d rather henotcome out of this alive.” I can’t see anything through the bag over my head, I’m barely lucid, but I can tell Achim is smiling when he mutters, “Saves the need to find a dumping location on the way to the airport.”
Their brittle laughter is the last thing I hear before I grant my head permission to slip into a shadowy void. I feel protected here. Safe. It has been my shelter for the past six years, and it will remain my shelter until I’m given a good reason to once again step out of the dark.
Eighteen
Trey
Two months later…
Iswish my tongue around my mouth, hopeful a bit of spit will loosen up its dryness as the conversation of two people standing next to me trickles into my ears. “How long was he awake this time?”
I could be mistaken, but I believe voice number one belongs to Nikolai. It sounds like him, just more worrying, which is surprising. Usually, nothing rattles him.
“Barely a few minutes. The doctors are lowering his sedation, but they don’t believe it’s the reason he’s been under so long. His head was pretty fucked up, Nikolai. He may not wake up as the Trey we once knew.” The only good that comes from Eight’s comment is the fact my name registers as familiar. I don’t know where I am, or how the hell I got here, but I know my name.
That’s got to be good, right?
“Did you convince Dok to let us take him home yet?” Eight asks, his tone lowering. “Might help with his recovery. Familiarity and shit.”
