Chapter Three
When Lena woke, itwas to a ceiling she didn’t recognize.For a moment, she lay perfectly still, staring up at the cracked plaster above her.
A thin line ran across it like a fault line, splitting the surface into uneven halves.The light was wrong too.
It was dim, filtered through what looked like stained curtains, the color dull and greyed, like the day itself had been drained of warmth.
Her body felt slow and heavy.There was a faint ache at the side of her neck, dull but persistent.She frowned, her mind sluggish, trying to piece together how she had gotten here.
She was sitting on a bed, in a room that wasn’t hers.Panic stirred, slow at first, then rising sharply.Lena pushed herself up on her elbows, breath catching as she took in her surroundings.
The room looked really worn, the kind of worn that came from time rather than neglect.The walls were discolored, paint peeling in small patches near the corners.
The furniture was mismatched.There was an old wooden dresser with one crooked drawer, and a chair in the corner with torn upholstery, its stuffing peeking out.
The air smelled faintly of dust and something metallic underneath it.
This wasn’t a home, she realized, but a place people passed through, or hid in.Why did her mind immediately think of that?
Her heart started to pound.Where was she, and how had she ended up here?
Her breath hitched, then the memory came back all at once.Lena recalled the penthouse, the body, the gun, and finally him.Maksim.
Lena sucked in a sharp breath, her chest tightening as panic surged fully awake.
“No!”she whispered.
“Good.You’re awake.”The familiar voice cut cleanly through her spiraling thoughts.
She froze.Slowly, Lena turned her head.Maksim stood near the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like he belonged in this broken, quiet space.Her pulse spiked.
Everything came rushing back in a violent wave.
The way he had looked at her, and the abrupt way he had decided it was fine to take her and keep her.She curled her fingers into the thin bedsheet.
Her first instinct was to scream at him in anger, but what would that solve?
“What ...what is this place?”she asked, her voice rough.
Maksim pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped into the room.
“My safehouse,” he said simply.
Safe.Yeah, right.The irony twisted in her chest.
“And me?”she demanded, fear sharpening her tone.“What am I doing here?”
