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Chapter5
There had been some major miscalculations. I thought that with all the guys running around, I could've gotten someone to help me. I hadn't considered that I would be too scared of them to ask.
I thought that I'd have another chance to run when we went back outside to the car.
I hadn't considered that we'd be locked in a freaking bank vault together.
"What is this. What's happening?" The entire time, I'd been tugging and pulling at the stupid half-broken zip tie, and at this point, I could feel the give in it. I had to stop tugging because it could snap at any moment, and I had to be ready to act once I had freedom.
What the fuck was I supposed to do now?
I kept backing away. I was kind of shocked I hadn't run into anything yet. This vault thing was surprisingly spacious.
There weren't actual rooms or anything, but there seemed to be dividers that would separate rooms, but no actual doors. Everything was metal and cinderblock, making it shades of grey.
"Is this a murder dungeon? This is for sure a murder dungeon." We were going to go around one of these corners and there were going to be hooks hanging from the ceiling, drains in the floor and plastic sheets covering everything.
The man cocked his head and had the nerve to smile at me. "I don't need a special room to kill you. I could do it anywhere."
I think that was his strange way of comforting me, but it was a failure on so many levels. "Well, yeah. But dungeons are where psychopaths bring their victims to take their time and really have fun with it."
He narrowed his eyes. "Do you want me to take my time with you, Kitten?"
Were we still talking about murder? I'm just going to say yes and not go any further down that road. I was officially trapped with this crazy man and there was nowhere to run.
That door didn't have a handle or lock I could pound free. There was just an electronic panel, and I had no idea what the code was.
Trapped. I was more trapped than I'd ever been before. More than when Daddy had been drunk or when Mom had been screwing her latest dealer in the living room.
But this was a whole new level. A basement level, to be exact. I took another step back, and this time finally hit some sort of supply shelf.
The metal bit into my shoulders and boxes fell around me, adding to the chaotic emotions caving in.
Shit.This was the worst timing ever for a panic attack.
Scratch that. This was the perfect time for a panic attack. There was no better time to panic than right now.
Something grabbed my face and my eyes snapped to focus. My captor had moved to stand in front of me and was gripping my face between his thumb and the rest of his fingers hard enough to hurt.
"Look at me, Becks," he said calmly, as though he hadn't trapped me in a tin can.
Instinctively, I tried to look anywhere else, even as my lungs attempted to fill with air. Was it possible to run out of air down here? What if we were going to slowly suffocate? What if it was only a matter of minutes before we both ran out of air and died? Was that the crazy man's plan?
As my fears of suffocation increased, so did my heaving gasps for air. My stupid body was trying to kill me faster, totally overriding any chance for logic to take over.
"Look at me!" he shouted, the suddenness of it working to snap me partially out of the panic.
I jumped, the action running me even further into the shelf and probably bruising my shoulders further. My fingers hit something metal and cold.
Cold. I needed that cold. I used it to bring myself back from the panic. Better than that, it was a solid and moveable object.
A weapon.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you're horrible at helping with panic attacks? I mean, yelling in my face? Terrible."
Insulting him while he was still gripping my chin was a terrible idea, but snark was my default setting, and I was fucking terrified.
"You stopped flopping around like a fish out of water, didn't you?"
"Did you just insult me for having a panic attack? I already thought you were an asshole, but now you're an asshole on another level."
He smiled. "We're going to be trapped together for a while, Kitten. I can't wait to show you all the levels of asshole I have."
What I wouldn't give to have my hands free to shove him away from me. But I needed to wait for the exact right moment.
And I needed his eyes on me so he wouldn't pay attention to what was happening behind my back. "What's your name?"
His dark eyes bored into mine as though he was trying to stare directly into my thoughts. "Borya."
"Obviously. That's what I would've guessed. I thought you looked like a Matt, John, or a Borya. Something like that."
The corner of his mouth lifted, and the son of a bitch had a dimple. Someone as evil as him had no right to have a dimple. That was something sweet, normal people had.
Not crazies like him.
"It's Russian."
"Figures. What are you, some kind of Mafioso?"
He was quiet for a moment and my heart sank. "Oh my God, tell me I'm not in the middle of some mob shit."
"If it makes you feel better, I'm not in the Russian mob. My brother and I got out of that shit years ago."
As he spoke, I took my chances and gave my wrists a tug, freeing up my arms. Keeping my gaze on his, I tried to catch any sign that he was aware I was now free.
He pressed his body against mine. It was impossible to pay attention to his face when I felt his erection along my stomach.
I sucked in a breath of air, though this time had nothing to do with a panic attack. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
He let out a laugh full of bitterness and mirth. "There are so many answers to that question." He ran the back of his fingers along my face.
I shuddered, half in fear half in... something else. He was touching me so softly. A mockery of something softer and loving.
I had a feeling this guy didn't know the meaning of a loving touch, and I wasn't about to help with that. In one deep, fortifying breath, I brought a knee up, slamming into his balls before gripping the cold, solid object behind me and swinging it as hard as I could directly at his face.
The fire extinguisher, which was apparently what I was swinging, hit his skull with a solid thunk that echoed off the walls of the bunker. It was so loud, I thought Borya was going to fall down dead, but he merely stumbled back.
It might not have been a killing blow, but it had been a solid hit and had thrown him off. And as much as I wanted to turn tail and run, I had nowhere to go and couldn't give up the only advantage I had.
I gave another swing, but he stumbled back, causing this swing to glance off his forehead. It still made contact but not the full force blow like the last time.
And then he was lunging for me.
