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I look around and notice I’m in some kind of warehouse. It’s just one big open space and I’m in the middle of it, tied to a chair. There are men sitting in different corners of the room at small tables playing cards and drinking.
They’re speaking in a language I don’t understand. But even if I could, I would barely make out what they’re saying because they’re too far away and their voices are low.
No one is paying attention to me except the guy who just doused me in water. He’s looking at me like a starving man would look at a piece of steak and I instantly feel grossed out.
“Gde Adelaida Romanova?”
The man sounds like he’s asking a question, but I don’t understand what the hell he’s saying. It definitely sounds like a Russian accent, and it’s sounds like a name. Adelaida Romanova? I have no clue who that is.
“Wha-what are you saying? I don’t understand what the hell you’re asking! Why the fuck am I here?” I scream at him.
His movement is so quick, in the next instant, all I feel is the pain in my cheek as he backhands me.
“Otvet’ mne shlyukha!”
“I don’t know what you’re asking for, dickhead!” I yell at him. He slaps me across the face again before muttering something else in Russian.
After the guy leaves, I don’t know how long I sit there tied to the chair, but it must be a few hours. I’m tired, hungry, and thirsty. I fucking knew it was only a matter of time before something went wrong in my life.
But this doesn’t seem related to whoever is stalking me. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. This feels related to a whole different matter. The only thing I caught when the guys was yelling earlier was Romanov.
He was speaking as though I should know what he means, but the jokes on him because he kidnapped me for nothing. I have no clue what Romanova means at all.
Hours later when I feel like I’m about ready to give up on life, someone new walks through the door. I’m guessing this is someone important because all the men that are here instantly sit straight and are at attention.
I’ve been uneasy all day because I’ve seen some of them giving me looks that creeped me out. The stares and the looks in their eyes made my skin crawl. I’m thankful none of them have acted on their urges though I don’t know how long that’ll last. The new guy walks up until he’s standing right in front of my chair.
“Hello, pretty thing,” he says in some heavily accented English. Thank God someone here is finally speaking my language.
“Why the fuck am I here?” I ask with as much attitude as I can muster.
“Tsk, tsk, now that is no way to talk to the person who has your life in the palm of his hand,” he says, and I shiver at the implication.
“Okay, what do you want with me?” I ask in a much calmer voice. I’m no idiot, these guys look like trained killers and I’m sure they won’t have a problem snuffing my life out. I mean, Russian men on the wrong side of the law are known to not be very nice.
I have no idea if they’re mercenaries or part of a gang or something. Who the hell knows? So not pissing them off would be the best thing to do right now.
“Where is Adelaide Romanov? It seems as though she’s given us the slip by just a few hours,” he says.
“Huh?” I ask clueless. Okay, so I was right about hearing the word Romanov before, but I still don’t know who it is or what it has to do with me.
“Are you playing games with me, little girl? Because I can turn this into a torture session if you won’t cooperate. Trust me, you’ll be singing like a canary once you feel the first slice of flesh being flayed off of you,” he says in a serious and deadly tone.
“I-I-I swear I’m not playing any games. I don’t know who Adelaide Romanov is…” I say, trailing off with a tremble in my voice.
“Ah, she must have given you a fake name. Let me show you then,” he says before walking off.
I hope I don’t die here. It would just be my luck since I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving or where I was going. Now I know why they were on my ass so much. The one day I decide that I need some me time, I get kidnapped. Could the universe hate me anymore?
A few minutes later, the man comes back, and he raises a picture to show me. I’m stunned speechless when I see it’s Adley. What the hell? Why the hell are these men after her? She’s just a normal freaking twenty-year-old so what could they possibly want with her?
“Ah, I see recognition in your eyes. Now tell me where she is,” he snaps.
“Um, I don’t know,” I say in a shaky voice. “What do you even want with her?”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks through it for a few seconds before turning it to face me. He’s showing me the pictures and videos of us at the warehouse last night—the ones I posted online with everyone and you can clearly see Adley, well I guess Adelaide, in both the pictures and videos.
“Tha-that’s my friend Adley. But I’m not sure where she is. You said she gave you the slip, but I haven’t seen her since I dropped her at home last night. Who is she?” I ask, hoping he’ll tell me.
