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Is that what’s happening to me right now? Am I waking up in the middle of my surgery?
Before I passed out from whatever it was Ashlyn injected me with, she threatened me with the possibility of a surgeon killing me on the operating room table.
As soon as I arrived in Chicago, she showed me who she truly was. I don’t doubt she’d ask a surgeon willing to kill me to torture me first.
Something seems off. I struggle to open my eyes, but when I do, I don’t see a team of medical staff hovering over me. They’re running out the door. I hear shouting and… I think… gunshots?
My mind focuses on trying to move. Such a straightforward thing to do when you’re not medically sedated, but right now, it’s impossible. I can’t keep my eyes open for longer than a moment and no matter how much I try to wake my body into movement, I lay flat, hearing chaos unfold around me.
Thosearegunshots I’m hearing. There’s also sounds as if people are fighting. I hear someone’s voice floating in and out of my ears. I can only catch pieces of what’s being said, but it sounds familiar.
Tell me where she is or you’ll die.
A metal door catches the fluorescent light as it trembles back and forth. It reminds me of the metal door at my father’s cafe that separated the kitchen from the dining room. When a fight broke out with the Bratva at our cafe, I’d hide in the kitchen and cover my ears, watching the door quiver every time a body was thrown, or slammed into the adjacent wall, or shot. I always knew the fight was over when the door stopped quivering from the force of action going on in the next room.
Either there’s a fight happening nearby or there’s an earthquake, and Chicago isn’t exactly known for earthquake activity.
My eyelids raise, allowing me a weak, gray-tinted view of the room I’m in. There are rows of empty beds with disheveled linens. Medical equipment is scattered across the floor. A medicine cabinet is tipped over with a hill of drugs piled next to it. Whatever the hell is breaking loose here, I can’t move to hide or defend myself from it.
The next moment I can open my eyes, I notice the metal door is no longer quivering. I don’t hear the noises from a moment ago. Activity outside this room seems to have died down until the metal door bangs open against the wall. I see a tall man in scrubs walking inside, but can’t keep my eyes open after that.
“Take the girl and get out of here,” I hear an unfamiliar voice say. I feel arms slide under me, but can do nothing to fight it. My head drops back, my eyes open, but I can only see an upside-down view of a powder blue cinder block wall spin until my vision fades once more.
Before I’m carried out of the room, I hear someone yell out to the person carrying me. “Tell Bruno Stepanov I’m not operating on any more of his pets!”
* * *
Morning sunlight spillsinto the bedroom I wake in and reflects off the white linens on my bed. Another morning, another strange bed I’m waking up in. I sigh, wondering if I’ll ever know a familiar home ever again.
I inspect the room and realize we’re not in Bruno Stepanov’s home. This bedroom sits on a corner unit of a highrise, overlooking downtown Chicago. This could be a second property of Bruno’s, where he sends his forced girlfriends to recover from surgery.
My eyes tighten at the thought of the surgery Ashlyn sent me to have. It feels ridiculous to think about it. I’m a prisoner who can be killed at any moment, but right now my biggest fear is looking down at my body and seeing it changed in a way I never wanted, all to satisfy the tastes of the man who wants to force me into marriage.
When I raise my arm to lift my covers it feels like a massive weight. I don’t want to look even more like Ashlyn. She decided she would change her body to keep a man happy, but I could never do that. If I lift the covers and find out I’ve had breast implants placed against my will, my body will no longer feel like it belongs to me.
I pinch the soft fabric of the cover and lift, sighing in relief when I see the surgeon never actually did what Bruno Stepanov wanted. I’m still locked away somewhere against my will, but this gives me a much-needed sense of control.
I slip out of bed and walk to the window, looking over the city. The horizon is lined with a blue arc of Lake Michigan waters. Tiny figures of people walk the sidewalks below, getting on with their lives, while I’m held… wherever I am.
The door out of the bedroom is closed and I assume it’s locked, but I’ll never stop trying to escape. I rush to it, turn the handle, and jerk my head back in surprise when I realize it’s unlocked. This could just be Ashlyn playing with my head, just as Viktor did when I was in his apartment, giving me hope so she can threaten me with it.
I walk out to the living room and look over the wide open layout. The walls are all windows, making it feel like the unit is floating mid-air. Plush couches surround a fireplace. The far window is lined with an outside balcony. I walk to the other end of the floor, hoping I can use it to escape, but when I yank on the door, it doesn’t move.
“Aargh!” I yell in frustration. I know this is Ashlyn’s doing. She wants to prove how much control she has over my life. Maybe it’s payback for Bruno wanting to marry me instead of her, but I don’t want him. I pause, thinking to myself that I can use that fact to my advantage. If Ashlyn wants Bruno all to herself, she can let me escape and have him. I nod my head, knowing it could work, but how do I suggest the idea to her?
“There’s a small lock on the handle,” I hear behind me. I startle and turn towards the kitchen, feeling my knees go weak at the sight in front of me.
“Viktor,” I gasp.
He’s leaning against the kitchen island with his eyes penetrating into mine. The same way he looked at me the first night I spotted him at the Mikhailov hideout. The same way he looked at me at his parent’s house. The way he looked at me before he joined me in the showers, back when I was his prisoner.
Every time he had this look on his face, it ended with us having sex, but he can’t possibly feel any desire for me after I abandoned him.
A pang of anxiety clutches at my throat. I ran away during a shootout without knowing if he survived. There was always a chance Viktor would survive, but I never thought he’d find me.
“You have to unlock the door to get onto the balcony. There’s a small lock next to the hand-” he stops when he looks at me again, backed against a pillar, shaking in fear.
“Let me show you,” he says as he walks to the door. I watch his long fingers pinch the sides of a lock and turn it before opening the glass door to the balcony. He stands in the doorway, gives me an inviting look and says, “you should see the view.”
