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“Is this car yours?” I gasp in a hushed whisper, and he rolls his eyes. “Seriously, do you really think I’d buy this shit heap?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“No, what?”
“I’m not stealing somebody’s possession.”
He almost growls with frustration, anger, or it could be a mixture of the two making me wonder about my sanity in standing up to him. Then without another word, he pushes me roughly into a car that smells as if something died in here and says hoarsely, “Do as I say if you want to live.”
He jumps in beside me and I stare in astonishment as he proceeds to hot-wire the car and before I know it, we are screeching away from a place I never want to visit in my lifetime again.
The roads are in definite need of repair along with the entire city, if I’m honest, and if there was anything left inside me, it would surely be making an appearance round about now. As we speed off to God only knows where, I study my captor a little closer. He looks like shit, and I guess I’m not much better and I say with a hint of shock edging my words, “What’s happening?”
“We’ve been poisoned.”
I heard him right the first time, but say weakly, “That can’t be right. Why would anyone want to poison us?”
“Welcome to Russia, moya krasivaya roza.”
“What did you even say?”
He laughs softly, which is the first sign of normality in a man who makes a psychopath seem sane.
“I called you my pretty English rose.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised and yet it stirs a warm sensation inside me as I shrink back in my seat and let his endearment wash through my body like an antidote to a snake bite.
Just that one sentence makes me warm to him and then he surprises me again by saying sweetly, “How are you?”
“OK, I guess, under the circumstances.”
His gruff laughter almost makes me smile and I say with curiosity, “What is your name, if I’m allowed to know such classified information?”
“Ivan.”
His reply is short and sweet, and I roll it around in my mind.
For a moment I say nothing and then say tentatively, “You said we were poisoned. Who would do that?”
He sighs deeply and looks so tense it makes me afraid for our safety.
“It could be many people. I’m not sure who is responsible. So, for now, we must hide until we discover their identity.”
“And the plan is…?”
I gently try to coax the information out of him, and he snaps, “There is no plan.”
Well color me confused because now I’m even more worried and say urgently, “We should go to the British embassy. They will help us.”
He laughs out loud, and I say tightly, “They will. What’s so funny?”
“Even the British embassy can’t protect us from whoever this is. Do you really believe your government has any jurisdiction here? Do you imagine the American government has a magic wand hidden inside a frame on their marbled walls? No princess, this is mother fucking Russia, and she makes the rules up as she goes along. She’s deadly, depraved and sly. She has no friends, and she trusts no one. She is the darkest demon dressed as an angel and would kill you dead with a welcoming smile. There are no friends in Russia and the fucking embassy is the last place we should go to for help.”
“But you’re Russian. Why are they trying to kill you?”
I’m a little stung by the derision in his voice and his laugh has no humor in it as he hisses, “Would it shock you to learn it may be my own father responsible?”
“Yes.”
