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She wondered if the girl on the bed was his girlfriend. She thought she’d understood the word “sister,” but she couldn’t be sure.
She was going to get a beating from Yuri for untying the boy. He’d told her not to touch those two or she would regret it. But it was worth it, just to talk to someone with a kind face.
She sat cross-legged on the mattress, rocking Rachel and crooning a lullaby. Peeking from behind her hair, like a lovesick cow. If the girl was his sister, she wondered if he had a girlfriend. Probably all the girls wanted him. Not that it mattered. She was thirteen, and he had to be at least eighteen. She was a plucked crow of a girl, skinny as a skeleton. Her hair was snarled, and she probably stank, though she was too used to bad smells to notice now. He had a nice body, too. Long and graceful, like a runner, with muscular legs. She liked nice legs.
Josh. What a beautiful name. It felt exotic. So nice, the way he was petting Carrie’s hair. She was so thirsty to see any expression of kindness, even if it wasn’t directed at herself. Her eyes just drank it in.
The rattle at the door made her belly sink. The door opened.
Yuri marched in, followed by Marina. He saw Josh sitting up, then turned his evil glare on Sveti. She put Rachel down hastily. Stumbled back, putting a safe distance between herself and the toddler.
“You stupid brat. I told you not to touch them.” His hand flashed out with blinding quickness, a backhand slap that spun Sveti around in midair before the floor swooped up to deal her another huge smack.
Voices, yelling. Yuri, and another voice. Marina, too. Stephan and Mikhail joined the chorus, and Rachel shrieked.
She rolled over, her nose streaming blood. Josh was shouting at Yuri, words she didn’t understand. His fist flashed up, a swift uppercut. Yuri stumbled backwards with a grunt. Josh dove for him again.
Ka-chunk. Marina leveled a black, squared-off gun at him.
“Back, pig,” she spat out in English.
Josh stopped himself in mid-lunge, reeling for balance. He held up his hands, eyes wide. “Don’t shoot,” he said. “I’ll stop.”
Yuri yanked his own gun out of his pants, and pointed it at Josh with a shaking hand as he came on, swearing viciously.
“Don’t,” Marina snapped. “The boss wants to play with this one. Do not touch him. We’ve already had trouble for your stupid stunts.”
Yuri spat a big, yellow glob on the floor, and smashed the big pistol into Josh’s face. It made a bone-breaking sound.
Josh toppled like a tree falling, and lay horribly still. She could see wet, bright red blood on his face, from where she lay. A sound came out of her, the despairing cry of a tormented animal.
Yuri heard it and spun around, the bloodshot whites of his eyes showing clear around the muddy dots of his irises. He seized her by the upper arm, and wrenched her to her feet. “You little bitch,” he raged. “You come here. Your time has come.”
He dragged her towards the door. She kicked and scrabbled, bruising her feet against the concrete floor. Sobbing helplessly over what Josh had just done for her, that sweet, kind, brave,stupidthing—
“Careful with her, dickhead.” Marina’s voice was flat as a robot’s. “They won’t be happy with us if you damage her. How many times do I have to tell you?”
The little ones were all crying. Rachel wailed the loudest. Even after the door slammed shut and was triple locked and bolted, the baby’s piercing screeches followed her down the corridor.
Sveti didn’t stop fighting. A desperate jabber of thoughts buzzed through her mind; what would Rachel do without her? Would she sleep, or would she just cry? Would Sasha remember not to give her that nasty fruit slop with canned apricots that gave her hives? Had Yuri’s blow split Josh’s skull? What were they going to do to her? And was it going to hurt?
And oh, God, oh Mother.Mother. Please.
They shoved her into a big room she’d never seen before. A shower, surprisingly clean and antiseptic-smelling. Marina turned the water on, and wrenched the shirt off Sveti’s head, shoving it against her bleeding nose. “Press that there until you stop leaking. And you,” she directed the words at Yuri. “Outside. I don’t trust you.”
“Don’t be a cunt.” Yuri leered at Sveti’s chest, which she covered with shaking, crisscrossed arms. “I want to see her clean and pretty, at least once. Before…you know.” He smirked.
“Out.” Marina’s voice was adamant. “You bloodied her nose, asshole. They won’t like that. It doesn’t look good.”
“I never hit the parts they care about,” Yuri said, his voice sulky. “Just arms and legs.”
“And faces? Jerk-off. Out.” Martina gestured with her big, protruding chin towards the door. Yuri stomped out, muttering.
The shower was ice cold. The liquid disinfectant soap stank, burned her eyes, stung in all her scrapes and sores. She was shaking too hard when it was done to towel herself off. Marina had to dry her, while Sveti shuddered, teeth chattering, struggling to stay on her feet.
The older woman ripped a lightweight cotton thing out of a plastic package. Baggy green pants, the creases from the fold still sharp. A matching shirt, huge and floppy, that reached halfway to her knees. Her hair dripped down her back. Marina wrung it out, and wrenched a comb through it, dragging it straight back off her face.
Sveti found herself, barefoot and naked beneath the green things, still shivering, her raked scalp stinging, the cold cotton fabric clinging to her wet back. She shuffled down the corridor, through the locked door at the end, out into another corridor. One she’d never seen.
