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Denis. His name was Denis.
Three men, three names, three faces. They weren’t hiding themselves. They were brash. My chest tightened and I lowered my battered body onto the lumpy mattress on the back wall, an awkward task with my hands still bound.
I got the distinct impression that Yuri was in charge. He exuded power— thick and hot the closer you got. These men were no amateurs, which only meant their carelessness with their identities could mean one of two things. Either my breaths were very much numbered or— whoever they were, they were so powerful that it didn’t matter how many details a witness might have.
???
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed which I was positive was intentional. The longer I sat with my back against the chilly wall, the angrier I got. This wasn’t even a prison cell— I was sure prisoners had a pillow and blanket. All I was left with was a place to relieve myself under a camera with a blinking red light and the stuffed pad that kept my ass from going numb against the hard ground. I was angry that I was stupid enough to get kidnapped. Angry that I was scared. And most of all, angry that I just knew someone was watching me— every second I could feel greedy eyes on me. They waited silently, to see me fret, cry, do whatever they expected me to do and all I could do was perform.
And perform I would.
At some point, I had kicked off my white tennis shoes and my right eye was nearly swollen shut. I picked at the white fringe from a hole in my jeans as I played the plan over in my head. I scoffed, it was barely a plan, really. More of a motivation.
They wanted me to be afraid. Yuri and his men probably fed off of it— subsisted off of the foul stench of it and craved it from those they decided deserved it. What they didn’t know about me was that I was done being a people pleaser years ago and I damn sure wasn’t going to grovel. It never worked in the past and I wasn’t willing to try it now.
What I didn’t know was why I deserved it. Why was I the one twisting underneath the too bright lights?
There was nothing left to do but fight like my life depended on it. I had no idea why Yuri had decided to take me, but I wasn’t going to be the perfect little kidnapped victim. He’d have to kill me if he wanted me that way.
My stomach growled and cramped from hunger and I thought back to the measly apple I had eaten before heading onto campus. How many hours ago was that? Six? Twenty four? There was no way to be sure except for the pains that came and went. Instead, I stood up and found myself in front of the sink. I dunked my hands underneath the water and brought some up to my chapped lips, nearly moaning at the cool liquid trickling down my throat. A simple pleasure.
Once the pains had subsided, or I had tricked myself into believing they were gone, I decided I would do some further exploring in my cell and began pacing. Six steps from wall to wall, the light slap of my barefoot making it easy to count. I turned and crossed again and again until I started wondering how many turns I would need before I had walked a marathon.
A sharp beeping sounded and I froze when the heavy door groaned open. It scraped along the floor, leaving a drag mark in the concrete. Yuri stepped inside and my breath caught. His hair was still damp and from the fresh soapy scent that invaded my cell, I knew he was freshly showered. Must be nice.
He looked like a fucking god. Tanned skin peeked out from the white shirt he had cuffed at the elbow, a tattoo spiraled downward, the stem of a bloody rose wrapping around him like the vines in the courtyard. I memorized it, in the split second I could steal a glance and met his gaze. And those eyes. They bored into me like he could read every one of my traitorous thoughts.
“Let’s go,” he beckoned.
I didn’t move.
“Darya,” he cocked his head as I shivered. I was starting to think he liked saying my name. “You’re going to keep being difficult, I see.”
I nodded, my eyes narrowed on him to seem as if his presence didn’t intimidate me.
Giving in he stepped forward and laced his fingers through the ropes at my wrists. He tugged me behind him, out of my cell, and down the hallway. The bleach scent from before had dissipated and my nose wrinkled at a strong metallic stench the closer we got to the torture chamber. The moment I entered, my eyes widened.
Sitting in the chair, slumped over, was a corpse. I was sure he was dead already. There was too much blood pooled below him, continuously dripping down in a sickening plop that echoed in my ears. He was shirtless, with burns and slices covering nearly every inch of his chest. One eye was completely gouged out and his left hand shook on the arm of the chair, his hand missing two fingers.
I took a step back on instinct, biting back a scream, but Yuri was there, his hands clamping down on my shoulders and pushing me forward. “This,” he pointed, “is Eric.”
Matteo stepped away from the table and I jumped, not even realizing he was in the room. He kicked Eric on the shin and he jolted awake with a gurgle.
“See, Eric here, is the one who helped me to find you.” My eyebrows pulled down, confused. I had never even seen him before.
“Please,” Eric begged, his head bobbing from side to side. I swallowed down bile and turned away, unable to look at him any longer.
Yuri’s hands cupped my cheeks. “He gave you up, cariño.”
“Gave me up?” I shook my head. “What do you mean?”
He turned me back around and another surge of bile come up my throat at the sight of Eric. “Your last name is Munro,” Matteo said.
I didn’t speak. Yuri had known my name from the start, it was obvious I was targeted. As creepy as it was, I wasn’t surprised.
“Not Clark,” Yuri whispered into my hair.
The hair on my neck stood up at his closeness but my legs grew wobbly at his words. There was a reason my last name didn’t match my dad’s— one that I learned the hard way twelve years ago. Nowadays, I liked it that way. Less connection with the asshole. But what did Eric have to do with my last name?
