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Unable to hold the question in, I ask, “Aren’t you afraid of dying?”
Misha’s eyes lock with mine. “I don’t plan on dying young.”
“Yes, but something could go wrong. Doesn’t that cross your mind?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’ve trained too fucking hard, and I have Alek and Armani watching my back. If I go on a mission worrying if something will go wrong, I’ll end up dead.”
Before I can ask another question, Misha grabs the panel and leans it against the crate, so it blocks out some of the light.
I feel a twinge of anxiety in my chest, but knowing I’m not completely shut in, it’s manageable.
He watches me before he asks, “How are you holding up?”
“I know I can get out, so it’s not really bothering me.”
Moving out of the crate, he walks away, then I hear him shout, “Alek.”
When Misha returns, I ask, “Why are you calling Alek?”
“So he can shut us in the crate.”
“Are you insane?”
“Not legally, though I’ve never been tested,” he jokes as he sits down beside me.
When Alek reaches the crate, Misha says, “Close the panel.”
“Sure thing.”
My anxiety spikes a little as we’re plunged into darkness, then I hear Alek’s muffled voice, “Use protection, kids.”
I take a deep breath, then ask, “How will we get out?”
“We have to wait for Alek to decide we’ve been in here long enough,” Misha answers, his voice sounding intimate in the dark.
“That can take hours!”
“Yep,” he murmurs.
I shift, but I can’t move much because I’m squashed between Misha’s huge body and the wood panel.
“How are you holding up?” he asks.
“It’s still bearable.” This time I refrain from saying it’s because he’s sitting next to me. I don’t want to give him the idea to leave me alone in the crate.
“What is it about small spaces that causes you to have an anxiety attack?”
“It’s being stuck and never getting out of the space,” I answer.
I try to move again, and when I can’t, my anxiety spikes enough to make my heartbeat speed up.
I take deep breaths, and Misha must hear it because he asks, “What’s making you panic?”
“I can’t move,” I admit.
“Focus on my voice,” he murmurs, his tone calm. “Relax your muscles and inhale slowly.”
I do as he says, but it’s not helping. “I need to move.”
