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I hold her gaze. “You’re not going to shoot me.”
“No,” she says, sticking her gun back in her jacket. She walks over to one of the guys on the floor and retrieves a rolled-up cloth filled with nasty-looking carving tools. “I’m just going to start cutting off some of your favorite body parts until I get a full confession out of you. How does that plan strike you, Bash?”
I glare at her. “I need to take a piss.”
Her laugh is ugly and cruel.
“I have to go bad. I’m about two seconds from going in my pants.”
She glances around for a container and spots an old garbage pail in the corner. Emptying the trash onto the floor, she sets it down a couple of feet from me and pulls out her gun.
“You try anything,” she says pressing the muzzle to my temple. She then lowers it to my scrotum, “I’ll blow them right off and still get my confession.”
I hold her gaze as I slowly rise from the chair. My whole body aches from the repeated beatings and from sitting for so long.
“My hands,” I say, turning slightly.
“Oh, no,” she says and gestures with the gun for me to approach the pail.
I take two steps forward. “You going to do the honors?”
She smirks as she holds my gaze and reaches down to unzip my jeans. Taking hold of my shaft, she gives it a squeeze and curls her lip disapprovingly, “Now Sergei, he was a real man.”
I roll my eyes as I begin to relieve myself. God, it felt good. Good enough to let me think more clearly as I fill the trash bin. Even my restrained arms have a little more life in them. I slowly flex my fingers behind my back.
Natasha still has the barrel of the gun aimed at my balls. This all must be executed with precise timing.
“Ahhh,” I sigh loudly, tilting my head back with eyes closed. “What a relief.” When I’m sure she’s looking at my face as she tucks me back in, I kick the bucket over so that all the urine comes splashing out onto her pant legs.
Disgusted, she leaps back and trips over the legs of the fallen body behind her. The gun is knocked clear of her hands. I’ve never struck a woman before, but I’ve no choice but to kick her hard in the gut knocking the wind out of her. As she balls up, gasping for air, I scramble for the gun.
Her angry eyes are upon me as I squat down and grab the gun behind my back. I stand, turning sideways so that the gun is aimed at her.
“It’s over, Natasha.Don’tmake me shoot you!”
“Bastard,” she gasps and cradles her stomach as she struggles to elude the spreading puddle of urine.
“Stay down!” I bark as I edge toward the door.
“Ahhh!” she howls in anger as she attempts to stand but slips on the slick grimy floor.
The door swings open and one of the Albanians comes in, eyes wide taking in the scene. I turn to fire at him, but Natasha leaps up tackling me from behind. They’re both attacking me. I kick the man hard enough to send him sprawling back. But the impact jars the gun from my hand.
Natasha picks it up and aims it at my head. She’s a furious mess covered in dirt and urine.
“Sit the fuck down!” she bellows as she holds a protective hand over her belly.
The other man is on his feet, grabbing me by the arms to thrust me back into the chair. Refusing, I struggle with him. That’s when I hear the bang and feel the searing heat shooting through my thigh.
That crazy bitch shot me!
I’m herded back into the chair and pistol-whipped for good measure.
“I’m not playing games with you, shithead!” she screams and turns to the Albanian. “Get some more rope, tie his legs.”
Through the debilitating pain, I notice that she’s still favoring her belly. Not as if she’s in pain, but rather as a protective measure. That’s when it dawns on me. “How far along are you?” I say, letting my gaze fall to her belly.
“None of your fucking business!”
