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I'm still in the same clothes I was in when they took me. I've gone nose blind to my smell at this point. I can't even imagine how bad it really is.
I'm walking around the room when I hear the scuffing of a door scraping across the floor letting me know food is being delivered. I can't really tell where it came from, the drugs they’ve been feeding me make me slightly disoriented at all times. It sucks even more now that I know what it's like to actually feel normal. I realize the haze I was working in before. How I got anything done is beyond me.
I've finally come up with a plan of sorts. My uncle wants to use me as a weapon to win his war. So, day by day, I pretend to be a little weaker for him. I give fake signs that my resolve is crumbling. I even gave him tears last time all to make him think he was breaking me down. Especially after they found someone who looked so much like Lev to come in here and try to comfort me, only to slit his throat right before my eyes.
That was an easy one to put on a show for because only half of it was fake. The tears were real. The hurt was real. But the fact that I didn’t get up to fight him when he came into the room to showboat after, that was the hardest thing I’ve had to do so far. Feigning defeat is much more difficult than I expected. Little do they know, every time they play this little game, my resolve to kill them only grows stronger.
The clanking of a food tray greets my ears, so I move to the one door it usually comes from, but nothing’s there. I don't think much about it when I circle around to the next door and sit down to get what little nutrients they provide. It's only when I lift the sandwich and find a blade under it that I pause. 'Act normal' is written on top of it.
I bite into my sandwich and eat away like there isn't a weapon now at my disposal on my plate. There is more writing on the back of the note and I'm anxious to read it. However, I'm most anxious about where I'm going to hide it. The only things in here are concrete walls and metal support beams.
Fuck, I'm going to have to eat this damn letter, aren't I?
I set down the sandwich and keep my hands concealed under it while I flip the paper to read, being sure to keep my back to the single camera in here. I'm not dumb enough to believe this isn't all some sort of elaborate trap, but I'm tired. If I can get to my uncle quick enough, I can end it once and for all.
'Not all of us are with A'
-Mac
My throat tightens as I act like I’m picking at the bread while I’m actually ripping the note to pieces and pushing it into my sandwich.
If Mac is here maybe he can help me. If he could just unlock the damn door, I'm sure I'd be able to figure it out from there now that I have a weapon.
I carefully slide the blade under my shirt and into the front of my bra, pretending to be uncomfortable as I adjust it. No one will question it. They’re all men, I'm sure. And all men know women secretly hate bras.
I can feel the drugs hitting me already, and I have a strong feeling that when I wake up, it will be with the belief my men are safe. Only for my heart to be ripped open all over again.
???
This time is different. I can’t open my eyes. Stabbing pains dig into my back and no matter how I adjust, the pain only worsens. A laugh breaks through the silence, but it’s muted. Sucking in aharsh breath, I try to control the wall of emotions that crash into me, but I can’t seem to gain the upper hand.
Cotton touches my lips as I inhale. I realize I must have a bag over my head at the same moment it’s ripped away.
“Wakey, wakey, little whore.”
Rostya.
I’ve been paying close attention to my uncle's relationship with this man, and it’s becoming clear that he is the one who seems to hold more authority. It’s quite humorous to me because my uncle has the resources to take this man out without even having to blink. And yet here he is, running the show.
I have to remember to keep up the act though. They need to believe I’m breaking. Part of me feels like the facade isn’t all that far from the truth, but the feeling of the blade tucked into my bra centers me enough to keep my panic from taking over.
I pull at my hands tied above my head and let him see the fear shining in my eyes. It’s more a spark of defiance, but he doesn’t need to know that. Needles dig into my back when I move, causing me to wince in pain.
“You like my little toy?” he asks, walking around me.
Rostya looks like a lion circling its prey. I would actually put money on the fact that drool is about to slip from his mouth. He presses a button, and Damien’s voice permeates the air.
“Don’t. No. Please. I’ll give her to you if you let us go.” His words are full of pain and sadness.
“This is what he said when we captured them, you know? He was willing to kill you off if it meant the three of them got away.”
Good. But I don’t tell him that. Damien knows me in a way the others don’t. He knows I want them all safe even at the expense of my own life. He knows why I left that bunker to get to Alexi. They mean more to me than life.
That doesn’t mean hearing those words come from him hurts any less, but I do understand them. Respect them even.
“He wouldn’t,” I say in a weak voice, my lip quivering. The sad part is, only fifty percent of the reaction is fake. It does hurt. I do want to cry, but in front of a man like this, I can control that impulse if I need to.
I test out pulling on my ankles, but the pain worsens. I lift my head and get a better look at what I’m strapped to. My jaw clenches when I realize my fate.Shit. This thing hasn’t been used since the fucking middle ages.
