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We must attack my brother, and we must get Valerie back.
No quitting.
No compromises.
No mercy.
41
Valerie
I’m either going insane or I’m getting used to being in such a quiet and dark space. When I was first locked inside, I felt as though I wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything, but as the hours have crawled by, I’m starting to adjust to my surroundings.
Anatoly didn’t block all the light sources. The light from the door seems to grow brighter the longer I’m here, and I’ve started hearing sounds from outside. My heart was beating too hard before to hear anything else, but once I calmed down and kept still, the house started to whisper secrets to me.
Anatoly’s room is directly above me. I’ve determined that by the sound of his pacing. He has one foot that always comes down heavier than the other, which I noticed when he walked me down the hall toward my current prison.
He can’t possibly be watching me from a camera if he’s pacing around the place. There might not even be a camera in the roomsince I can’t seem to locate one by reaching up the walls with my hands. If I jump, I can even touch the ceiling, and I’ve found nothing there either. So, either he’s hidden the camera well, or I have some privacy.
I can see why he wouldn’t want to put a camera here, though. If I found it and tore it down, I’d be able to use parts of it to create a weapon. Glass would be especially dangerous for me to have in my hand when he finally opened the door two days from now.
I’m not even sure if he can wait that long. He just keeps pacing around upstairs, like he’s waiting for me to start crying out for help.
But I’m not easily broken. I’m stronger than he thinks I am, and I will persist. This goes beyond my own wellbeing. I have a baby that depends on me, and I’m not going to let it down.
Which is why I can’t afford to wait two full days for a chance to escape. Putting my body through the stress of starvation, even if it’s not enough to be dangerous, could harm my pregnancy. I’m not going to take that risk.
So, I’ve decided on a new plan to get out of here. I have a water bowl in the room and nothing else, so I’ve decided to drink what I have and get to work.
I’ve already mapped out the entire space, so all I have to do is stand up and walk over to the bowl. It’s almost as though the light is on. It’s insane how quickly a person can adapt when their life depends on it.
There isn’t much water left in the bowl after the spill, hardly enough to quench my current thirst, and certainly not enough to get through two whole days.
I don’t know what Anatoly was thinking, putting so little water down here.
Unless he really doesn’t intend to keep me locked here for that long, in which case I need to get to work.
I turn the water bowl upside down and place it on the floor, standing on it slowly to test its limits. It flexes a little, but it doesn’t give way.
Not what I wanted, but that’s fine. Perhaps a little force is needed.
I bounce on it, slowly increasing the height of my jumps until I’m stomping with both feet. Once, twice… and on the third attempt it flattens with a loud bang.
I grab it off the floor, feeling the edges to see how the metal broke. My fingers find the lip of the bowl turned in on one side, but on the other, it’s turned outward. When I wiggle the metal, it moves.
Great, I should be able to tear off a piece and scrape it across the concrete floor to sharpen it. Then, I’ll have my own makeshift prison shank to use on Anatoly when he returns.
I bet he didn’t expect me to have turned from an innocent lingerie model to a murderous Bratva girl in the span of a couple of months. The tables have turned oh-so violently, and I can thank Pasha for that. Without him, I wouldn’t be strong enough to do this.
The rhythmic scrape of metal against concrete soothes an animalistic part of me that craves the violence. I feel like I’m hunting Anatoly, waiting for him to be vulnerable so that I can pounce.
It doesn’t take me long to get the blade sharpened, and when I press it into my fingertips, it reminds me of the blood oath I took in Italy. This time, I won’t be the one bleeding.
Anatoly will.
I smile to myself in the darkness as I use my new blade to cut the hem of my shirt for fabric to wrap around the handle. I’d cut open my own hand if I didn’t have some kind of padding, and it’ll improve my grip.
I wrap the fabric around the handle, feeling it in my hand and growing excited by how deadly the weight is. Who knew that a dog bowl could be turned into a knife capable of slitting a man’s throat?
