Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
So I switched my focus to trying to remember what happened.
I remembered being taken. I remembered Mateo hitting me over and over for refusing to log in to my bank account for him to transfer my money.
Then he had left after reopening the wound on my head.
I was in and out for a while.
Blissful nothing, then agonizing pain.
When Mateo came back, his eyes were wild and his pupils were wide, almost swallowing his irises completely. His skin was sweaty, even though it was so cold in that room.
Then there was the way he talked. His words slurred together, but they didn’t slow down like he was drunk. They sped up like he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth fast enough, so his tongue and teeth tripped over them.
He paced around screaming at me for bleeding on his floors. And how I was doing it on purpose. Then he started blaming me for his men dying, blaming me for putting him in that position.
Over and over he would scream about how it was all my fault. And if I had just done what I was told, then he’d already be gone, and the Russians would have no idea where to find him. They would be my problem.
Mateo swung the gun he was holding around wildly as he gestured with his other hand. His finger was still balanced on the trigger as he spoke and when he got more animated, his grip tightened.
The sudden spray of bullets went wide, one digging itself into my flesh.
The motherfucker shot me.
I didn’t think he meant to.
The way he looked at the gun, as if shocked it had fired, would have been comical if the bullet hadn’t winged my arm.
Mateo actually blamed me for that, too. How dare I get shot by him? I should have gotten out of the way of the bullet.
The fact that he had left me tied up and bleeding on the floor was completely irrelevant.
Everything went hazy after that.
Nothing but red-hot pain surrounded by the frigid chill of blood loss that would soon lead to death.
The only other thing I remembered was seeing blue eyes, eyes that reminded me of the sky in Moscow right after it snowed, when the clouds cleared and the world felt fresh and new. And a blanket of sparkling ice covered all the sins and depravity that soaked the ground.
That beautiful blue was the last thing I saw before the darkness took me.
I was so lost in thought, I barely noticed when the talking outside my door stopped completely.
It wasn’t until the door opened that I was back in the present moment. My stomach clenched as I waited for Roman to come in.
“Are you awake?” a soft feminine voice asked.
“Yes,” I answered in the same soft tone.
It wasn’t Roman. And that was disappointing, Two women walked into the room, one carrying a steaming black bowl and the other with a pile of folded clothes in her hands. Behind them was a man I didn’t recognize. He was tall, a scar running down his face and the way he looked at me—with a mix of interest and hatred—made my skin crawl.
“Who—”
“I’m Samara,” the one with the bowl said. “And this is Nadia.”
My eyes flicked behind them, hoping Roman was going to follow them in, but he was gone. A strange pang of disappointment shot through me.
“We are here to help get you cleaned up. And changed,” Nadia said, stepping forward and putting the clothes down on an armchair near the bed. She looked at the pitcher of water sitting in a puddle of condensation and rolled her eyes as she picked it up and grabbed a small dry towel to place under it.
“Those men of ours—animals,” she said, and Samara gave a laugh of agreement, as she set the bowl of steaming water down and picked up the washcloth that was inside.
“Under normal circumstances, we would let you take a shower, but there’s nothing normal about these circumstances. And you shouldn’t get your bandages wet,” she said, and I nodded, not sure what else to say.
The scarred man who came with them stood at the foot of the bed, his thick arms crossed over his chest as he stared at me.
“You can go,” Samara said, leveling him with a look.
“I’ve been ordered to not let you out of my sight.”
“No, you weren’t,” Nadia said, facing the man. “You were ordered to stay with us. You can do that right outside that door.”
“No—”
“That was not a question,” Samara snapped. “We will call you back in if we need your assistance.”
“It’s not safe,” he grunted.
“There are two of us. And one of her. And she was almost dead two hours ago. We’ll be fine.”
“If your husband finds out that I let you—” he growled, making himself bigger. He was impressively intimidating, but Samara and Nadia didn’t back down at all.