Alessia
Curled up on the comfortable black leather sofa in Vlad’s opulent living room, I practice my Russian with the Rosetta Stone.
Mika snickers at my accent.
I repeat it, watching for his approval until he nods.
It’s been three days since we arrived and we’ve settled into a routine with his tutoring. I teach him for a few hours and then he helps me with my Russian. I have the Rosetta Stone and also a translating app. Vlad somehow figured out how to give me a tablet that accesses only certain websites, but I can’t get online to do anything else. I can’t figure out how he did it, but I think he must be pretty tech savvy. The way his fingers fly over the keys on his laptop, he definitely seems at home.
He works long hours in his office, bent over the laptop or pacing around on his cell phone.
In the afternoons, he takes me out to the lake-my favorite time of the day. Yesterday, I found a garden bench had been placed in a shady spot halfway to the lake.
“Is this for me?” I gasped when we came upon it.
Vlad kept the stoic Russian mask on. “Rest,” he ordered, rather than just admit to the kind deed.
I sat, because I did need a rest, then scooted over and patted the place beside me. When he sat down, I pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
He didn’t answer.
“It’s okay to admit there’s actually a nice guy under that asshole front you wear,” I told him.
“No,” he grumbled. “There’s definitely no nice guy. I just don’t want you to die of exhaustion.”
So he said, but when we arrived at the water’s edge, I found another surprise. One of those rustic porch swings had been placed right by the rock I usually chose to sit on.
Because I don’t want to be touched by Vlad’s efforts, I’ve upped my demands and complaints. I need new music. New clothes-when will he take me shopping? I need a Kindle and romance novels. I want to send letters home.
He doesn’t concede to anything, nor does he get annoyed. He just gives me his game face and tosses out orders to keep me in line.
I screw around on the tablet, trying to hack into the internet. Seriously, if he figured out a way to limit it, I can figure out the way to get past it.
“What’s the WiFi password?” I ask Mika casually. You never know. I might trick him by acting like it’s a normal request.
No luck.
The boy grimaces and his ears turn red. I feel bad for even asking.
“I’m just kidding. Can I borrow your tablet?” I hold my hand out like I expect him to pass it over to me.
He hugs it to his chest. “Mine doesn’t have access, either,” he says.
I can’t tell if it’s true or not. It would make sense, though. Vlad shouldn’t trust Mika not to help me, especially when I’m winning the boy over more and more every day. “Only to games and TV.”
I sigh and Mika flushes some more. I’m a bitch because I pretty much just asked him to betray the father figure I’ve been hoping he’ll bond to. It’s so wrong of me.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I don’t want you to feel caught between the two of us. It’s not fair to you.”
Mika looks at me, his blue-green gaze earnest. “Vlad says he will let you go,” he says.
I nod. “I know. I believe him. Do you?”
Mika swallows, but nods. Then he shrugs. “I don’t know him so very well, though. Only a few months now.”
“I’m sure he’s dangerous,” I say. “But not to us.” I point between the two of us.
Mika studies me intently, as if measuring the truth of my words. Then he nods.
Outside, I hear the gravel crunch as a large truck pulls up. I go to the window to look out. The driver pulls in, then backs up to turn. He must be an idiot, because he backs up way too quickly and totally smashes into one of the cars in the circular drive.
The men on the porch yell. Security guys pour out from all sides, swarming around the vehicle. I watch for a moment, fascinated, thinking this would make an excellent Trojan horse style invasion.
And then it occurs to me.
I don’t need armed men to pour out of the truck. All I need is this distraction. No one is guarding the front door right now.
Mika’s standing up to look out the window, as well. “Go get Vlad,” I order him.
The moment he’s out of sight, I shove my feet in my sneakers and dart for the door.
It’s some kind of miracle-no one notices. They’re all gathered around the accident, yammering. Vlad’s already out there, too. He must’ve exited from a different door. I duck behind the hedges and move swiftly, keeping close to the mansion until I hit the edge, then I dart for the trees.
Vlad’s place is out in the country. I will have to hike quite a ways, which sucks with my kidney condition because I get short of breath. But maybe once I hit the main road, I can flag down a car. Not speaking Russian is another serious hitch in my plan, but I’ve memorized the word for help in Russian-pomogite-and I’ll just keep saying it until they figure out how to help me.
A half an hour later, I’m sweaty and tired but on the main road. I don’t dare stop moving. Panting from the exertion, I wave my hand at every car that goes by, trying to flag one down as I jog along the road.
I’m hoping I’ll look desperate and out of place and that will make someone stop to find out what in the hell is wrong with me.
And then I’m totally in luck because a Russian police car pulls up and two men get out.
“Thank God,” I say. “Pomogite. Pomogite.”
They jabber at me in Russian, dour sounds coming from harsh, angry faces.
I point down the road toward Vlad’s place. “Zaklyuchennyy.” It’s the word for prisoner. At least I hope I’m saying it right. It’s another one I memorized in case of escape.
They repeat it back. “Zaklyuchennyy?”
“Da!” I bob my head and point frantically toward Vlad’s mansion. “Zaklyuchennyy.” We need to get the hell off this highway before Vlad figures out I’m gone and comes looking for me.
They speak rapidly to each other in Russian, and then one of them gets on the radio on his phone.
“Yes, let’s go.” I go to their car and throw open the back door, climbing in the back seat.
“Nyet, blah blah blah,” one of them scolds me in Russian.
“Da,” I insist.
They speak together again in Russian, then the officer next to me leans his face down and nods his head, saying something. He slams the door shut and leans against it.
Come, the fuck on.
Get in the car and drive me to the station. We need to call my brothers. Get me on a plane off this continent. Quickly.
I knock on the window.
The cop ignores me, his backside pressed against the freaking window. I can’t even open the door now to get his attention. I tap again.
No answer.
Shit. Cops are probably owned by the bratva in Russia. Which means I’m screwed.
I try to open the door, but the cop’s body blocks me. I slide over to the other side and, surprise, surprise, the other cop has that one blocked, too.
Another vehicle approaches, then screams to a stop, wheels squealing.
Fuck. That has to be Vlad.
I hear Vlad’s angry voice and then the cop moves.
Oh hell.
The door flies open.
I stare up at a very angry Russian.
“Come.” He beckons to me.
I appreciate that he doesn’t manhandle me much anymore, but I’m not going to make this easy on him.
Just in case he doesn’t own the cops and I misread the situation, I shriek, “Zaklyuchennyy!” again, as loud as I can.
Vlad gives me a withering look. “Who do you think called me, zaika?”
Right. I figured.
“Now get out. If I have to lift you out, your punishment will be far worse.”
My stomach flutters at the word punishment.
I’m half dizzy from the adrenaline. My hands shake as I reach for the door handle to boost myself out.
I’m scared, for sure. I’m not sure what Vlad will do to me.
I’m not terrified, though. He’s not cruel. I’m sure of that.
The moment I’m on my feet, Vlad throws me up over his shoulder and carries me to the car. I claw at his back with my nails, not because I think it will do any good, but because I’m not going to go like a limp fucking doll. Especially not in front of the good-for-nothing corrupt police assholes who sent me back to him.
When he sets me down, I slap his face.
Or at least I try to. He moves lightning fast and catches my wrist. “No. Don’t make it worse for yourself. You are already in so much trouble.”