My Russian Nightmare

by Danielle Sibarium

  “Kiera,” he calls as his form blocks the light in the doorway.

  I feel my insides tremble and shake as he takes a step into the room. I’m not sure, but I think it’s Dima. I hope it’s him. He’s the nicest of them all. I give myself a silent warning not to be fooled. He’s no better. He’s the one that grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. That makes him just as bad as the blond and the old man.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, so you need to cooperate, okay?” he says, advancing.

  I don’t respond. Instead, I answer with a cough.

  “I’ll give you some water. But you need to promise not to try anything.” He leans down and switches on a lamp beside the bed.

  I was right. It’s who I hoped for. He’s standing beside the bed, and I’m not sure whether to agree or tell him to go fuck himself.

  “I’m going to untie one of your hands. But if you fight, if you try anything, I’ll have to tie you back up.”

  “And if I listen?” I ask, my throat scratchy.

  “Then maybe we untie the other hand, too.”

  Isn’t he fucking generous? I don’t respond. Instead, I nod to show him I understood his warning. Warning. Threat. At this point, they are one and the same. I almost want to ask, since I’m already tied up, what happens if I do fight back, just to be a smart ass. But I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to that, and I doubt he’ll admire me for my snark, even in such a desperate situation.

  Dima releases my left hand, my weaker hand, from its restraint, and takes a step back. I circle my wrist to loosen it up. It’s sore and stiff. I wonder how long I’ve been here and how long my hands have been tied. I look around the windowless room, and I have no idea if it’s day or night.

  “Are you ready for me to release the other one?”

  I stare at him, but he makes no move, just looks back at me with his cold, dark eyes.

  “Yes.” I feel like a damn dog begging for a bone.

  Once both hands are free, I manage to turn myself onto my back. There is enough slack in my left foot binding to allow me to do that. My body aches. Every damn joint is crying out from being still for too long. Slowly, Dima’s hands help lift me to a sitting position.

  “Thank you,” I say, despite the fact that I want to punch him in his perfectly straight nose.

  He reaches for a bottle of water from the night table, opens it, and holds it to my mouth until I take it from him. I take a sip and soon realize how parched I am. My mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with a bag of cotton balls. I down the rest of the bottle in a few large gulps.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  Dima’s lips curl slightly at the corners. I wouldn’t quite call it a smile, but it has friendly implications.

  “Sammy is stable,” he informs me before turning toward the door.

  Hearing my brother’s name, I perk up. My heart speeds up and skips a beat. I’m desperate to know more. “Wait!”

  He stops. I don’t know what to say or what to ask. I stare at him blankly, a million thoughts running through my head. As if he knows, like he can read my thoughts, my reaction, he continues.

  “Let me get some food for you, and then I tell you what I know.”

  I must be crazy. The second he leaves the room, panic settles into my brain. I don’t want to be alone. My teeth chatter and my body trembles with fear. I should be more frightened when he’s near, not when he leaves me alone. But I am frightened. I’m cold and scared out of my mind that someone will come back in here and it won’t be him.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” he calls from the other room.

  I don’t hear anyone else with him, and I pray that we’re alone. Although the implications of that are terrifying as well. I look around the windowless room and realize that even if I gain his trust and he frees me, I have little hope of escaping.

  The only possible thing I could use as a weapon is the lamp beside my bed. I’m not sure how realistic that option is. There are screws or nails that have been inserted into the base. I wonder if it’s been secured to the table itself. Shit. I’ll have to test it and see.

  I’m still looking around, examining the room, when I spot Dima standing in front of the door, holding a dish and another bottle of water. My eyes meet his, and something stirs inside me. For reasons I can’t explain, I’m filled with a sense of guilt. Maybe it’s because he’s shown kindness, the tiniest bit of compassion, and I’m searching for a weapon to use against him. There’s just something about the way he’s looking at me that has me thrown off kilter.

  “Eat,” he says as he approaches the bed with a buttered bagel.

  “Why?”

  “So you can regain some of your strength.”

  “Isn’t it better for you if I’m weak and unable to fight or struggle against you?”

  He arches an eyebrow as a sarcastic grin forms on his full lips. “Depends on what you have in mind.”

  Heat surges through my body from my head to my toes. My face is especially hot which, with my pale skin, means it’s a bright shade of red. I’m embarrassed, mortified at the implications of his words.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, placing the dish on the night table and sitting on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You said that already.” I’m shocked that I’m comfortable enough to snap back at him. “And yet you held me trapped in your arms, and now I wake up tied to this bed, and you still look me in the eye and claim you don’t want to hurt me.”

  “I don’t.” His eyes drop to the floor, his words dripping with emotion. “So don’t put me in a position where I have to.”

  “You’re not in charge, are you? You have no say about anything. You just take your orders like a good soldier.”

  Anger flashes in his dark eyes. His jaw tenses and his hands ball up into fists as he stands. “You have a lot to say for someone with very few options,” he growls. His voice is cold, emotionless.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I swallow down the fear racing through me.

  “Eat!” He lifts the bagel off the dish and hands it to me.

  I take the food in my hand and look it over. I turn it around in my hands and look between it and the man watching me with hawk-like intensity.

  “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.”

  I nod. He has a point. But poison isn’t the only thing I’m worried about. They stuffed pills down my throat. I don’t remember much of anything after it.

  “No. I didn’t rape you.”

  He’s reading my thoughts again. I wonder how he does that. How can he possibly anticipate what I’m thinking? Unless he’s so experienced in kidnapping that he can predict what’s wrong based on what his other victims have told him.

  “Kiera.” This dark-haired man that I want to be an angel but fear is the devil bends down and strokes my cheek with his thumb. I feel a strange sensation where he touches me and assume it’s nothing more than the friction of his calloused finger against my smooth skin. Either way, it unnerves me because it almost feels nice, and I’m looking forward to that kind of gentle contact again.

  I see something soft and kind in his eyes as he examines my face. He confuses me so much. He’s mean one minute and kind the next. Cold and unfeeling in one breath, yet warm and compassionate at the same time.

  Tears burn and prick my eyes. I turn away. I hate him. I hate this man that wouldn’t let me escape. This man that helped drag me away from the only person left in my life. The one person that means everything to me. I hate him for hurting my brother and holding me hostage, bullying me with threats of violence. I hate him for showing kindness. I’d rather he stay the monster I already know he is in my mind.

  “I know you have questions. We don’t have much time before we have company. Eat.”

  Company. I know who’s coming, and my stomach churns with thoughts of the other men. My other abductors. I know that as much as I dislike this man, I’d much rather be his prisoner than theirs.<
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  I bite into the bagel and take my time chewing. As I swallow my first bite, my stomach growls and reminds me how hungry I am. I don’t know the last time I ate. I take another bite and barely chew it all before taking the next. The last meal I remember is breakfast before getting the call about Sammy. It was hours before I left school for the hospital. How long is that? A day? More?

  “How long was I…” I worry about finishing the sentence and pause between bites. I don’t want to offend or anger him. I don’t want to give him a reason to “hurt” me. I search for a safe word that won’t imply that he’s the bad guy, even though we both know he is. “Sleeping?”

  “Two days. You’d come around every now and then. But after a short time, you’d just give in and collapse.”

  “Give in?” Shit, I have no recollection of anything after passing out in the van.

  “To the pills and shit they’ve been forcing down your throat.”

  “That at least explains the awful headache.”

  “I told you. No one raped you.” His eyes are locked on mine until he continues. Then they dart away as he looks off into the distance behind me. “They’d much prefer to see the fear and terror in your eyes as you beg them not to.”

  His words send a deep chill straight to my bones. I need to get away from him.

  “Is there a bathroom I can use?”

  He stares at me long and hard, like he’s contemplating my question. I don’t understand why, It’s not a hard one.

  He takes a deep breath. “Will you behave?”

  I nod.

  “Okay.”

  He releases my feet and offers me a hand to help me stand. I don’t take it. I can do it on my own. My legs are so weak and wobbly, they give up and I go right down. Instead of hitting the floor, strong arms catch me. I fight the urge to nuzzle my face against his hard chest and hold on to him. I shudder under his touch, and every muscle in my body is taut and tense until he lets go.

  Dima walks me to a corner of the room on the other side of the bed, the side my back was to. There is no door. It’s been removed or never put on to begin with. “If you need me, I’ll be right here,” he says, turning so that his back is to the door. Another windowless room. Nowhere to go from here, just back into the other room.

  Once I’m done, he leads me back to the bed.

  “Do you have to restrain me?”

  His eyes drop, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he doesn’t want to do this. “For now.”

  I accept that, because I don’t have any choice other than to accept it, and because there is a promise in his words. A promise that if I don’t try anything, I might be able to earn his trust enough to regain some of my freedom. And when someone gives you an inch, you reach for the yard.

  Baby steps.

  That’s what I need to take right now. Little, tiny baby steps.

  Once I’m back in bed, I pick up what’s left of the bagel and start eating again. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, Dima stands beside the bed and watches me intently. I feel his eyes burning through my skin. It’s like he’s branding me, claiming me for his own, and it makes my stomach tumble.

  I meet his dark brown eyes. It’s hard to breathe and I’m not sure why. I don’t know if this sudden tension and energy between us is a good thing or not. It’s just that no one has ever looked at me like that, like I’m all there is.

  If anyone has, I never noticed. And here, this man that I should despise with every beat of my heart just made it skip a beat.

  He takes a step back and I can breathe a little easier. I’m not sure what just happened. I didn’t feel threatened by him. Not at all. It was something else. Something I never felt from a guy before. It’s the feeling that he wants me. Really wants me, with his entire being.

  Dima’s still staring, and I have a hard time swallowing. The look on his face has changed with a little distance between us. His expression is blank again and I can’t read him at all.

  I convince myself that whatever I thought a moment ago is wrong. He’s the bad guy keeping me from my brother and holding me hostage. This isn’t a movie and he isn’t some hero in disguise, no matter how bad I want him to be.

  Dima pulls his phone from his pocket and lifts it to his ear. Once again he’s speaking in that language I don’t understand. It’s becoming more familiar, and I’m sure I know what it is now. He hangs up, and his jaw is tense, his forehead crinkled. He doesn’t look happy.

  “Were you speaking Russian?”

  He nods and grabs my right hand hard. I tremble, both because I’m frightened at the swiftness and strength behind the movement, and from the touch itself. He releases a breath and eases his grip.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to do this.” He won’t look at me while he restrains my hand once again.

  I hold the other up to him before he even asks as a show of good faith. He shakes his head. “No. It’s okay. Just finish.”

  I look down at the piece of bagel I’m still holding. I’ve devoured most of it. I pop the last of it into my mouth right before there is a knock at the door.

  “Behave.” He gives me a hard warning look before leaving me alone to let our “company” in.

  Chapter 4

  I expected the other men to return, but the voice I hear trailing in from beyond the door isn’t a man’s voice. It’s a woman’s. The slightest flicker of hope lights in my heart. A woman. Hopefully someone with a heart. Maybe I could befriend her, and then she might be my key to freedom.

  Once again, the language being spoken is foreign. Although I now know what the language is, it doesn’t help me understand what’s being said. While Dima’s voice is low, hers is not. I don’t need to know what she’s saying to know she doesn’t sound happy.

  The voices come closer.

  “Get your hands off me,” he says in a warning tone, and I wonder if there’s someone else here besides the woman.

  When I see her, I’m certain he was speaking to someone else. She’s gorgeous, and there’s no way he wouldn’t want her touching him. A pang of disappointment wells up in me as I wonder what their relationship is.

  They walk through the door. The woman is a step in front of Dima and holding a large pot. From where I am, it looks like a rice cooker that needs to be plugged in somewhere. Maybe she’s his girlfriend and she brought us food?

  Her eyes look me over from head to toe. She examines every inch of me, sizing me up, although I don’t know what for. Right now I feel like a specimen of cattle on the auction block at the state fair.

  I stare back at her with the same intensity. Her skin-tight jeans not only hug the curve of her ass but look painted on. Her low-cut shirt shows off more cleavage than someone so thin could have naturally. She’s striking. Beautiful. Her blonde hair hangs below her shoulders. Large grey eyes are the centerpiece of her face and highlight perfect, high cheekbones, a complete contrast from my brown eyes and rounded face.

  Her mouth twists into a snarl and one eyebrow shoots up. With a nasty look on her face, the tall, super-model thin woman looks down her nose at me. I hate her. I know I’m judging a book by its cover, but the cover is ugly and reeks of an unjustified attitude.

  “What the fuck is this?” she asks in a whiny voice, her accent contrasting with Dima’s perfect English. “She’s awake,” she says as if it’s a shock to her. “And why is her hand free?”

  “It’s none of your fucking business. You’re here to do a job. Get it done,” he looms over her, a severe no-bullshit look on his face.

  “Give her something to knock her out. She’s not supposed to be conscious.”

  “You don’t give the orders around here. I told you to mind your business.”

  “Fine. Then I’m leaving. I can’t work like this.” She shakes her head and turns.

  He grabs her arm and stops her. “Where are you going?”

  “You don’t understand English? Maybe I should say it in Russian?”

  “Get to work,” he says with such authority, I
doubt anyone in their right mind would argue with him.

  She holds firm, “I have nowhere to set up.”

  Dima leaves the room with the woman on his heels and comes back with an air mattress. He opens it and spreads it out on the floor. Once he plugs it into the wall and turns a dial on its side, I watch as it gets bigger and fills with air. While we wait for it to inflate, she plugs her pot into an outlet on the wall next to the mattress.

  The woman keeps talking, yelling, whining — I’m not sure what to call it — at Dima, who doesn’t seem to be listening to her. She speaks fast and in a high-pitched voice, which sounds very much like a cat in pain. I don’t miss the dirty looks she throws at me. Nasty looks that would strike me dead if she had the power to do so.

  “Get her down there and take her clothes off before you tie her up,” she orders, as if I’m not right there next to them.

  “She doesn’t need to be tied up. She’ll cooperate,” he says, his eyes avoiding mine.

  My stomach is in knots. What are they planning to do to me? Why do I need my clothes off? I tell myself not to panic. If he wanted to hurt or rape me, he didn’t need to wait until she got here. He had me all to himself. Unless he’s into some kinky shit, but no, this is a job she needs to do.

  The yet unnamed woman steps toe to toe with him and stares him down. She shakes her head and goes off in Russian once again, pointing her finger in his face until he shoves it away.

  “No!” Dima roars before leaving the room.

  The woman turns her hateful stare on me and me alone. “I don’t know what they see in you. You’re nothing special. Look at you with that mousy brown hair. You’re nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Her words shouldn’t bother me. I shouldn’t mind that she’s spewing hateful shit at me, but a small piece of me does, because if I’m nothing, I have no chance of surviving this.

  Dima returns to the room with a folding chair. He sets it up against the wall opposite the air mattress. The bed is between us, and I don’t think he’ll be able to see much of me laying down on the air mattress if he’s in the chair.