by Ashley Logan
Pointing at me, he pointed to his head and held out the pills for me to take.
Scared they were something that would leave me like the girl from earlier, I politely refused and leaned away.
He said something else, but when I could give him nothing but a blank expression, he put the tablets on the desk and sat on the edge of the bed.
Already as far from him as the wall would allow me to get, I awaited his next move as he watched me intently.
"Russkiy?"
I responded with a very slight shake of my head. Trying to communicate with me was infinitely better than trying to kill me, but the Russian language had always baffled me.
"Eesti?" I asked in a dry whisper, already doubting his knowledge of my own language.
He shook his head.
Taking out his flask again, he offered it to me.
Eying it in the same wary way I'd viewed the medication, my panic was harder to disguise when it affected more than my face. At my rapid breathing, his brown eyes softened and he held up his hand as if to say stop. Holding the flask up, he swallowed several mouthfuls himself and offered it to me again, his eyebrows innocently raised.
Half from fear of displeasing the man and half from need, I took the flask with a shaking hand and drank.
Vodka never tasted so good.
Grabbing back his flask before I could drain it, he checked its remaining volume.
"Eesti," he confirmed with a nod.
Studying me carefully a moment, his eyes narrowed. "English?"
I couldn't express the relief I felt at that word. Conversing with an enemy was easier done in a language I could understand. At least I had a chance to learn of my fate; maybe talk my way out of it.
Nodding, I may even have smiled. "Yes. English I know."
He definitely smiled as he plucked the medication from the desk. "Good. We'll speak in English and you will take these for your pain. Yes?"
When I didn't answer, his smile faded and he lowered his hand with the pills in it.
"Did I talk too fast? It's been a while since I spoke English."
"You are very good," I replied, hoping to appease him. "Much better than me." Eying the pills in his hand again, I pulled the blanket closer. "I am... I do not want to take strange pills that make me... sleep." I frowned at the word, knowing it wasn't the right one. "Sleep like girl that was... hurt. Man hurt. Sorry. I never learn these words in school."
"You are afraid. You don't want to be... man-hurt when you are asleep?" His face deadpan, he just stared at me a moment until his eyes narrowed. "You don't want to be raped when you are unconscious."
"Yes. This."
Plucking up my courage, I lifted my chin and met his eyes. "If... raped happen, I want to know."
He said nothing. The muscles in his jaw tensed and his eyes bored into mine.
"Do not leave this room and you won't have to worry," he said, setting both the pills and his flask in front of me. "You will take these. They are for pain, not for sleep." His eyes focused a moment on the throbbing side of my face before he spoke again.
"What is your name?"
Swallowing the last tablet with a gulp of vodka, I finished the flask before I answered.
"Saskia."
His eyes narrowed again. "You lie."
How he could've known that I'd given him the name I'd used as a stripper, I didn't know. Perhaps he had seen my passport. I wondered if it was ever returned to my suitcase. Eying the man with caution, I figured he probably knew where my suitcase was - not that I expected I'd be needing my clothes if I was destined to be a sex slave.
"I have been called Saskia many times. It is a name for me. That is no lie."
"Why do you use this name?"
Thrown by the question, I thought back to why I'd chosen it before my first dance at the club. Lisandra had told me it was easier to pretend you were someone else if you had someone else's name. She'd been right.
Things that Saskia did, I would never have done. Saskia was good at protecting me from feelings. Saskia could share my reasoning.
"It is a strong name."
Watching me a moment longer he nodded. "We are traveling a long way. You will need to be strong."
Standing, he took his empty flask and put it back in his pocket.
"Can I ask your name sir?"
Turning his back to me, I was almost convinced he wouldn't answer when an awkward silence filled the cabin.
"Pachenko," he said eventually. "Get more rest and I'll bring you some food and water. Do not leave the bed. If you disobey you will be punished. Do you understand?" he asked, turning slowly to see my face.
Nodding slowly, I glanced quickly at the bathroom.
Running his hand over his face, he nodded. "Fine. Don't wet my bed. But other than that? Do not leave it. You understand?"
"Yes. Sir."
Frowning, he reached for the door. "Pachenko."
"Yes sir Pachenko."
Muttering something in Russian, his posture became more rigid and he left, locking the door behind him. Twice.
I COULDN'T RELAX ENOUGH to rest. Studying everything I could see from his bed for a good while after Pachenko left, I quickly decided there would be no point in disobedience. There was no way to escape - the cabin didn't even have a window.
Eventually, I braved the bathroom. Checking every inch of that too, I was sorely disappointed to discover that the only exit from there was down the drains, or through a wall vent. Both were far too small to accommodate a grown woman.
The room was shabby, but clean and I risked a peek in the speckled mirror and gasped.
One side of my face was covered in ugly bruising and was almost hideously misshapen by swelling. As I turned, I caught sight of several gauze strips holding a long gash together at my temple. I wasn't pretty, but my wounds were clean and sealed, and my hair was pulled back in a tidy tail.
Not the kind of preservation work I'd have expected from someone wanting to kill me.
Maybe he wouldn't.
Maybe he wanted me to get better. Look better.
Perhaps I was too unattractive in this state. Or maybe he was just waiting out my concussion so he could be sure I wouldn't ruin the moment by throwing up when he fucked me.
I hoped he wouldn't beat me when he found out I wasn't the virgin my father promised. I wasn't sure Saskia was any good at pretending to be pure. She was more the kind of girl that would let a man use her and then carry on with her day as if it had never happened, and I'd rather she stayed that way just now.
I climbed back into bed feeling a little stronger. The pain in my head was just starting to ease when he returned.
Double-locking the door behind him, he watched me for a moment and seemed to change into a different person. His shoulders relaxed and he set down a bottle of water and a wrapped sandwich on the desk before removing his leather jacket. Checking his gun, he returned it to the small of his back.
"You look a little better," he said as he handed me the water.
"Thank you."
The seal wasn't broken on the bottle and I wondered if he wanted me to believe it was safe to take things from him. I took a sip, then drank half the bottle before he stopped me.
"Not so fast," he warned, taking it from me and capping it. "Your stomach might not want too much. Go slow," he advised, handing me the sandwich.
Cheese. So... normal.
Taking a small bite, I tried not to dwell on the unsettling nature of my situation. Saskia would have to take things as they came and be grateful for things that were pleasant.
"Thank you," I repeated quietly.
Sinking slowly into his chair, Pachenko watched me closely.
"You are brave, but I scare you," he stated.
Swallowing my mouthful, I set the sandwich back in its wrapper. "I am meant to be afraid of you."
One of his eyebrows hitched slightly. "Yes."
"What will you do with me?"
Looking me over, he rubbed his jaw thoug
htfully. "I haven't decided yet."
"Will you let me go?"
"Go where?" he asked, gesturing around him. "There's nowhere to go. We're at sea. Miles from land. On a boat full of criminals. You must not leave this room."
Nodding slowly, I took a deep breath. "I will stay."
"You will," he agreed. "What is your name?"
Sitting a little straighter, I met his eyes. "It is still Saskia."
Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. "Fine. Saskia. How old are you?"
"Nineteen."
Wondering if that was the wrong answer, I kept my eyes low. "Is that too old?"
"Too old?" Muttering something in Russian, he shifted in his chair and turned away from me. "Why were you on the docks yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" Reaching up to touch my head, I frowned. Had it been that long? I couldn't tell if he spoke the truth, or if he was purposely trying to confuse me. I was still frowning when he turned back to me, but I quickly slipped Saskia's mask back in place.
"Yesterday," he confirmed. "Before this." He gestured to his cabin again. "Why were you there?"
His tone was demanding now and I rushed to find the words to answer.
"Papa... I... I can sing. I was traveling to sing."
"Where?"
"America. Helsinki." Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head.
"Which?"
Sighing, I tried to seal the sandwich properly, fidgeting with the plastic when it wouldn't stay.
"Helsinki first, then fly to America. But I am not there. It was a lie. I am here."
"That's why you were so happy," he said, his tone softer this time. "You would've said goodbye to everyone, but do you have family? People who will miss you?"
Pressing my lips together, I refused to cry and kept my face low as I answered. "Yes. They will be looking for me. They will not stop until I am found."
A long, uncomfortable silence filled the room before he spoke.
"You lie."
My cringe at his quietly spoken statement, was all the confirmation he needed. Again he muttered something in Russian. Sighing, he tilted the chair back, rocking slightly.
"You are a good singer?"
I shrugged, still looking at the partly-eaten sandwich in my lap. "I do not know anymore."
"Sing something and I'll tell you."
His voice was almost encouraging and it drew my attention back to his dangerously handsome face. Up until now, his brooding eyes had retained an irritable edge to them, but they had softened with his tone, leaving me unsettled. I didn't know what to expect from this man.
I opened my mouth, not sure what to say.
"Sing," he prompted.
Nodding that I understood, I chose a simple song. A nothing song. A song that would neither offend, nor enrage him. Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth to begin, but the words did not flow. The only sound that came from me was a strangled noise that made us both wince.
Clutching my throat, I shook my head and apologized. I tried again, but the same thing happened.
He stood up and I tried not to let him see how afraid I was that I couldn't do what he'd asked. Reaching for the water, he handed it to me.
"Perhaps Saskia does not sing."
"I can," I insisted.
"You cannot be both people if you are trying to be one. You are either Saskia, or you are not," he said as if teaching me some vital information. "Saskia was not kidnapped for her singing."
Pachenko's voice had become harsh again. It was a warning. His shoulders tensed again in an ominous way and once again he looked as if he might now be about to administer a death or three, just moments after having been almost pleasant. His whole face had changed and sharp as ever, his edge came back. He was two different people and I didn't trust either of them to keep me from harm. Lifting my own shoulders, I met his eyes.
"Then I am Saskia and I do not sing." Proud that I managed to keep my voice from trembling, I punctuated the statement with a nod. "You are Pachenko and you do not care. I understand."
His fists clenched at his sides as he glared at me before stepping toward the door. Not breaking eye contact, he pointed at the food and growled one word. "Eat."
If the seal around the door would've allowed it to slam behind him, it would have. The two locks clicked shut behind him and I was left in silence.
CHAPTER SIX
There was a pause between the locks shifting and his actual entrance. When he eventually stepped inside he pretended that he didn't check to see if I was in his bed, and sat in his chair with his back to me as if I wasn't there. For a long time, he just seemed to stare at the wall. Still wearing his brown leather jacket, his shoulders seemed even broader as they remained rigid. He was a powerful man and I was at his mercy.
"I have angered you?" I asked, when I could take no more of the suffocating silence.
"No." His gaze did not shift from the wall.
Hugging my knees, I hoped he'd say more, but he didn't. The tension in the room was unbearable and being on constant guard for a shift in his mood was exhausting. It made my head throb and I had to keep closing my eyes to block the lamplight from making it worse.
"You should sleep," he said, making me jump. I hadn't realized he was watching me.
"I am not tired."
"You lie," he said with a sigh. "You are tired and sore."
Pushing up from the desk, he dropped a fresh bottle of water on the bed, followed by two tablets he snapped from their foil. "Take them."
I did as I was told for fear of what he might do otherwise.
His eyes traveled my body and he looked away again. "You're covered in bruises."
I did not know this English word, bruises. I held out my arms, turning them over, then I studied my legs. Pointing to my painful, discolored skin, I looked up at him. "Bruises?"
He nodded.
I checked myself again. "Yes. Covered."
Tucking my legs back beneath the blanket, I looked up to find him with a disgusted expression. Touching my face gingerly, I noted the swelling was starting to go down, but I must have still looked like a monster. His face said as much.
"I am not pretty," I agreed. "Sorry."
Pachenko's tight jaw twitched and he looked as if he were about to say something, but he didn't. Someone else did.
The deep voice was muffled enough to distort what was said, but the responding screams for help were unmistakable.
There were thumping sounds, more cries, and shouted commands followed by more screaming. Pachenko closed the bathroom door and I could no longer hear any of it, but it was hard not to imagine that it continued.
My eyes scanned the room to see how I could help, but when they landed on him, I was too scared to leave the bed, let alone be useful to someone else.
Maybe I'd be next.
Wanting to know, I met his eyes, but they darted away too quickly to give me anything with which to orientate myself. Towering over me in the small space, Pachenko refused to look at me as he stood almost frozen.
I knew what was happening next door better than I knew what was happening in front of me.
Finally, he did move. Reaching into his breast pocket, he retrieved his flask and drank, then lowering the flask slowly, he capped it and tossed it on the bed in front of me.
"Drink."
It was all he said.
He didn't look at me, only sat back at his desk where he pulled out earphones and an iPod. Plugging the ear buds into his ears, he checked his watch and settled into his chair as if preparing to spend some time there.
Staring at the closed bathroom door, I hugged my knees to my chest and wondered when my turn would come.
Imagining my fate was bad, but waiting for it was torture.
His powerful hands gripped my knees, startling me from my rocking rhythm.
"Stop," he commanded, as if I could possibly continue with him holding me still. He was even bigger up close. I'm taller than average, but I felt like a mouse in his presence.
&n
bsp; I stared at him, wondering if this was the beginning of my end. I drew Saskia's mask over my face and raised my chin, ready.
He noticed the change instantly - I could see it in his eyes. Letting me go, he ran a hand through his hair and snatched up his flask. Taking a drink, he left the cap off and thrust it at me.
"Drink the damn vodka and go to sleep."
I drank the vodka and lay down, but I could not sleep.
I watched him watching me as he sat in the chair and plugged in his earphones. He had them up so loud that I could hear the beat of it from across the cabin. Angry music.
HAVING NO WINDOWS OR clock makes knowing the time very difficult. I opened my eyes to see Pachenko slouched sideways. His head leaned against the wall and his earphones were no longer in his ears. He looked asleep, but I strained to hear his breathing and kept very still until I was certain.
With his whole face relaxed by sleep he looked younger. His warm brown hair would obviously have had waves, but cropped short, the gentle curls were usually kept tidy. I suspected he must have run his hands through his hair several times since I'd last looked at him, because the short waves had crested into messy tufts and it sweetened his features significantly, giving him a much softer appearance than the brutish one he presented when awake.
The strong jaw that seemed almost permanently clenched, was just... part of his face - instead of his personality, as it sometimes felt as though it was. Shadows of dark stubble framed his features beautifully and his full lips neither smiled nor frowned; they just were. Almost dead straight, his nose showed the smallest sign of having been broken some time ago.
Who'd been brave enough to have crossed this man?
My eyes drifted over his large frame and long, jean-clad legs, but my gaze kept returning to his bare shoulders. Some time in the night he must have taken off his shirt and jacket, for now we wore matching undershirts. Compared to mine, his exposed muscular arms left me feeling pathetic and frail, and his well-defined pectorals were obvious through the fabric.
