by Brynn Ford
He probably is.
It won’t be long now though.
My chest aches. My lungs are strained and desperate for air. Against my will, I inhale, and water rushes into my nose. It burns as it fills my airways and naturally, I attempt to cough it out. But opening my mouth only fills me with more chlorinated water.
I pinch my eyes shut.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
I try to remember it’s almost done, it’s almost over. Consciousness will soon fade and turn into peaceful darkness. The counting gives me something other than the ache and fear of drowning to focus on.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
I’m tiring, though my body tries to gasp in air. The time between my unintentional twitches and muscle jerks lengthens and everything slows.
Everything slows.
Except for Ezra. There’s the muffled rumble of Ezra’s screaming and the echoing, muted thump, thump that I can only assume is the sound of him pulling against his bindings.
I think the vibration of his last scream sounds like my name, as if he’s yelling my name, yelling for me.
Part of me wishes this is truly the end, not just a false end as Nikola intends it to be. He intends to kill me but bring me back to life. He’s done it twice, and this will be the third time. Part of me prays this is it, that he won’t be able to revive me this time because I’m tired of the fight.
So, so tired.
I hardly think fighting is worth it anymore.
There is nothing for me in this life.
There’s no happiness, only pain and torture. There’s no end to it in sight, nothing to look forward to.
As blackness creeps around my vision, as I’m starting to slip into unconsciousness, there’s a bewildering flash of something bright. An image of green, vibrant emerald green eyes looking at me as if I’m worth something more than this life. As I begin to drift into that unwilling sleep, I see him as a vision, a dream, but it’s clear as day who I’m imagining.
It’s Ezra Bell and his crooked, sarcastic, entirely charming smile.
I’ve never had a vision drift into unconsciousness before, and this one is so pleasant, so calming, that I actually wish I could wrap my arms around it and bring it with me into the underworld.
No. Not it, but him.
If this is the end for me, I selfishly want to drag this man down with me, not to hurt him, but to comfort me. Some part of me already knows that if I asked Ezra to chase me into death, just so that I wouldn’t be alone, he would.
What a ridiculous thing to think.
That’s the last thought I have before the sweet slumber of death engulfs me in darkness and takes me away.
Chapter 13
Ezra
Anya’s dead.
She’s dead.
He killed her.
That motherfucking piece of shit just drowned her in the pool.
I’m not even aware of what I’m doing, I just know that I’m thrashing and pulling against this bar I’m bound to and I’m shouting. I don’t even know what I’m shouting, but words of desperation and anger and fear are spewing out of me like lava from an erupting volcano.
Anya has gone still in the water, yet he continues to hold her there. Her hair floats all around her head, dark brown waves stretch out in strands all around her face. Nikolai has the audacity to breathe heavily with shallow, rapid breaths, as if killing her is an unwelcome exertion of his energy.
“Get her out!” I scream. “Get her out, get her out! Please, you’re fucking killing her!”
She’s already dead.
I know she is because I felt it the moment it happened. It was a snap inside my chest, an abnormal beat in my heart rhythm that happened the moment her body stopped jerking.
Finally, Nikolai rolls her body over in the water. She’s completely limp, lifeless. For a moment, I think he’s going to leave her there, but then I see him look down at her. His eyes are satisfied with what he’s done, but there’s also some sense of urgency behind his movements as he drags her to the edge of the pool.
He walks backward up the pool steps, pulling her with him, and when he gets out, he carefully lifts her and places her on the pool’s edge, half on her side because her arms are still tied behind her back.
Nikolai kneels behind her, pulling his switchblade from his pocket, and saws at the ropes that bind her until they break free. Kostya snatches a red bag from inside a small, white box that I hadn’t noticed hanging on the wall and ambles back to where Anya lays.
Nikolai rolls her onto her back and leans to place his ear over her heart.
Everything is still.
I’m still and I’m never fucking still.
I don’t dare make a sound as Nikolai listens for the beating of her heart. He looks up after a minute and nods to Kostya, then they both stand and back away. Kostya returns the red bag to the wall and I realize then it’s a defibrillator.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck.
I had hope.
For a brief, shining moment, I had hope and now, it’s slipping away from me. They’re both just standing there, staring down at her.
Waiting.
“What the fuck are you waiting for? Fucking save her!” I scream and Nikolai looks at me sharply.
He cocks his head to the side. “Wait.”
I can’t wait, I need to get to her. I start pulling harder than before, as hard as I fucking can, and it doesn’t matter to me that I already know this bar is not budging from the goddamn wall.
“Untie him.”
Nikolai hands his blade to Kostya and I take the first breath of relief since the moment Nikolai caught me and Anya in her room.
I’m impatient as Kostya cuts me free and I run to her the instant the ropes fall away. I don’t wait for anyone to give me permission, I slam to my knees next to her and lean down over her, looking for signs of life.
I don’t know what’s come over me. I don’t know why the thought of losing her is too painful for me to bear. I hardly know this woman, and I’m only drawn to her for the simple fact that she’s the only person I have in this captivity.
That’s all it is.
She’s my only potential companion and it’s nothing more than that.
Yet somehow, I still feel my heart thudding hard against my ribcage as I watch and wait, hoping she’s going to cough that water out of her lungs and start breathing again. Regardless of the reason I’m drawn to her, I know I cannot survive this without her.
Without Anya, I’ve got nothing to fight for, no reason to fight to survive this bullshit captivity. I just want to see her open her eyes.
“Open your eyes, Anya…Come on…open your eyes.”
I’ve got to see that sapphire sparkle again.
There’s a twitch.
Another.
Then she coughs and coughs and water spills from the corners of her lips. She’s naturally rolling to the side, so I lift under her shoulder, helping her roll as she continues to cough the water from her lungs. Then she’s gasping and shaking and reaching, trying to find something solid to hold onto to. I reach over her and grab both of her small hands in one of mine, squeezing tightly.
“Ez…Ezra,” she calls out before her eyes have even opened.
My heart stops.
I immediately feel the icy burn of Nikolai’s eyes on my back, but I ignore it.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m here.” I sigh in relief. “You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s fine now.”
She blinks a couple of times before her eyes fully open and they dart around the room. She hasn’t realized where she is or what’s happened. But she called out my name and my pulse quickens impossibly faster than before.
<
br /> In this moment of relief after such terror, I realize that she’s under my skin. I don’t know how or why, but she is.
There’s something that connects us.
It’s not just the captivity, though I want to believe that’s all it is. If it were just the captivity and our circumstance, this wouldn’t affect me so profoundly. It wouldn’t make my heart beat frantically enough to set off warning bells that I’m at risk of stressing myself into a heart attack, into a tragic and unexpected death of my own.
I know there’s something more to our connection when I feel it snap again in my chest, the same snap I felt when she died in the water.
“I expect you are capable of carrying her, hmm?” Nikolai says from behind me.
My eyes are on Anya, watching the pain of her gasping, shaking breaths, looking over every inch of her body as if scanning her with my eyes can somehow heal her.
“Mal’chik,” he bites.
I growl, “Give her a fucking minute, you sick piece of shit.”
Anya’s voice is a hoarse whisper, but it still possesses the strength to move a mountain, “No, Ezra. No. Do as you’re told.”
Her head turns toward me and she blinks. I’m so inexplicably relieved and elated to see that perfect shade of blue again that I immediately comply. My attitude isn’t going to help her. I just want to get her out of this echoing, chlorine-saturated torture chamber.
“Yeah,” I finally say to Nikolai, “I can carry her.”
“Let’s go then. Move.”
“I can walk,” she says, attempting to push to a sitting position with her trembling hands.
I shake my head in disbelief. Before she can move an inch farther, I scoop my hands beneath her body and lift her from the slick ground, cradling her in my arms as her soaked hair spills water on the floor beneath us.
I don’t know if it’s the sudden movement, but as I sweep her up, she loses consciousness again. Her right arm flops down freely, reaching for the floor in a swaying motion, and her left arm falls limply across her chest. Her head drops back with a jerk, her hair swinging.
“Shit,” I grunt, hoisting her up higher in my arms, twisting her body toward me to cradle into my chest.
Nikolai and Kostya are already at the door, waiting impatiently like the pieces of shit they are. I walk, carrying her close against my body as she starts to wake again.
I turn sideways to get through the door that leads us back to the cave-like alcove. As we walk back through the arched hallway with its high windows, Anya finds enough strength to open her eyes again. I make sure mine are right there to meet hers as she looks up at me.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her, and she looks like she believes me.
I hope she believes me.
She shuts her eyes.
“Anya?” I say, worried she’s passed out again.
She hasn’t.
I know she hasn’t because her right-hand reaches up, slipping across the top of my chest and around to grip the side of my neck. Her head turns and she presses her face to my shoulder. The simple action shows me that, on some level, she trusts me. If she knew me at all, she’d know how important that is to me.
I think she must know me because I think I know her.
I know it’s a dangerous concession for her to give away her trust.
Normally, it wouldn’t be so hard to carry her as far as we have to walk, but I’m weak from malnourishment and tired from the adrenaline repeatedly ebbing and flowing. I hesitate at the bottom of the grand staircase, just for moment to readjust and make sure I don’t drop her.
A good partner doesn’t drop and as long as she’s my partner, I’m not letting her hit that floor.
I’m careful carrying her back up the steps. We turn left at the top of the stairs, the opposite direction of my room. I follow Nikolai as he strides to sweep around the banister, past the hallway where I’d found Anya’s room before, and continue going straight. A few more steps leads us to another hallway to our right and we follow it to the end.
Nikolai flings open a door and stands beside it, arms crossed, impatience all over his wicked face.
Reluctantly, I pass him and enter the room with Anya in my arms, making sure to hold her away from him when I turn sideways to get her through the door.
As soon as I’m inside, Nikolai comes in after us and slams the door shut, leaving Kostya in the hallway.
“Is she awake?” he asks.
Anya rolls her head slowly away from my shoulder, turning her face toward the ceiling. “Da, khozyain,” she answers, though she hasn’t opened her eyes.
I can feel how her body tenses in response to him. It makes me want to hurt him in a hateful way I’ve never felt before.
“Set her on her feet,” Nikolai demands as he brushes past us, walking around the four-post bed to what I assume is an en suite bathroom.
This must be his bedroom.
I lower her feet gradually to the floor and her hands find their way to my shoulders. She holds onto me for stability, but she doesn’t have to. It’s not like I’m going to take my hands off her while she’s so unsteady.
“Take off her wet clothes,” I hear Nikolai call from the bathroom.
Her drooping head lifts and she looks up at me, though I can see how the small movement makes her dizzy. She needs to rest. She needs a fucking doctor, but I don’t suppose Nikolai is going to get her one.
“Go ahead,” she tells me softly, giving me permission to strip her.
I suck in a breath and lift the heavy hem of her wet sweatshirt, pulling up from her waist and working to pull it up over her body. It wants to cling to her, and I have to tug as I peel it up over her head. She lifts her arms to help me and the movement nearly knocks her backward. I quickly snake one arm around her waist and lasso her against my chest. I hold her like that as I tug the sweatshirt, attempting to untangle it from her sopping wet hair which coils through the collar. Somehow, I manage to pull it off the rest of the way and toss it onto the floor.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her.
“You keep saying that,” she says sleepily.
“It’s true.”
Nikolai comes out of the bathroom and I step back from her, just enough to make this embrace look more innocent. And only because I wish to spare her more harm from this abusive son of a bitch who owns us.
He fucking owns us.
He comes over to where we’re standing, holding out a bleached white towel to me. I take it and he steals Anya from my hold.
My jaw clenches.
But what the fuck am I supposed to do about it?
There’s nothing I can fucking do that won’t hurt her more in the end.
Without waiting for her okay, he peels the black sports bra from her body, tossing it aside, then shoves at her cotton shorts. He pushes them and her underwear down to the floor, helping her step out of her clothes.
Just like that, like nothing at all, she’s been stripped bare.
Nikolai Mikhailov has stripped every barrier from this blue-eyed girl and exposed her naked and vulnerable to the world. What’s worse is that it doesn’t even seem to faze her. He’s held every part of her hostage for so long that she no longer has any insecurity about being bare so long as he is happy with her behavior.
“Take her.” He shoves Anya back into my grip and she curls against my chest as I grip her by both arms. “Dry her off while I get her something to wear.”
I nearly slip.
I nearly say, “How kind of you,” in my normal, sarcastic way.
But with this girl in my arms—barely alive, weak, and vulnerable—I find some strength I didn’t know I had to keep my smart mouth shut despite the way my lips twitch to speak.
She leans into me and I shake out the towel with one hand, wrapping it around her shoulders. I can feel her tremble against my torso
and I reach around her back, rubbing over the towel with both my hands, hoping to create some friction to help warm her up.
“I’m freezing,” she mutters.
“I know.”
I take a breath and pull back a bit so I can move the towel to dry her. I have no choice but to look at her. She seems to sense my hesitation.
“It’s okay, Ezra.”
I nod, though she can’t see it. She can’t see it because her head is drooping from fatigue. I slide the towel down her backside and crouch to dry her legs. I work fast, coming back up her front and quickly draping the towel across her breasts before I can look for a moment longer than necessary.
I’m a gentleman, but I’m not blind.
I looked.
Of course, I did.
She’s slender and toned and gorgeous beneath her clothes, but she also looks like she’s been used as a goddamn whipping post.
Black and blue and yellow bruises mar the otherwise flawless honey color of her skin.
“Come here,” Nikolai says, returning to slip a plain, white T-shirt over her naked body. “Bedtime, moya rabynya.”
She nods and shuffles as he takes her from me and guides her to the bed, his bed. He’s actually careful with her now, pulling back the covers and tucking her in. It’s messing with my head to see him act as if he gives a shit about her comfort or care.
He starts taking off his clothes. “You can go now, Mr. Bell. Frankly, I don’t give a shit if you go back to your room, roam the manor, try to escape in the forest…It’s not as if you’re going to succeed in getting off the grounds anyway.”
I scoff, “So all that time I’ve spent shackled to a bedpost, locked in a room with two different keys. That was just a fun experiment for you?”
He’s down to his boxer briefs and I’m beyond fucking uncomfortable.
“Fun is a subjective term,” he says as he walks around the bed.
He climbs under the covers and slides in behind Anya where she lays facing me. She’s already asleep. Or she’s passed out again.
“Get out, mal’chik,” he says.
It feels wrong that he’s using that word. I know it’s meant to be a dig at me when it’s used, to put me in my place, but it somehow feels okay when Anya says it.
