The moment Vadim and Irina leave the room, I shift my focus entirely to the rope binding my wrists. The guard they’ve left behind to watch me is young, maybe early twenties, with nervous energy that keeps him pacing near the door rather than paying close attention to my movements. He checks his phone every few minutes and keeps glancing toward the hallway like he’s expecting someone to return at any moment.
Perfect.
I work the rope against the sharp edge of the chair’s metal frame with slow, deliberate movements that won’t draw his attention. The metal cuts into the fibers gradually, strand by strand, while also slicing deeper into my already raw wrists. Blood makes the rope slippery, which actually helps the process, though the pain is becoming harder to ignore with each twist of my hands.
The baby moves restlessly in my belly, responding to my elevated heart rate and the stress hormones flooding my system. I try to project calm thoughts toward her while continuing to saw through my restraints, silently promising we’re both going to survive this night.
Twenty minutes pass before the rope gives way enough that I might be able to slip my hands free. The guard is still pacing, checking his phone, and completely unaware his prisoner is systematically destroying her bonds. I test the looseness carefully, making sure I can actually get free when the moment comes.
Then I hear footsteps in the hallway outside, and my window of opportunity suddenly becomes much smaller.
I take a deep breath and make my decision. If I’m going to escape, it has to be now, while there’s only one guard between me and freedom. Once Vadim and Irina return, my chances will drop to zero.
I slip my hands free from the loosened rope and immediately begin working on the restraints around my ankles. These are tighter, newer, and harder to manipulate, but I have both hands available now and can work more efficiently. The guard is still facing away from me, absorbed in whatever he’s reading on his phone.
The ankle restraints give way just as I hear voices approaching from down the hallway. Vadim’s voice, low and commanding, giving orders to someone I can’t see. They’ll be back in the room within minutes, maybe seconds.
I need a distraction.
I take another deep breath and let my body go completely limp, allowing myself to fall sideways off the chair and hit the concrete floor with a convincing thud. The impact jars my shoulder and sends pain shooting through my ribs, but I force myself to remain motionless while making my breathing shallow and irregular.
“Help,” I whisper, just loud enough for the guard to hear. “Something’s wrong with the baby.”
The guard spins around and sees me collapsed on the floor, apparently unconscious or in medical distress. The panic in his expression tells me he wasn’t prepared for this possibility and wasn’t given instructions on what to do if the pregnant hostage had a medical emergency.
He rushes over, kneeling beside me and reaching for my wrist to check my pulse. The moment he’s close enough, I strike fast and hard, slamming the heel of my palm into his temple with all the force I can generate from my position on the floor.
The blow catches him completely off guard, and he staggers backward with a dazed expression but it’s not enough to drop him and only makes him unsteady on his feet while he tries to process what just happened.
I roll away from him and grab the metal chair I was tied to, using my legs to swing it in a wide arc that connects with his skull. This time, the impact is solid and devastating, and he collapses immediately, blood pooling beneath his head on the concrete floor.
I don’t stick around to check if he’s dead or just unconscious because either way, he’s no longer a threat. I grab the knife from his belt and quickly cut away the remaining pieces of rope around my ankles, then take his gun despite having no real familiarity with firearms beyond what I’ve seen in movies.
The weapon feels heavier than I expected, foreign and dangerous in my hands, but it’s better than being completely defenseless. I check to make sure there’s a round in the chamber—at least I think that’s what I’m checking—and then move toward the door as quietly as possible.
The hallway outside is dimly lit and stretches in both directions, with multiple doors leading to rooms I can’t identify. I choose the direction that leads away from the voices I heard earlier, hoping to find an exit before anyone discovers the guard’s unconscious or dead body.
I make it maybe fifty feet down the corridor before I hear footsteps echoing from behind me, moving fast and getting closer. There’s nowhere to hide in this sterile hallway with no alcoves or doorways that might provide cover. In desperation, I shove the gun into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back, pulling my sweater down to cover the grip just as a steel door slams shut directly behind me.
The metallic clang echoes through the warehouse like a gunshot, and I spin around to find Vadim stepping out of the shadows behind me with Irina close at his heels.
He’s no longer wearing the expensive suit from earlier, having changed into tactical gear that makes him look even more dangerous. There’s a pistol in his right hand, pointed casually in my direction, and his expression carries the cold satisfaction of a predator who’s just cornered wounded prey.
“Going somewhere?” he asks conversationally, as if we’re discussing weekend plans rather than my attempted escape.
I raise my empty hands, trying to look defeated and helpless. “I was looking for a bathroom.”
He laughs, a sound devoid of any warmth or humor. “I noticed you left quite a mess back in that room.”
I shrug as much as I can with my hands held aloft. “He tried to assault me. I defended myself.”
He snorts but seems amused. “Of course, you did, but now I need to relocate you to more secure accommodations where such unfortunate incidents won’t happen again.”
He moves closer, and he doesn’t bother to search me for weapons, probably assuming I just panicked and fled after striking down the guard. His overconfidence might be the advantage I need later.
“The storage facility exploded as planned,” he says, watching my reaction carefully. “Your boyfriend and his entire team are dead. They were blown to pieces while searching for you in an empty building.”
The words hit me hard, stealing my breath and making the world tilt around me. If Nikandr is dead, if he died trying to rescue me from a trap I walked into through my own stupidity, then nothing else matters. Our daughter will grow up without a father, and I’ll spend the rest of my life knowing my reckless choices got the man I love killed.
My knees buckle, and I have to put one hand against the wall to keep from falling completely. Grief and guilt crash into me all at once, threatening to drag me under entirely.
But then I catch sight of Irina’s expression from where she’s standing behind Vadim, and something in her face betrays the lie. There’s no satisfaction there, no cruel pleasure at delivering devastating news. Instead, she looks almost uncomfortable, like someone who’s been forced to participate in deception she doesn’t fully support.
If Nikandr were really dead, Irina would be gloating. She’d be savoring every moment of my pain because causing suffering seems to be one of her few genuine pleasures. The fact that she keeps looking away from me tells me more than any words could.
He’s not dead. The explosion happened, and people probably died, but Nikandr survived. I can feel it in the connection that’s existed between us since the night we met, the invisible thread that tells me when he’s near and when he’s in danger.
I let the hope settle into my bones while keeping my expression devastated, not wanting Vadim to realize I’ve seen through his psychological manipulation.
“Now that your lover is dead,” he says, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the wall, “I need to decide what to do with you. Killing you immediately would be merciful, but mercy isn’t something your family has earned.”
He drags me down the hallway toward another room, his grip tight enough to bruise but not quite painful enough to make me cry out. Irina follows behind us almost nervously.
I let him move me without resistance while my mind races through possibilities. If he really believed Nikandr was dead, there would be no urgency to relocate me. He’d take his time, maybe even celebrate his victory before deciding my fate. The fact that he’s hustling me to what he called “more secure accommodations” suggests he knows perfectly well Nikandr is still alive and probably coming for me.
I’m not a burden to be disposed of but bait. As long as I’m useful as bait, I have value that will keep me alive at least a little longer.
The room he takes me to is smaller than the first one, with concrete walls that seem to press in from all sides and fluorescent lights that emit an electrical hum. There’s no windows and only one entrance. A single chair sits in the center, newer than the last one and made of solid steel without the convenient sharp edges that helped me escape.
When he forces me to sit down, the metal is cold through my jeans, and the gun pressed against my back is going to be extremely uncomfortable, but I don’t dare adjust my position in a way that might reveal its presence. If I move, he might want to tie me up again, and even the most incompetent guard would notice the gun then.
“Much better,” Vadim says, stepping back to survey his handiwork. He runs his hand along the wall like he’s admiring the craftsmanship. “This room is designed to hold prisoners who might have more fight in them than expected.”
Irina positions herself near the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other while avoiding eye contact. She pulls out her phone and stares at the screen without really reading it, her perfectly manicured fingers drumming against the case.
“You seem nervous,” I say, looking directly at her.
She finally meets my gaze, and there’s something almost defensive in her expression. “I’m not nervous. I’m bored.”
“Bored enough to keep checking your phone every thirty seconds?”
Vadim glances between us with amusement. “Irina doesn’t enjoy the waiting portions of our operations. She prefers more immediate gratification, and she won’t get paid for her part until I decide it’s over. Then we’ll settle on her perks and compensation.”
Irina looks unhappy, and I realize she’s probably not here on a strictly voluntary basis. Vadim might have recruited her to throw Nikandr off-balance, or maybe he has another purpose in mind for her, but she didn’t go to him. I’m convinced he’s been looking for her and just found her before Nikandr.
“Like watching people die?” I ask, trying to hide my thoughts. “She seems the type who likes that.”
Irina’s jaw tightens. “Like getting paid and moving on to the next job.”
“Is that what Yaraslov was to you? Just another job?”
“Don’t.” Her voice comes out sharper than she probably intended. “Don’t pretend you understand anything about what happened between us.”
Vadim holds up a hand to stop the conversation. “Ladies, as entertaining as this is, we have more pressing concerns.”
I lean forward slightly, so the gun isn’t digging so forcefully into my back. “So, what happens now? You kill me and hope that brings you peace?”
Vadim checks his watch with the air of someone managing a complex schedule. “Now we wait. Your boyfriend may be dead, but his organization isn’t, and they’ll want to recover your body for burial. When they come for you, we’ll be ready.”
The slip confirms what I already suspected, and I decide to push him further. “You’re lying about the explosion.”
“Am I?” He tilts his head with mock curiosity.
“If Nikandr were really dead, you’d be celebrating. You’d be making toasts and planning your next move, not standing over me in a more secure room.”
Irina shifts uncomfortably near the door, and his smile falters for just a moment before returning full force. “You’re very perceptive for someone in your position.”
“My position is temporary.”
“Your position,” he says, moving closer to my chair, “Is exactly where I want you. Pregnant, helpless, and completely dependent on a man who makes terrible decisions when his emotions are involved.”
I meet his gaze steadily. “You don’t know him as well as you think you do.”
“I know he’ll come for you. He’ll bring every available man and weapon because he can’t bear the thought of losing another person he loves. Desperation makes even the smartest men stupid.”
The way he says it makes my stomach clench because there’s truth in his assessment. Nikandr will come for me, and he’ll risk everything to get me back safely. That’s exactly what Vadim is counting on. His words reveal another truth too—Nikandr survived the blast.
This entire setup is designed to draw him into another trap, using me as the bait that will make him abandon caution and rush into danger, but this time, I won’t be a helpless victim waiting to be rescued. This time, I’ll be ready to fight back when the moment comes.
The gun pressed against my back reminds me I have options beyond hoping for rescue. When the shooting starts, and Vadim’s attention is focused on the threat coming through the door, I’ll have a chance to even the odds.
I just have to stay alive long enough to take it.
