“Svet,” he says gruffly. Boris reaches up and pulls the light cord and the leader shuts the door, leaving the four of us in the dim cell.
“What’s going to happen to me?” I can’t help but ask.
Boris chuckles and the other two don’t respond in any way.
“Please, just tell me,” I beg, feeling the tears threatening to break free.
“Tishina,” the leader hisses.
“Good things come to those who wait,” laughs Boris darkly.
“What did I do wrong? Why is this happening to me? Where is Maggie?” I ask, all my questions bubbling forth in a fount of uncontrollable emotion. It’s hitting me just how desperate my situation is. This isn’t a hazing ritual. This isn’t a joke. These guys are serious, and I can’t take it quietly anymore. I’m unraveling.
“Bud spokoyen!” shouts the leader. “I have no patience for the buzzing of little flies in my ear. Now is not the time for questions.”
“Please, just let me go. I’m sorry,” I mumble, tears spilling down my cheeks.
“She is not very obedient,” remarks Josef.
“I offered to break her in,” Boris replies, shrugging.
“The suka could definitely use some discipline,” Josef continues, turning to glare at me over his broad shoulder. “Maybe a team effort would suffice.”
Boris straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest in a show of indignation. “Chert, Josef, I am not a team player. I prefer solo acts.”
“Everyone, shut up!” the leader growls, and the other two fall into sullen silence.
For a while, I sit there just quietly crying, and none of them even give me so much as a glance. I wonder how many times they’ve done this: imprisoned a girl and held her captive underground in this wretched cell. How many tears have stained this cold, filthy floor? And where are they now? What is the life expectancy of a girl in my predicament? Something tells me it’s not a very long sentence to carry out. And in a very dark, morbid way, I think that might be a godsend.
Distantly, we hear a soft thud and all three of my guards tense up. They exchange mildly concerned expressions. I strain my ears to listen for more signs of activity elsewhere, outside of this dank little box. I don’t know whether to anticipate something better or worse approaching, but either way, none of the guards seem particularly concerned.
But then suddenly the door bursts open with a loud bang — as though it were kicked down. I scream and bolt to the back of my enclosure, cowering against the back wall in terror. The guards all jump into action, running toward the door. At first, there’s so much harried movement and shouting in the low light that I can’t even begin to make heads or tails of what’s happening out there. Then I see him — a stranger.
No… not a stranger.
A face I vaguely recognize.
The man slashes through the doorway and thrusts a large knife into the guard leader’s throat, blood spurting in a grisly, almost surreal scarlet spray. I immediately feel lightheaded at the sight of so much blood, my mind swimming faintly. Boris and Josef go barreling at the attacker just as he turns to run toward the gate to my cell. He’s definitely here for me — but whether his intentions are noble or dark I cannot tell. Maybe he’s my savior. Or maybe he’s my murderer.
“You!” howls Josef as he lunges for the strange man. But in one swift movement, the guy takes out something small and glinting in the light: a gun. He jabs the barrel into Josef’s gut and pulls the trigger, a deafening crack splitting the air. Another spray of bright red blood splashed against the wall behind Josef and he sinks to the ground in a convulsing heap.
A panicked, horrified shriek escapes my lips and I have to hold back the urge to vomit. The strange man with the familiar face looks up and locks eyes with me.
I know him now.
It’s Maksim Pavlenko.
12
Max
Old reserves of adrenaline that have long lain dormant are pumping through my body as I watch the life eek out from the two men I’ve just dropped. My vision is focused on the men who could end my life just as quickly if I make a single wrong move.
The well-to-do visage of the apartment building outside had been a front. I had made my way inside, expecting to find armed men ready to take me on the moment I stepped through the doors, but there was no such welcoming party. In every way, the place had looked as honest as an actual apartment complex, and if I didn’t know better, that’s precisely what I might have assumed.
But the lack of security just told me they weren’t expecting me. So I made my way to the one place I know they wouldn’t care to tidy up for public appearances — the door to the old superintendent's residence. And that’s where I found the filth lying just below the surface. I had burst through the door, this time finding not an old and grouchy French super, but a room with a couple of Chechens smoking and watching television. Their hands went to their weapons the moment they’d seen me, and that was when I started to leave a trail of corpses.