My Russian Nightmare (2 page)

“Get the fuck out of here,” Sammy said, holding his cheek. “And don’t come back.”

I didn’t expect him to be happy about my decision, but I didn’t expect that either. I just wanted a little breathing room, the opportunity to make some of my own decisions.

I’ve thought about calling and apologizing every day for the last two weeks since the shit hit the fan, but I don’t want him to think I’m weak. If he sees the tiniest chink in my armor, he’ll be all over it, widening it bit by bit, until it grows into a gaping wide hole and I go back to pre-med with my tail between my legs.

Where I’m concerned, Sammy is the ultimate control freak. I’ve accepted it because he is all I have left, and I’m so grateful I didn’t have to go into foster care. But he takes things to another level. Even still, when he has a say, he doesn’t let me go out with my friends. He barely lets me out of the house.

If he catches wind of me so much as talking to a boy, he threatens the poor guy with a baseball bat. And if he doesn’t approve of my class schedule, he doesn’t pay my tuition until I change it to something he approves of. He always finds a way to convince me he knows best, especially when he tightens the purse strings; hence my pre-med major.

I like medicine, but I went into it for the wrong reasons. My parents wanted me to become a world-renowned surgeon, and Sammy convinced me the best way to honor them is to move forward in all areas of life, as if they’re here.

Maybe if they were and I could see the pride in their eyes when they look at me, it would be different. But they’re not, and there is no real reward for all the boring science classes I’ve already been forced to sit through, not to mention the impossible labs I’ve been working on. Not when it isn’t something I love, something I’m passionate about. But I love my brother with all my heart, and if he survives, I’ll go back into medicine. I’ll do whatever the hell he wants me to.

Out of breath and with tears streaming from my eyes, I barrel through the door to his room. A high-pitched squeal escapes me when I see Sammy lying motionless in the hospital bed. Wires run between him and the various machines monitoring him.

“Sammy!” I shriek. “Oh my God, what did they do to you?” I ask over the whooshing of the ventilator sucking in, hitching, and then releasing the air forced into his lungs. If that noise isn’t bad enough, there is a constant hiss coming from the oxygen spout on the wall.

The nurse warned me when she called that he’d been seriously beaten and his injuries were life-threatening, but I didn’t expect
this
. His face is so bruised, one eye is a dark blackish/purple and swollen completely shut. His entire face is swollen and distorted. And that’s only what’s visible. A large bandage covers the top right quarter of his face and runs up to his head.

My knees are weak. I think they’re going to buckle. Tears obscure my vision as I reach out to touch my brother’s hand. I squeeze my eyes shut. Sobs I’m unable to control rack my body. Just as I allow myself to fall, to drop to the floor, strong arms wrap around my waist, lift me up, and pull me away from my brother.

Seized by fear, I suck in a large gulp of oxygen. I can’t find my voice to scream yet, but I kick out and flail in the arms that are stealing me away.

“Blyat! Stop!”

A hand covers my mouth. I’m going to die. Each beat of my heart slams against my chest with the threat that it could be my last. My mouth is dry, I can’t formulate any sound, and I’m shaking like a weak tree in the middle of a Category 5 hurricane. I have no control of my body. All I know is I need to fight; fight for my life.

“Kiera, quiet down. Now!” the deep voice orders. I manage to separate my lips enough to sink my teeth into the hand covering my mouth and kick his leg hard. The way he reacts, I think I got his knee.

“Fuck!!” He shoves me hard across the room opposite the door, away from him.

I face my attacker, taking him in for the first time. Dark hair falls to his eyes. I search his face and body for any visible marks that would distinguish him in a crowd. He has a strong square jaw, and his dark, almost black eyes are narrowed and focused on me.

By the way his shirt is pulling across his broad chest, I can tell he’s got plenty of muscle beneath it. Under normal conditions I’d have no chance against such a formidable adversary, but right now I don’t care how the muscles in his arms ripple as he moves, I have to get away from him. I’m fighting for my life.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” Although my voice is barely more than a whisper, it’s deadly serious. My eyes dart off to the side and back to him over and over again as I search for something, anything in the room I can use as a weapon against my attacker.

“Listen to me,” he orders in a low but definitive tone. “You need to shut up and come with me. I will explain once I get you out of here.”

I shake my head, circling around toward the chairs meant for visitors to sit. I don’t think I’m strong enough to pick it up and throw it at him, but perhaps if I keep it between us. Or if I go the other way toward my brother, maybe I can press the call button for the nurse before he can stop me.

He advances toward me one slow step at a time, palms up. Fuck! I backed myself into a corner.

“Listen, Kiera. I don’t want you to get hurt. Please, just do as I say.”

Before I can answer, before I can tell him to “fuck off,” another two men enter the room. An older man, pudgy around the middle, and a young blond man that looks to be just as fit and toned as the man trying to accost me. Both sneer at me with a snide smile, like I’m their prey and they just honed in for the kill.

“You know, there’s something to be said about having a room at the end of the hall,” the older man begins speaking in an accent I’m not familiar with. “So far away from everyone.” He claps his hands. “No one can hear what’s happening inside it.” His eyes trail up and down my body with hunger burning in his eyes. Threat understood. “And even better when like this one, it’s conveniently located right beside the stairwell.”

He’s sending a message to stop fighting. Too bad. I have to fight. If I don’t, they’re going to grab me and force me into that stairwell to do who knows what. I won’t go. At least, I won’t go willingly.

The blond guy steps further into the room. He approaches my brother’s bedside and looks down at Sammy with a sick smile on his lips as he cracks his knuckles. “Now that we have her, can I finish?” he asks the old man.

Never taking his eyes off me, the obvious leader of the group answers. “We’ll see about that, won’t we, princess.” It makes me sick that he’s using the nickname only Sammy calls me. His eyes shoot up to the dark-haired man closest to me for a moment.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Terrifying nods, his stare cold, hard, and stoic before turning his gaze on me. For a nanosecond, something almost sad flashes in his eyes. It’s gone so fast, I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. All I can be sure I see is the emptiness in his eyes. It’s like he’s dead, like he holds no emotion whatsoever.

With the speed of a tiger taking down a gazelle, before I can react at all, he lunges toward me. One steel-like arm pins me against his chest, the other presses hard over my nose and mouth. The pressure against my nose is causing sharp pain that makes my eyes tear up against my will. Against my will seems to be the theme of the day.

“Stop fighting. Or else my friends here will do to you worse than they did to your brother.”

“Don’t scare the poor girl, Dima,” the old man coos. “There’s no need for threats of violence against her. I have a better idea. How about we cut Sammy’s oxygen off five seconds for every second she struggles against us. I think that will work. How about you, golubushka?”

“No!” I squeal.

I can’t let them hurt Sammy. Not when he’s barely hanging on to life as it is. He needs a chance to recover. I struggle to shake my head. Misunderstanding what I’m disagreeing to, or maybe just trying to show me he’s the one holding all the cards, the old man nods at the blond, who pulls the oxygen cord off the wall-mounted device.

No alarm rings to alert the nurses. There is nothing to suggest these men are thugs, and they are here to finish my brother off. That’s why they choose the oxygen, because it won’t garner attention until it’s too late. I stare at one of the machines monitoring Sammy. I hold my breath as his oxygen level slowly drops, one number at a time. I can’t let them do this.

“Stop, please!” I plead.

The old man just stares at me for a few life-altering seconds.

They win.

“I’ll do whatever you want. Just please leave him alone!”   

It’s my turn to sacrifice, to give back to my brother all that he gave to me. My turn to protect him and give him a chance to recover. If the only way I can do that is to give in and let these awful men have their way with me, then it is what I must do. I go slack in the dark-haired man’s arms, not misunderstanding for one moment that by giving up and giving in, I’m saying goodbye to life as I know it, and my brother. Possibly forever.

  Chapter 2

The dark-haired one, Dima, wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me tight against him as we head to the stairwell. He’s so strong, the death grip he has me in feels like steel beams are wrapped around me. I fight the urge to push him away and elbow him in the ribs.

I know if I fight, if I run, they’ll finish Sammy off. Unless I make a scene, draw enough attention to myself that security has no choice but to intervene. It’s not practical though. There are three of them. If I do find a security guard, he might be able to detain one of them before back up arrives, two at best. One will still be able to give him the slip.

I know by allowing them to lead me away somewhere, the chances of me surviving decrease by percentage points in the double digits. But what choice do I have? I can’t handle being the cause of my brother’s death.

“Don’t make a scene,” Dima warns, whispering in my ear. “They aren’t playing games. They will kill him, then they’ll rape and torture you.”

His words cause me to shudder, because I don’t doubt he means it.

I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I think he just squeezed me even tighter against him. Message received: if I force his hand, he’ll do it himself using just his bare hands.

He whispers in my ear once more, “Stay close and do as I say.”

I want to tell him to fuck off, but I can already tell he’s much stronger than I am. I’ll need to use my mind to figure out a way to escape.

We come out of the stairwell next to the elevator on the ground floor. There are people all around us: doctors, nurses, visitors. The older man walks in front of us while Blondie takes up the rear. My breaths are quick and shallow as I spot the security guard.

I stare at him, hoping his eyes will find mine. I want him to know just with a look that I’m in trouble. He’s been trained, he’s supposed to know. We head toward both him and the main exit. “Help! Help me!” I yell inside my head, hoping he’ll read my mind and know something’s wrong.

Mr. Arms of Steel leans over and whispers as if he knows what’s running through my mind. “Don’t do it.”

The security guard does look our way. His eyes meet mine for a moment and he offers a smile as my captor kisses the side of my head. Shit. He made it appear like we’re a couple. Even if I look upset, no matter how miserable I might seem, the guard won’t be able to pick up on it because we just visited someone in a hospital. It’s perfectly reasonable for me to be upset. And not just upset, but completely hysterical and consumed with grief.

I tremble as we walk out into the open air.
Why can’t anyone hear my heart hammering against my chest?
No one is even looking in our direction. Tears cloud my sight. With Sammy out of commission, no one will notice I’m gone. My roommate Tammy knows that something happened to Sammy and I left to take care of him, so she won’t realize until it’s too late, if at all.

I’m escorted to a navy blue van with blacked-out windows. The older man doesn’t wait, he walks straight to the front passenger door. The beefy blond opens the back doors and sneers at me.

“Get in.”

Dima releases me, and a teensy part of me wishes those strong arms were still wrapped around me. For some reason I don’t understand, I feel safer, protected, pressed up against him. He doesn’t look at me with the same sinister glee that the blond and old man do. I take another look at my captors and consider spitting in their faces before climbing into the van. I don’t. Instead, I do as I’m told and climb up into the darkened vehicle.

“I got her.”

I turn back to see Dima putting his hand on the blond’s chest to back the other man up as he climbs in behind me.

“Not until she’s secured.” Mr. Sinister looks at me with an evil glint in his eyes. “Don’t you worry, bitch. I’ll have my turn with you.” Blondie smiles, undressing me with his icy blue eyes before climbing in behind us and slamming the door shut.

“Is she restrained?” comes a voice from the front of the vehicle.

“Working on it,” Dima answers. Using only the light from his phone and whatever bit of daylight sneaks in from the front window, he gets down to business. “Sit,” he orders, pointing to a spot on the floor against the wall of the vehicle. Once again I do as I’m told. “Put your wrists out in front of you.”

“Why the fuck are you being so nice?” asks the blond as he pulls a length of rope off the floor and wraps it around my ankles.

The way he does it, so fast and with such efficiency, I feel like a calf being hogtied in a rodeo. I don’t know how many times the rope is wrapped around me. All I know is that I can’t separate my ankles even a centimeter. It is so tight, I wince as he attaches and pulls taut another rope from me to the other side of the van so I can’t use my feet as a weapon to fight them.

My legs are pin straight and absolutely fucking useless. There isn’t any give, any forgiveness in my restraints. I’m sure I’m going to lose all circulation in my feet and legs.

I’m so focused on the blond, I didn’t realize Dima placed something around my wrists, a shirt or towel, before he started binding them together. The rope is tight, but it’s not cutting into my skin the way the rope around my ankles is. Again, another rope is attached to the bindings, and Dima fastens it to a hook or something on the ceiling, pulling my hands and arms up over my head.

“I like you just like this,” Blondie hisses, looking me over from head to foot while reaching his hand down his pants and touching himself. “I should pull my cock out right now and have you suck it.”

“Go ahead. I’ll bite it so fucking hard—”

The sharp sting of the hand across my face shocks me. My head jerks back and hits the wall of the van.

“You want to use that mouth of yours?” His hand is around my throat, not so much squeezing as it is gripping, letting me know who is in charge. “Go ahead, keep it up. I’ll make sure it’s nice and rough for you.” He licks the side of my face, and I want him to squeeze his hand tight and choke me. End it all now. Tears spill from my eyes as he laughs. “Is that how you like it? Rough? You a little slut?

“C’mon,” Dima says. “Not now. There’ll be time for this.”

The blond doesn’t respond. His eyes are so focused on me, I don’t think he heard the other man speak. He reaches in his pocket, pulls out a tissue, and opens it. Taking something from the center of the paper, he squeezes my cheeks. Once my lips part, he forces something into my mouth. Pills. I try to spit them out, but I can’t. He’s holding my chin so that I can’t move it and pinching my nose closed.

“Be a good little bitch and swallow,” he says, finding humor in his comment.

The bitter taste of the pills in my mouth and throat has me gagging and dry heaving. My eyes prick with tears. I can’t believe this is happening and there isn’t anything I can do to fight it.

Blondie looks around at the floor for something, but I have no idea what. He says something to Dima, but I can’t understand. There’s something familiar about the language, but I can’t place what it is. Polish? Russian?

Dima pulls his shirt over his head and hands it to the other man, who rolls it up and viciously shoves it in my mouth.

“So I don’t have to hear you bitch and whine,” he says, stepping back to admire his work.

The tears stream from my eyes, like water over the side of a fall. I can’t breathe. Snot clogs my nose, and if I don’t die of suffocation, it’ll be from heart failure. My heart is beating so hard that each breath is painful. My chest actually aches.  

“Enough!” the old man sitting up front yells. “Get your ass up here and drive!”

I look at my surroundings for something I can get my hands on when they release me, but there’s nothing. Not one thing that offers even a sliver of hope I can hold on to. There isn’t one damn thing that I can use as a weapon against them.

My eyes meet Dima’s. His gaze is super focused on me. I can’t see him well, but from the bit of light falling on him, he looks angry, with his narrowed eyes and tight jaw. My eyes drop for a moment to his bare arms and chest. Every bit of his upper body is cut and defined by muscle. No wonder he had an unbreakable grip on me. The only way I could fight him off would be with Jedi mind tricks.

He looks to the front of the van, then pulls a tissue from somewhere. He scoots over to me and brings the tissue to my nose.

“Blow,” he orders in a whisper.

I do as I’m told, and to my relief I can now breathe a little.

“Better?” he asks in such a quiet voice I’m not certain he said anything. He brings his pointer finger up to his lips in a manner that looks like he’s telling me to keep quiet as he tentatively pulls the shirt from my mouth.

I don’t say anything, because I’m not sure why Dima is being nice and I don’t want the guys in the front to know. I think if they realize I’m not suffering, they’ll pull the van over just so they could come back and torture me some more. He brings an open bottle of water to my lips. I’m not sure where it came from, or why he’s being nice, but whatever the reason, I’m grateful for it.

I’m calmer now, and my eyelids are heavy. My heart isn’t racing the way it did earlier. All I know is that I want to close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else; that Sammy and I are kids, running and playing on the beach.

Dima holds the shirt up to my mouth as if he’s looking to put it back. I don’t want to, but I know I can’t fight. If I start screaming, the other men will hear, and I doubt he will show me another glimpse of kindness.

Once the shirt is back in place, the pills forced down my throat take effect. My eyelids are like lead umbrellas. I can’t keep them open no matter how I try. Maybe it’s better to just close them and lose consciousness. Allow my subconscious to lead me to a place and time of carefree innocence, where I was happy and Sammy was by my side.

I’m scared to stop fighting to stay awake. I don’t know if the pills were meant to stop me from fighting or stop me from breathing. There seems to be more time between each beat of my heart than the one before it. I’m losing the battle, and my eyes are harder to open every time I blink. Maybe if I just keep them closed, I’ll regain some strength. Maybe I’ll be ready to fight.

Knowing these men have unsavory intentions, I struggle to keep somewhat conscious and alert. God only knows what they’ll do to me once I’m completely under.