Midnight Sanctuary (Bugrov Bratva #2)(2)

Someone’s coming.

“Alyssa.”

“Stay calm and don’t say anything, Polly. We don’t want to—”

I break off when I see light in the far corner. My eyes go wide when I realize that there are cell bars separating us from the staircase. We weren’t really in a room at all.

The light illuminates two silhouettes making their way down the staircase. Both sharp and terrifying, but when they reach the bottom landing, they take shape. The first man is large and burly. The second is short and lean. One flips a switch and suddenly, I’m cringing back, trying to protect my eyes from the assault of light.

“Are the pretty little birds hungry?” the burly one croons in a deep, rasping voice that matches his physique. I blink through the sting in my eyes. He’s got a nasty scar running across his face and a nastier smile plastered across his chapped lips.

“You motherfuckers!” I’m completely taken aback by Polly’s sudden scream. “Let us go! Let us go now or you will be sorry. My brothers will make sure of that!”

“Polly,” I gasp, trying to catch her eye. “Poll—”

“Let us out of this shithole!”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the short one cackles, his eyes fixed on Polly as he runs a hand over his tattoo sleeve. “The little kitten has claws.”

The burly one chuckles. It sounds like a cement mixer backfiring. “All she’s got is a mouth on her. She may spit and hiss, but it’s just noise at the end of the day.”

“Fuckers!” Polly screeches, pulling at her restraints so hard that I can see the red welt they’ve left around her wrists. “FUCKERS!”

Scarface narrows his eyes at Polly as he moves away from the cell door. “You know what? I was supposed to open the door and make sure the two of you were fed. But now…?” He flings the thinly-wrapped sandwiches through the bars of the cell. They land on the floor, far out of reach. “Well, we can call that ‘feeding time.’ Close enough, right?”

Tattoo Arm laughs and flings the plastic bottles of water through the cell bars as well. “You can fill your bellies if you can reach the goodies. Fair is fair, eh?”

Tears streak Polly’s face and shine in the light from the stairwell. I do my best to meet her gaze but she’s not looking at me. “You’re going to regret this! Both of you.”

“Polly!”

RING-RING. RING-RING.

At least the ringtone seems to succeed in shutting Polly up. Her mouth clamps closed as Scarface pulls out his phone and answers it in a totally different voice. It’s deeper and hoarser and far more respectful.

But his tone is the only thing I can really decipher, because I can’t understand a word he’s saying. I recognize the harsh cadence of Russian, but it’s gibberish to me. The conversation lasts several minutes and the whole time, Tattoo Arm just stands there, listening intently.

Based on their body language alone, I’m guessing whoever is calling is the boss.

The phone call finally ends and both men’s expressions look markedly different as they glance at each other and then march up the stairs. I’m grateful at least that they’ve been successfully distracted from Polly. I was terrified that, if she kept screaming, they’d come in here and…

I don’t bother finishing that thought. Why obsess over nightmares that haven’t happened yet? We’ve got plenty of in-progress ones to worry about.

I take stock of the situation. They left our food and water scattered out of reach, but at least they left. Added bonus—they kept the lights on.

I take a good look around the dingy cell. Come to think of it, I might’ve preferred the lights left off, actually. At least if it were dark, I wouldn’t have to see the mysterious stains or the cockroaches skittering in the corners.

Slowly, my eyes veer to Polly. “Are you—”

I break off when I see her face. Her eyes are wide, her jaw open slightly, and her face has completely drained of color. Seeing her like that is a lightning bolt to the chest.

“Polly! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

She blinks and a tear falls. One lone tear that somehow feels so much worse than if she were bawling.

“I… I can speak Russian, Alyssa. I understood everything he just said.”

My heart drops. She understood their conversation and that’s her reaction? It can’t be good news.

She turns to me, pale and trembling. “They’ve got an auction set up. They’re going to sell me to the highest bidder.”





2





URI





I shove the mudak down the stairs.

He falls cartoonishly, cracking his head half a dozen times before he eats the step at the bottom of the staircase. I follow him down, snatch him up again by the scruff of his collar, and hoist him back onto his feet.

His eyes wheel wildly in their sockets. He’s almost certainly concussed, damn near delirious with pain and terror. A nicer man would give him a moment of mercy.

I’m not a nicer man.

Instead, I push him roughly towards the shed in the far corner of the lawn behind the greenhouse. To a passing observer, it looks like any other shed in any other neighborhood in the world. You’d expect to open it and find rakes, lawn mowers, fertilizer. And if you stepped inside, that’s exactly what you’d find.