I’d like to believe it’s because of me.
Because he’s fallen for me as hard as I’ve fallen for him.
If I got to keep you, Kateryna, I would build you an art studio.
He’d said it like it was a pipe dream. Something he didn’t believe was actually possible.
Fear tugs at my solar plexus.
The voices of the crew ring through the halls. They’re obviously drunk again–must be their nighttime ritual. I’ve thought about banging on the door and begging for help but quickly dismissed the notion. I don’t know if any of them speak English or Ukrainian. I also don’t find these guys to be particularly comforting.
But then again, if me getting out of this would save Adrian from his own suicide, maybe I should try it.
I hear one of them shout outside our door and then pound on it.
Adrian flies to our side of the door, leaning his shoulder there. He snarls something in return.
There’s dark laughter from the other side and then shouts to his buddies. Their voices draw nearer.
Adrian shoots me a dark look, and I shiver because I see the killer in him.
“What do they want?” I ask.
“You,” he says grimly.
My hand flutters to my throat where I work to swallow.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t let them have you.”
I feel like puking. What kind of men beat down the door of a woman, thinking they have some right to her?
Rapists, that’s who.
Of course, they saw I was Adrian’s prisoner. Maybe they thought…gross. Did they think I was some kind of sex slave? I’ve heard of such a thing in the news, but…
And that’s when things click together in my head.
About Nadia.
My father.
Oh God.
Could it be something as sordid and awful as that? There’s more pounding and shouts at the door.
No. I don’t want to believe it. Yet all the pieces fit. I was having a hard time seeing my father being interested in someone’s sister. I mean, maybe she’s quite beautiful, I don’t know, but my dad already has lots of women at his beck and call.
Oh… I almost wretch. What if all of them were…unwilling?
No, surely they would’ve asked me for help. He wouldn’t bring that around me.
But maybe it’s a business for him. I always suspected he was a drug dealer. Maybe it’s actually…humans.
The door is locked, but apparently, they’ve found a key because Adrian watches the handle turn. He lunges for his bag–I’m guessing he has a weapon there, but it’s too late.
They are inside the room.
I try to scream, but no sound comes out.
Adrian attacks, and he’s good. He punches one, slams the door into another’s head and kicks a third, but there are five of them and just one of him.
I dive for the bag, assuming he has something in there that would be of use, but the biggest, smelliest crew guy grabs me. His meaty forearm clamps across my windpipe, and he drags me to the door with a gleeful shout.
Adrian’s still fighting hard, but he’s on the ground. He grabs the legs out from the guy closest to him while he takes kicks to the ribs and gut.
“Adrian!” I choke.
When he sees me being dragged out the door, he bellows in rage, surging back to his feet only to get knocked down again.
The last thing I see before I’m carried off is Adrian’s limp form being pulled across the floor.
10
Adrian
I spit blood down the front of myself when I regain consciousness. When I attempt to throw myself onto my feet I’m stopped by–oh the fucking irony–a goddamn zip tie around my wrists. It’s one of my own–I’d left the baggie out on the floor, and it’s attached to the metal frame of the bed.
“Kateryna!” I shout, yanking against it.
Where is she? Fuck, if they defile her before I get to her…
No. I won’t let it happen. And I will kill every last one of those cocksuckers for trying.
I hear her scream in reply–she’s in one of the other bunkrooms down here.
Fuck. Me.
“Don’t touch her,” I yell in Russian. “Leon Poval will have your head!”
Whether they believe I work for him or know that she’s his daughter, I pray invoking his name will stop whatever is going on in there.
I wrestle with my zip tie, my muscles shaking with effort. I’m attached to the cot, but not the leg–I can’t slip it off. I can’t drag the bed, either. The damn thing is bolted to the wall, as things are on a ship.
My knife is right there in my back pocket, but I can’t reach it. Why in the fuck didn’t I use it on those mudaks?
I hear Kat's screams, and they clear my mind of all else but saving her. Gripping the rail of the bed I hoist my body into an inversion, lifting my hips above my head. I shake my legs and the knife falls out, except it lands on the floor, not the mattress as I'd hoped.