I awaken in a cold, dark cell. A single overhead bulb illuminates the room. The ground is chilly and hard. It’s made of cement. The walls are brick and thick from the looks of it.
There are no windows. No evidence of the outside world from my vantage point.
There is a set of wooden stairs that leads upstairs. But to where? Am I back at Mikhail’s home?
Is this his prison?
I’m caged in the cellar, my ankles bolted and chained. My hands aren’t bound, but I have no tools to pick the lock or weapons to defend myself.
The room is small and dusty. It could have been used to hold wine a hundred years ago.
I’m its sole prisoner, confined to death.
Why lock me up if they are going to kill me? None of it is making any sense.
From above, there are heavy footsteps against the floorboards. Someone is pacing the length of the room.
There are muffled voices, loud and gruff. I can’t understand what’s being said or whose voices I hear. The conversation between the men becomes more intense. Shouts from two men battle back and forth. I sense it in one of the man’s tones.
Desperation.
Is he pleading for his life?
My mouth goes dry, and my fingers tremble as I fiddle with the metal binds around my ankles. I have no tools, my purse isn’t on me, my shitty phone is abandoned, and my shoes have been confiscated.
A gunshot rings out, and a loud thud follows as something or someone hits the floor.
Heavy footsteps tromp over the floor above. A minute later, someone is unlocking the cellar door.
Someone is coming down the stairs. It’s dark and difficult to see the male figure, but it’s not Mikhail, from the physique and height.
He steps under the single illuminating bulb, and my breath catches in my throat. Carlos Sanchez, the leader of the cartel. He’s the last person I expect to see come down into the cellar.
“Carlos,” I breathe, staring up at him.
“You know who I am, good.” He beams. “My reputation travels far and wide. Unlike your boyfriend, who likes to rule the city. He’s nothing outside of this town.”
My boyfriend? Does he think Mikhail and I are together?
“Why kidnap me and bring me here?” I ask.
What happens when they realize I’m a federal agent and not the girlfriend of a bratva leader? I’m as good as dead.
Carlos bends down but keeps ample distance between us. “Why do you think? We want to hurt Mikhail.”
I scoff at his suggestion. “Well, we broke up. Your intelligence is lacking.”
I foolishly grabbed the wrong cell phone on my way to lunch. I’d been in such a rush to get away from Aaron that I hadn’t realized I picked up the phone that I used while undercover. They must have used my decoy phone to track me and intercept the rideshare request.
“And dead,” Carlos says. “Sergio can’t go back to working with Mikhail. Now that you know he works for me, the jig is up.”
“Sergio? Do you mean Sergei?”
Carlos chuckles and rises to his feet. “His real name was Sergio. He became Sergei to infiltrate the Russians.”
“What are you planning to do?” I ask. I can’t imagine he’s going to just let me walk free, and Mikhail isn’t going to give a damn what happens to me. We’re not together. We never really were a couple.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. I have more important matters for you to assist me with.”
If it means getting out of the chains and the cellar, I’ll take my chances.
I glance down, trying not to look intimidating or threatening. He doesn’t know that I’m FBI, and I don’t want him to be the least bit suspicious about me.
I let my voice quiver. It’s not incredibly hard, given the circumstances. “What do you want me to do?” I ask.
“Call Mikhail. Tell him you want to see him.”
That’s it? I breathe a sigh of relief. They’re underestimating me, which is good, but getting out of these chains will take more work than just making a phone call. “I don’t have my phone.”
“You can use mine,” he says. Carlos shoves his hand into his pants pocket and retrieves his cell phone, handing me the device.
I don’t know Mikhail’s number, which would be strange for a girlfriend. But I can work with it. “I didn’t memorize his number. It’s saved into my phone.”
He rolls his eyes, grabs the cell phone, and dials Mikhail, putting the call on speaker.
“Who is this? How did you get my number?” Mikhail answers his phone.
His voice sends warm, tingly feelings churning inside of me. “It’s me,” I say, as if he’d recognize my voice anywhere. “Your Kisa.”
It’s not like I know Mikhail that well, but he had called me Kisa multiple times. I can only hope that he’ll realize that I’m in trouble, that I’d never refer to myself as that without being under duress.
Especially now, while he knows of my betrayal and hates me.
Mikhail clears his throat, and his voice is low and deeper. “Where are you, Kisa?” he asks. He sounds sexy, rough, and raspy. “I’d love to get you in my bed, finish what we started in the shower this morning.”
We were never in the shower this morning. He’s trying to give me a clue. Or maybe he’s playing along because he knows that I’m in danger.
How do I tell him that Sergei is behind my abduction and the cartel is holding me against my will?
Carlos rips the phone from my grip and ends the call.
“What are you doing?” I gasp. Didn’t he want to talk to Mikhail?
Carlos holds up a finger for me to wait. The cell phone in his hand rings, and he answers it.
“Now that I’ve gotten your attention, I want your men to back off on my merchandise.”
“Which merchandise are we talking about?” Mikhail asks.
He doesn’t bother to take the call off speakerphone. “I don’t discuss specifics over the phone,” Carlos says.
“Where and when?” Mikhail asks. “It should be someplace public and—”
“No,” Carlos interrupts. “We do this my way if you want to see your girl alive. One hour, come to my complex. You know where that is, right?”
“Yes.”