And I decide once again that whatever it takes, I’m going to help Stefan end this trade. Even if it kills me.
I can do this.
“I know every single woman who’s come to auction since the beginning of the year,” she says. “I forget nothing, and you are not one of them. And the man you are with has kindness in his eyes unlike any of the others. Tell me who you are.”
Shit.
Stefan is going to kill me. Like literally, have my head. He’s probably looking for me now.
Shit shit shit.
“My name is Taara,” I say, not wanting to give too much away. “The man I’m with is one of the Bratva pakhans.”
Yeah, so that was probably already too much. Damnit.
She nods. “He did not buy you, did he?”
I shake my head. “No, but I—" I pause, then say with conviction, “but I belong to him. I am his slave and he my master.” But I don’t give her any more information than that. I don’t know who she is, and I don’t fully trust her. “And who are you? Why did you want to speak to me?” I can’t let this become a one-sided interrogation.
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m nobody.” She isn’t nobody. The pretty woman with the violet hair and skin as black as night knew her name. She continues in the same hushed, timid whisper. I wonder how she even got the nerve to come here. “The two of us need to make the acquaintance of one another. The man who calls himself my master is a cruel man, and when he finds out I’ve come here without his permission, he will punish me. And if he knew I told you what I’m about to tell you…” she pales.
She draws closer and take my hand. “Promise me you will help them.”
I don’t know this woman, and I will likely never see her again, but when she squeezes my hand in hers, we’re immediate and instant friends, bound together in this travesty that affects us all.
I nod. “I will do everything I can.” She doesn’t need to tell me who she’s referring to.
We start when someone tries to turn the doorknob. A second later, a large fist bangs on the door, a deafening boom making us both jump.
“Open this door!” I don’t recognize the voice, but one glance at her and I know she does.
She closes her eyes briefly, as if to steel herself for what she’ll face, then her eyes flutter open and she whispers in my ear. “I eavesdropped today. I know where the next shipment will go. Tomorrow night, ten o’clock, at Long Wharf in the city.”
I nod. I will remember this. I have to finds Stefan.
She stifles a scream when the fist pounds on the door again. “He’ll share me tonight,” she says in a shaky whisper, as if she has to tell someone. “He’ll make me sleep with all of his men for this.” Then her eyes look at mine in desperation and her grip becomes frantic, her eyes bulging out of their sockets so widely it unnerves me. “Take me with you. Will your master take two slaves?”
Jesus, God, as if I’d let another woman touch him.
I blink and shrug, not knowing how to respond. “I—I don’t—”
No, I want to say, but a part of me wants to rescue this woman so badly, I can almost deny the rampant jealousy that takes hold of me at the slightest suggestion. Another bang crashes on the door.
“Get into the stall,” she whispers. “It might save you.”
Before I can process what she’s saying, she shoves me in and shuts the door, then I hear her step away and fumble with the lock. She’s so brave. I’m sick to my stomach, but I turn the lock to the stall with trembling fingers. If I let myself be taken or injured, I can’t bring what I know to Stefan. I can’t stop what’s going to happen.
The door yanks open, and from the bottom of stall, I see thick black boots stomp into the room.
“Ty, blyad', shlyukha.” She screams, and I can’t see what he’s doing, but I can tell from the scuffle that he’s dragging her out of the room. I hear him slap her, and I flinch, then another scream as she’s dragged out. But at the doorway, he pauses.
“Who else is in here? You aren’t alone?”
“No, sir. Please!” she screams again, and then footsteps approach my stall. I go as far back as I can, but there’s no room in here. Nausea whirls in my belly and my head feels too light. I look around for something to protect myself, but of course there’s nothing at all in the bathroom stall.
“Open this door!” he orders. Oh, God. Where am I going to go? What will he do to me?