Page 67 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

find a way

Reagan

As I blink to consciousness, I’m confused. I’m in an unfamiliar, but lavish, bedroom in a strange house.

My mind races. How did I get here? Where am I?

I sit up, realizing I’m sprawled out on a bed in the sweatpants and hoodie I remember putting on at the end of my shift.

I remember getting a cab and having one of Sodorov’s men slide in beside me, a gun to my ribs.

I remember the long ride out of town and the anxiety rippling up through my rib cage.

I vomited as soon as I got out of the car.

And as the taxi drove away, I tried to run. Then everything went black.

As I look around the room, a man’s figure goes from blurry to clear. Peter. He’s smoking a cigarette.

“What the hell…” I trail off as I wince at the sharp pain in my head. Reaching up, I find my hair matted with blood, tender to the touch.

“Pistols do some damage, don’t they?” he says evilly. “Even when they’re not being fired.”

“Why?” It’s all I can manage to get out.

“Why?” he repeats, like I’m an idiot for asking the question. “Why bring you here? Why pistol-whip your lying ass? What?”

I just grit my teeth, putting my energy into staring daggers at this man I once trusted.

“Look, Henri’s given you plenty of time to fess up. To return what you stole.”

I laugh kind of hysterically. “And I didn’t steal anything.”

“Hmm.”

“I have a job interview. How long have I been here? I need to be back by Thursday for my interview.”

Peter sighs. “It seems unlikely you’ll make that appointment, Reggy. Or any appointment, for that matter.”

My stomach drops. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

I nod, swallowing back the bile that threatens to rise in my throat. I haven’t missed the interview. That’s my thought. Not, I’m going to die. Or I need to figure out how to get out of this. No, I’m still worried about missing my job interview.

And I’m worried about Mikhail. I didn’t get to contact him after work. I’ve been missing for a day. Surely, he would know to tell the cops about Sodorov. Surely, someone is out there looking for me.

It’s too much to hope for, to be rescued again. He’s rescued me too many times already.

Peter stands and walks toward the bed. I stiffen as he touches my arm with his fingertips. “I miss watching you dance, Reggy. Will you dance for me like you did when we first met?”

“I was getting paid to do a job,” I say, not daring to move. I think I’m barely breathing. “It wasn’t for your benefit.”

“But it was for a while, though, wasn’t it? When we started fucking? When you accepted my money to solve your mom’s problems?”

“You make me sound like a prostitute, Peter. I thought you cared for me. I thought you were being kind. I didn’t know it was money from Henri Sodorov until you told me later. Which I would never have accepted if I’d known it wasn’t your money to loan.” Motherfucker.

“So na?ve,” he says, clucking his tongue. “Come on, do a little dance for me? I’ll talk to the boss. Maybe he’ll let you stay here. Work off your debt.”

I shake my head furiously, and he grabs my throat, leaving me clawing at him, gasping for breath.

“Listen,” he snarls, “you got yourself into this. You’ll pay off your debts either way.”

There is nothing good in him as he bares his teeth at me like a rabid animal. My vision gets spotty before he finally shoves me back. I fall in a heap on the bed, willing myself not to cry, throw up, or to show any sign of weakness.

“Just remember, I offered you an option,” he says as he walks toward the door.

“If you’re a God-fearing person, you might want to say your prayers.

I don’t think Sodorov will keep you as a pet.

Not for long anyway. You’re too small and delicate to survive him.

He’s a brutal fucker when he takes a girl to use. ”

He locks the door from the outside. The outside. Which means I’m not the only person who’s been stored here, awaiting his or her fate. There’s no reason to create a cell if you rarely have people to imprison.

My thoughts are a jumble, my head’s throbbing, and my throat’s on fire, as I lie there where he left me. Terrorized and numb and alone. Eventually, though, my eyes do close, and the darkness mercifully takes me once again.

When I wake for the second time, I know exactly where I am.

I force my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet onto the carpeted floor.

I will my body forward toward the luxe bathroom attached to my room.

I throw up in the toilet, then drink water straight from the tap in the sink.

I start the shower and strip off my clothes.

There is soap and shampoo and conditioner, and I can’t help wondering why a prisoner’s cell would be stocked with good-smelling personal hygiene items. I wash my hair carefully, my temple tender and bruised, nearly passing out from the pain and the sight of blood as it stains the suds and disappears down the drain.

After showering, I pull my clothing back on and return to bed.

I’m so tired and emotionally drained, I struggle to stay awake.

They must have drugged me before. I lie in the strange bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Mikhail and how much I wish I could have his arms around me right now. How I wish we’d had more time…

Somehow, sleep comes to me once more.

It’s completely dark when I awaken. I still don’t know what day it is, but I’m more alert than I was the last two times I’ve come to consciousness. My stomach rumbles, and I can’t believe no one has brought any food or water. They must really mean to kill me.

The race of my heart and the whoosh in my ears tell me a panic attack is imminent. I crawl to the floor and curl up in a ball, attempting to breathe through it. I can’t just sit here and wait for these guys to kill me. I need to get it together. I must find a way out of here.

I crawl on my hands and knees to the window and look out.

There are bars, which doesn’t surprise me.

I think I could shimmy through them, but I’m on the second floor.

There’s nothing to grab, even if I got out.

Nothing to catch my fall. Come on, Reagan.

You’re no superhero, but you have to find a way out of here.

I look around the room, trying to stay calm when I feel anything but calm.

“I don’t think Sodorov will keep you as a pet. Not for long anyway. You’re too small and delicate to survive him. He’s a brutal fucker when he takes a girl to use.”

No. Do not think about that. You’re still alive, you’re rested, so—

What’s that behind the bed? There’s a large HVAC vent hidden in the wall beneath where the bed is. I crawl to it, using my fingernails to unscrew it. They’re bloody by the time I finish, but I don’t care. I pull the cover from the wall and push myself inside. I fit, but just barely.

Now what?

Now, you’re going to figure out a way to get yourself out of here.