Page 153 of Blood & Snow

They stopped several times too, spoke loudly in a dialect I didn't recognize, and every time I thought that was when they'd kill me.

But when they finally dragged me out, I smelled fresh bread baking somewhere nearby.

They questioned me, smacked me around, and now I'm here, locked in this tiny storage room alone, shivering and terrified.

The nausea comes again.

I lean over and dry heave, my body convulsing even though there is nothing left inside me.

My ribs ache.

My throat burns.

I curl into a ball on the floor to my other side, away from the vomit, and press my forehead to the concrete.

It's cool there, and I feel flushed from the exertion of dry heaves.

I need water.

I need food.

I need Xander.

But Xander's not here.

Xander doesn’t know where I am.

And even if he did, even if he came for me, these men would kill him.

They would kill him and make me watch, and then they would kill me too.

Or maybe they'd make him watch as they hurt me first.

The thought is terrifying.

I should have left Moscow weeks ago, the moment Irealized what I was getting into, but I stayed.

I stayed because of the money.

I stayed because of Anya and Mikhail.

I stayed because of him.

Now I am going to die in a stockroom that reeks of yeast and vomit.

The door opens with a yawning screech and I lift my head, squinting against the sudden brightness.

Three men step inside.

The blond one.

The older one with the scar.

And a third man I’ve not seen before.

He is older than the others, maybe late fifties, with thick silver hair and brown eyes that show no mercy.

He wears an expensive wool coat, well-tailored.