Page 15

Valeria

T he buzzing in my ears was extremely uncomfortable, and the throbbing headache worsened so much I didn’t want to open my eyes.

The screechy sound of the door opening forced a groan to escape my dry lips. I wanted to press my palm against the aching place on the side of my skull, but I couldn’t lift my arm. I tried to raise both arms multiple times, yet something held them down.

Exhaling deeply, I coerced my eyelids to open, but my vision was blurry, and my head spun. I noticed a silhouette dressed in black cargo pants and an oversized hoodie with a skull mask covering their face.

Still, it felt like a bad dream. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear the image before me. But when I reopened them again, the person was in the same spot as before, with his head tilted slightly to the side, watching me.

Slowly, because the pain in my head became almost unbearable with every turn, I looked down at my hands, realizing my wrists were bound to the chair with an iron clamp attached to the armrest. They weren’t tight, but I couldn’t escape the hold.

It was the same with my ankles. The iron chair was designed to keep a person hostage. Large screws held the clamps in place, preventing any kind of movement. I could only lean back or forward, but nothing more .

“I used more force than necessary,” the male said in a profound voice muffled by the mask. I looked at him in shock, my eyes watering. “I’m sorry.”

His words rang in my ears, along with the strange buzzing sound coming from somewhere on my right side. I turned in that direction, seeing a long cable ending with a bulb, providing the only light in the room.

“Where am I?” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“I kidnapped you, Valeria,” the man replied matter-of-factly, and my eyes widened in fright.

Until that moment, I hadn’t understood what was going on, but then it clicked.

It hit me pretty hard, and panic quickly spread through my veins.

Tugging my arms and trying to kick my feet, I did my best to free myself, but it was a hopeless battle.

“Let me go!” I yelled, forgetting about the headache.

But the man stood rooted to the ground, watching me with a water bottle in his hand.

He didn’t move an inch while I screamed for help, shouted threats and profanities at him, or begged him to allow me to leave.

He let me use all my energy on the fight I couldn’t win.

“I don’t have any money,” I sobbed, fear and helplessness overcoming my every thought. “I can’t p-pay you. Please, please…” The next wave of tears came, and my loud cries resonated through the space.

“I don’t need money,” he answered after I calmed down a little, coming closer to me. “And I have no intention of hurting you either.” His hand, hidden in the black leather glove, cupped my chin, and his fingers gently caressed my jaw.

“Then what do you want ?” I blurted out, yanking my head from his hold, causing myself unnecessary harm. The thudding amped up to the point of me almost passing out.

“You,” he uttered, his deep voice sending chills down my spine. I blinked in confusion, and my mouth opened, but nothing came out. What was that supposed to mean?

“Drink.” He placed the open bottle to my lips and tilted it a little.

I sipped slowly, seeing a picture of my beautiful daughter dancing before my eyes while I wondered if this was my last day on earth.

It would be weirdly poetic. I tried to escape one psychopath just to fall into the hands of another.

The media would have a story of the week.

“Please, let me go,” I pleaded again when my abductor tossed the bottle away and sat on the ground in front of me .

He was very tall, but other than that, I didn’t notice anything unusual because his oversized clothes covered everything. I only saw his jade-green eyes framed by long eyelashes when he leaned closer and checked my wrists.

“You will leave unharmed, Valeria,” he stated, crossing his legs. “I promise.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, inhaling a shaky breath. My lower lip quivered, and my face was drenched from tears, but the pain piercing my skull lessened. My body was in a fight or flight mode, but the fight was futile and the flight impossible. I had to focus on other things to help get out of here.

I looked around the room, realizing it was an empty warehouse.

There was only one table in the corner and a shelf with tools like hammers or pliers.

The concrete floor was dirty and dusty, the ceiling was so high I couldn’t see it, and there was only one tiny window on the opposite wall.

The place was creepy yet perfect for someone who abducted people and wanted to lay low.

“What happened to your head, Valeria?” my kidnapper asked casually as if we were in a friendly meeting. He watched my every move closely, but there wasn’t anything attacking in his voice.

“What do you mean?” I played dumb, avoiding an answer because I would never tell the truth to anyone.

First, Chester was a problem I had to solve, and second, I didn’t know this man, and he’d tied me to a chair.

I spoke to him only because I didn’t have a choice, and I hoped he would let me go when he got tired of me and my whining.

“That purple bruise on the side of your forehead looks nasty and painful. You could have a concussion.”

“I’m fine,” I sighed, playing with my fingers nervously. His interest awakened something buried deep inside my chest, but I instantly pushed it back to sleep. Now wasn't the time for fulfilling kinky fantasies.

“Was it your husband?” He brought me back to reality, swiftly changing position from sitting to kneeling, and my eyes widened in surprise.

“W-What?” I breathed, my mouth going dry.

“Did your husband hit you, Valeria?” He roamed my face with his eyes, searching for an answer, and I gulped. “Or push you? Is he violent? ”

“N-no.” I shook my head, acting like his words were total nonsense. “I’m just clumsy.”

“I don’t believe you,” he whispered. I heard something oddly familiar in his muffled voice, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

He moved my hair behind my ear, examining the bruise like it could tell him what happened exactly.

His smooth, spicy cologne mixed with a manly scent and a hint of gasoline tingled my nose.

I did my best to memorize it. It was a long shot, but if I ever met him again, his scent could uncover who was hidden behind the mask.

“It’s the truth,” I claimed confidently, touching his hoodie with the tip of my finger.

The material was soft and high quality. I inhaled again when his hand was close to my cheek, and a faint smell of leather settled in my nose.

I peeked at his pants and boots, noticing they were designer.

My abductor didn’t need money because he probably had enough. So, what the fuck did he want from me?

If I didn't know better, I would've thought Chester was hidden behind the mask, attempting to spice things up between us.

There was a time, very long ago, when he kidnapped me from work, and we spent a weekend role-playing.

But it was before his addiction to gambling and all the problems that crushed us.

For sure, the man holding me prisoner now wasn't my husband, which was scary, but on the other hand, it was undeniably thrilling.

I could die in the hands of a masked psychopath, but the prospect wasn't as frightening as it should be. I’d probably suffered brain damage.

It was the only explanation for my lack of self-preservation.

“Fine,” the kidnapper mumbled eventually, pulling away. He sat on his heels, placing his hands on his thighs, staring at me as if I were a goddess or queen and he was preparing for a worshipping ritual.

I gaped into his eyes, full of silent admiration, unsure of what I saw. No man had ever looked at me like that, not even my husband on our wedding day or when I gave birth to our daughter. What I could see in his eyes was borderline adoration. Or obsession?

The realization hit me like a truck, knocking the air out of my lungs. I glanced at him with my heart almost jumping from my chest, lost in a swirl of confusion and shock.

Did I have a stalker ?

“Why did you go to the Quick Cash?” he asked, cutting the flow of my thoughts. I stared at him in bewilderment; every nerve in my body tensed. I read stories about stalkers and their victims. They never had a happy ending. Why the hell did he pick me? From all the women?

“To pray,” I retorted, rolling my eyes. My mind was too preoccupied with catastrophic scenarios of my slow death at the hands of a psychopath to care about my rude behavior.

“Finally, you’re getting your spirit back.” He winked at me, and I snorted, shaking my head in annoyance with the situation and this conversation. His remark only confirmed he knew me far too well.

“Let’s celebrate,” I deadpanned, trying to direct the dialogue elsewhere, but he didn’t want to let the topic go.

“Later, mon c?ur.” He sat in his previous position with his legs crossed, leaning back and supporting his upper body with his elbows. “Aren’t you working for the Zhumagulovs? I heard they pay great.”

The mentioning of the brothers caused various feelings to wash over me.

For a split second, an idea about Zyon being hidden under the black outfit, staring at me like a lovesick puppy, appeared in my mind, but I quickly discarded it.

He wouldn’t waste his time or energy on me.

Surely not after the stunt I had pulled the other day. But who would?

“It was a one-time deal,” I replied, grunting when another attempt to get out of the restraints failed.

“Can you free my hand, please?” I grumbled, wriggling. “My neck is itchy.”

“Let me help you with that,” he purred, rising to his feet, and I inhaled sharply.