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Chapter Thirty-Two

ERIN

The door opens and an orderly comes in, handing Ilya a new burner phone. I don’t know where he got it, but then again, Demyan and his people have so much money and power they can do anything.

Apart from stopping my son from being kidnapped.

My heart rate rises again and the nausea crashes over me.

“Calm down, Erin,” Ilya says, turning the phone on and texting someone. “While my phone charges, Demyan can now reach us on this.” He waits a minute. Shows me the screen. “No calls. That’s good.”

I grind my teeth and pretend to watch TV. I don’t want it on. I don’t want to be here. What I need is to be out there, finding my son.

But he’s not going to let me just leave. Ilya’s an extension of Demyan; he’s my prison guard in friendly clothing and so I just stare at the screen, trying to think of how to get the hell out of here.

Ilya pushes the grapes toward me. “Eat something.”

“I don’t fucking want to eat. ”

“The doctor said a little something would be good. That’s why I had them bring these.

If you don’t like grapes, there’s apples.

Bananas. Muffins. Chips. I’ll get you in a four-course meal even if I have to send someone to drag the chef of the restaurant of your choice here at this hour to cook for you. ”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat.”

I shoot him an angry look but pluck a grape, biting down into the dusty purple skin for the sweet burst I don’t want.

Satisfied, he nods, checks the phones, and flips through a magazine.

Normally, the sight of the man reading a gossip magazine would make me smile but my world’s empty of anything but getting my son back.

But I fucking lie here. I’m no longer hooked up to anything apart from the drip for fluids, which gives me an idea.

I don’t glance at him as I buzz for the nurse. Ilya’s head snaps up. “Are you in pain?”

“I need the bathroom.”

The nurse hustles in and I repeat the words to him. “I’ll get you a bedpan.”

“No.” Even if I had to go, there’s no way I’m peeing in front of Ilya and he’s not about to leave. “No. I want the bathroom.”

The nurse goes to the en suite attached, but I shake my head. “I want to pee in private.”

“Erin.”

“Ilya,” I snap back. “I need some dignity. I’m attached. I’m in a hospital gown. Where am I going?”

“Fine. I’ll walk you there.”

Knowing there’s no way out of it, I nod. And taking the drip, I get out of bed, but I insist on pulling on some clothes first. Dignity is my excuse and I’m clinging to it .

Soon it’s me, Ilya, and the damn drip heading a few meters down the hall. I look around and see it. The fire alarm. As I walk, I veer as if I don’t quite have the strength to walk in a straight line and he mutters something about eating.

But I bump into the wall and discreetly pull the alarm.

“Fuck! Erin!”

Ilya notices. Of course he does, but he’s too late and I rip the drip from my hand and I throw the pole holding the bag at him.

The place explodes into noisy chaos. People racing around to deal with a possible evacuation and I start to run.

He lunges at me. “What the fuck did you do that for, Erin?”

“My son’s missing,” I snap, trying to pull free of his grip. “You expect me to sit here and do nothing?”

“Yes.”

“I need to be out there, looking for him.”

Ilya’s hand slips, then grabs hold again. “So you can get yourself killed?”

“At least I’ll be doing something,” I whisper, pulling free.

We stare at each other, and then his gaze shifts, his expression changes.

This time when he grabs me, there’s no way to get free. He drags me with him, and I fight, but it’s no use. We head to the stairwell. “Are you crazy? Are you going to lock me up? Let me go, Ilya, now!”

A heavy-set mountain of a man is just up the hall. He’s covered in tattoos and at my yell, his eyes fasten on me.

Ilya’s head whips from glancing back to where the guy is. “Oh fuck.”

The man barks something into a radio and starts running.

Toward us.

Ilya pivots to the emergency exit and hits the bar. “You need to do exactly as I say. You’re in danger. ”

He drags me into the stairwell.

The blood drains from me, and I nod. This time I don’t fight. I know I’ve been beyond stupid, and I follow Ilya down the stairs, my heart clenching so tight I can’t breathe. I’m no good to Sasha dead.

But I don’t get why someone would be after me. I’m no one.

Footsteps tramp down behind us and we reach the second-floor landing when the door opens, and two men with guns pour out, trapping us.

Ilya goes to push me behind him as he reaches for something. But the one with the gun shoots him in the stomach.

I scream. “Ilya!”

The gun he reached for clatters as he falls. I try to grab it, but a big tattooed arm comes around me and I hit a solid wall of muscle.

There’s still pandemonium and I’m dragged through the doors, across the corridor, and through another set of doors to the emergency service elevator.

I’m thrown in and someone hits the button. The car moves, and we land on the ground floor. They hustle me out and I scream, but one of them punches me hard in the face. Copper and the warmth of blood fills my mouth and I half buckle, the shock and pain ricocheting out.

But I’m not giving up. I try to run.

It’s no use.

“Please, let me go. Or at least take me to my son.”

The big man hits me again and says something in a foreign language. Russian, I think. I’m blindfolded and forced into the trunk of a car.

My head swims with pain and I fight the onslaught of darkness, but it’s too much and soon, the car takes off and I pass out, one word on my lips .

“Sasha.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Demyan and Erin’s story continues in Book 2 of the Yegorov Bratva Duet, Scarlet Sins.