Page 8 of The Bronze Garza

I’m shocked when he doesn’t.

He just growls “urodlivaya svin’ya” under his breath and stomps off.

Exiting the penthouse feels so strange, so foreign, that I pause at the threshold, feeling crippled, like I’m committing a grave sin.

A sharp poke at my back from Oleg nudges me forward. “Move.”

I do, shuffling alongside Simone to the elevator. When my arm dares to brush against hers, she elbows me and I sigh. If she knew where we were going, she wouldn’t be so haughty.

The elevator ride is quiet, and I watch the illuminated “G” with a frown. That’s ground floor, not first floor. I exhale slowly, quietly. Maybe Daniellewaswrong.

When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, Viktor says, “We know this is yous’ first time out in public, but we do not need to remind yous’ how to behave, do we?”

“No,” Simone says quickly.

When I don’t answer, Viktor nudges me and prompts, “Do we?”

Refusing to answer, I bite my lip and fight back the urge to tell him to go to hell.

Oleg glares as he throws his heavy arm around my shoulders, which comes off as casual as he leads me out of the elevator.A control move.As lax as his arm around me appears, there’s no escaping it if I dared.

The upscale look and feel of the lobby surprises me. It’s like…a luxury hotel. Lofty. Sumptuous. There’s even a concierge desk.

Two men with suitcases are being “checked in” at the reception desk.

Two women lounge in the sitting area, laughing and gabbing over coffee cups.

It all looks so real. Legit.Innocuous.

The excess in security, however, is a dead giveaway that this is all staged.

There are about eight different men in security uniforms just prowling in the lobby. I’ve been to a lot of luxury hotels in my short life and I’ve never seen this level of security in just the lobby, inadditionto the security cameras covering every inch of the area.

Thisis how they get away with it all.

I’m forced to keep up with Oleg’s wide strides as we move through the lobby and out the tinted glass doors.

Frigid air bites into my skin like teeth of ice.

But as glacial as the air is, I want to weep from just being able tofeelit.

Fresh air.

I’m outside.

I’m. Outside.

I inhale deeply, appreciatively, filling my lungs and fighting back tears.

It’s somewhere around six in the morning. We had all just gone to bed after another long, torturous night when Igor later burst into our room. So right now it’s dark, wet, and cold.

Still, there are people everywhere, moving at hurried paces in either direction. Bundled up in thick coats and scarfs, winter hats and gloves.

Across the street are two police officers, one sticking a parking ticket under someone’s windshield wiper. I almost snort. He really thinks he’s doing something, doesn’t he? When right across from him is a ritzy brothel, packed with abducted and imprisoned women.

There’s a black car waiting on the curb, breaker lights on. Oleg urges me toward it when I lag.

Furtively, I try to catch the attention of someone, anyone, to plead for help. But that’s the thing about busy cities; people are forever in a rush, too caught up with their own running thoughts to see what’s right in front of them. Igor couldn’t have picked a better location to run his sordid business.