Page 2 of The Crimson Lily

That’s when I hear them, the repetitive clicks of approaching heels.

Someone has closed my front door, someone with sharp red pumps, who now stands beside my face.

I hear a woman speak to the large man in a language I don’t know, but I must have done something with languages before because I recognize how awfully like Russian it sounds.

Her voice, like a violin made of feathers, is all I can hear.

She leans over me, analyzing me with her hazel eyes.

I can see her better now. She has lips of a scarlet color that matches her shoes.

She wears a beige trench coat over a knee-length black turtleneck dress.

Her hair, black as night, is cut in an angled bob that shapes her delicate face. I swear she’s smiling at me.

“Liliana Springfield?” she checks, even though it’s clear she knows the answer. She has a Russian accent. Yes, definitely Russian.

I nod with all I have. I am dead scared. My cheeks are getting warm, probably from my own tears. The woman brings her hand to my face and caresses my wet skin. I notice her nails—long, with French tips.

“You’ve been a bad girl, Liliana,” she says. Her voice is so incredibly soft. “You forgot to check in with us.” She makes an exaggerated pouty face to dot her sentence.

At this point, the fear leaves me, and I’m just confused. Who are these people? Do I know them? Apparently…?But why am I tied up on the floor, and why is there a sexy Russian lady telling me I’ve been a bad girl?

Smack.

Ouch to the ego—I’ve just been slapped in the face.

Svetlana here veers her gaze to Vladimir there—yes, these are the Russian names I’ve just given them. She flicks her chin at him. I don’t understand any of these gestures, but he obviously does because he ambles away from us with a phone in his hand. She turns back to me.

“Liliana, when we give you an instruction, it’s not hard to”—she rolls her eyes—“just do as you’re told.”

An instruction? What? Who the hell are these people?

By the way, I’m still mute and petrified.

If they want me to respond, they’d better make this experience more comfortable!

Svetlana here scares me to death. As if she’s heard my silent plea, she strokes my face again, wiping off the new tears that have materialized.

She takes the ball of cloth out of my mouth and taps it carefully under my nose.

“I’m sorry about your nose, krasotka ,” she purrs like she’s singing a lullaby—one with a strong Russian accent, but a sweet lullaby nonetheless. “Let me clean that.”

I don’t feel much. My nose isn’t broken, that’s for sure. After she’s done tapping above my lip with the cloth, I meet her hazel eyes and she smiles at me.

“That is better!” she exclaims like a proud big sister. “Now, Liliana, why have you been silent for two months?”

I don’t drop her gaze, but I wriggle a little to test if I’m able to move. Good, I can still move my legs. I take a deep breath and muster a shot of bravery to respond to her question with my own.

“Who are you?” I ask innocently, realizing at the same time that this will only make her furious.

If I know these guys, my ignorance can only look like a foolish lie, an attempt to run. Of course, her eyes flame at my inquiry. I know she’s about to slap me again, so I hold my tied-up wrists in the air to block any incoming projectile.

“Wait, wait, wait!” I beg. I have to think fast. Apparently, I’ve known these creeps in my previous life, but I have to find something to prove I don’t remember…

The medical report!

“Check on my desk!” I yell, or rather yelp. “The papers with a hospital logo! I swear, whatever business we had, I have no memory of it!”

By now, I’m pretty sure I’m dealing with the Russian mafia. I don’t know how I got that idea, but an aggressive Russian duo talking about a job they’ve given me doesn’t really leave me many other options, does it?

She completely disregards the information I’ve given her.

Instead, she looks at her buddy, who only now do I notice has opened my door and is letting a third person inside my apartment.

I don’t see the new man’s face, but I hear his footsteps, slow and controlled.

I see a tall and dark figure shake hands with Vladimir there and turn to the woman.

“ Privet , Maksim,” she greets him first in a monotone. She doesn’t really seem delighted to see him. Nor am I, by the way.

“ Privet , Olga,” he responds in a deep and husky voice, yet matching her tone.

So, it’s Olga, not Svetlana. Better luck next time! Maybe…?with Vladimir?

Olga rises back to her red pumps and says a few indistinguishable Russian words to the new visitor. She takes four steps away and crosses her arms.

“Took you long enough, Maksim,” she says in English with a sneer.

He does not respond; he just walks toward me.

Vladimir goes to fetch one of my wooden chairs and places it by my feet.

Within seconds, I am lifted off the ground.

Maksim has locked his hands around my waist, and he leads me to the chair.

He is so much taller than I am, towering above me like a parent would a child.

Vladimir proceeds to tying me up so tightly I can’t even feel my blood anymore.

I can’t move. I’m back to being immobilized.

I’m officially terrified now, especially when I notice Maksim strapping something like a black shoelace around his fist. His eyes are fixated on me, then his gaze descends to my legs.

Oh, yes, I’ve been wearing my large pink shirt all day.

It usually reaches about halfway down my thighs, but now, my underwear is showing.

I feel humiliated. I’m in pajamas, and I’m about to get interrogated in them.

That’s what’s going to happen. This Maksim guy is going to beat whatever information out of me that I have no idea I have!

Panic overtakes me. I start to cry again, to squeal. I beg him, my eyes glazed with tears.

“Please, I don’t know anything, I swear!” I rasp with cracks in my voice. “I swear! Check the medical file on my desk, you’ll see!”

My words are like inanities to them.

“There are pills in the bathroom,” I add. I can barely speak anymore. “Anxiety pills they give to amnesia patients like me!”

Maksim leans over, closer to me. I can now see him fully.

He has a square face with a sharp jawline.

His cheekbones are roughly sculpted, giving him a strong and rigid allure.

The color of his eyes is like nothing I have ever seen.

Pure, cerulean blue, with a silver flare.

His lips are full, like he’d make taking a bite of a juicy steak something pleasant to see.

I hold his gaze, my chest heaving, my heart about to burst. “The medical file?—”

I’m interrupted by a firm grip on my chin.

Maksim forces his eyes into mine. He stares deeply into my soul, making me forget everything that’s revolving around us.

I can feel his mind plunging into my brain and spreading like venomous tentacles.

What kind of power is that? He squeezes to make it hurt, but it doesn’t. I’m too terrified to feel anything.

When he releases me, I can see a thousand stars sparkling around me. I’m stunned, petrified. I need a moment to recollect my thoughts. Maksim says Russian words to Olga, but she dismisses him with a flick of the hand. Once I can hold my head straight again, I look back into Maksim’s eyes.

“The file—” is all I can say before his fist meets my stomach.

I feel a sharp pain that quickly dissolves into my coughs. It could have been worse. That man didn’t give it his everything. I should be glad.

“The combination of the safe, Liliana,” Olga’s voice rings between my ears. “Or I’ll ask Maksim to go harder on you.”

Before a second punch, the image of that same dagger of glass flashes before my eyes. I don’t know exactly what this means, but it’s that same memory again, the one I saw just today before these three Bratva assholes barged into my apartment.

Hang on a second…?Bratva? Yet another realization, one that confirms my Russian mafia conjecture. That’s where this lady and these dudes are from. Yes! Oh my…?And the dagger of glass. I swear this is all connected. I’m certain of that. This is all part of the same scheme.

Before Maksim can reload his fist, I shout my lungs out: “The glass dagger? That’s what you’re looking for?”

I see Olga straighten her body in the corner of my eye. That’s it. I have her attention now.

“I have the information you need!” I scream. I look into Maksim’s eyes again. “Please, don’t hit me again!”

Weirdly enough, I’m too scared to feel pain.

The adrenaline is rushing through me, but I’m glad to see this tall man loosening his fist. That relief comes with an extreme wave of nausea.

There’s no blood in my mouth, but it’s like I can taste it, and it’s disgusting.

I spit on the brown carpet—no blood, but that sick feeling isn’t gone.

As I desperately try to get rid of it, another image flashes in my mind.

I’m opening a strange box, and I’m placing the dagger inside it.

I know exactly what this means, and I know how this, in this moment, can help me.

“I can’t just give you the combination of the safe,” I shout and expel another chunk of spit. “I need to be the one to open it.” My first bluff.

Because that’s something I realized as I spoke.

I know exactly what safe they mean. I know they mean the intricate puzzle box that keeps the dagger of glass secure.

And I also know I’m the only one with the key to open it, somewhere buried deep in my memory, and it’s just a matter of time before I get to wield that key again.

“Well,” Olga jerks. She sounds like she’s doing her best to keep her composure and not lose patience with me. I feel bad for her for a brief second. “It will be hard for you to open it. You see, the safe is long gone.”

“Where is it?” I impulsively ask, not thinking of the potential repercussions of my prying, but I have to keep her talking.

“Shouldn’t you know?” Olga checks, genuinely perplexed. “Your boss took it all the way across the ocean.”

Good, I’m not getting a fist. That’s all I care about right now. But it doesn’t end here. They want me to open that safe? I’ll open that damn safe!

“Tell me where!” I shout, carelessly, impetuously. Anything other than another fist to my stomach. “Tell me where and I’ll get it open!”

I’m bluffing my guts out. I have no freaking idea how to open that stupid safe.

However, deep down, I know that I know. I can see myself now, holding the dagger in my hands, and I’m sure.

I want to look at Olga, but as I turn my head, I realize it’s too heavy to move.

The daze is actually much worse than I thought.

It’s taking me over. It must be a combination of anxiety pills and panic.

The world is spinning around me. I roll my head and look up to the ceiling, which is clouded with the haze of a very, very lousy headache.

I can finally feel the pain—the pressure underneath my skull.

I close my eyes and let myself sink deep into the mist of unconsciousness.