8

Chapter 8

LILIANA

The men go to work untying my hands and feet while shoving me this way and that without regard for the condition of my battered body. 

As for my face, I am certain that if I accidentally stepped into the set for “The Nun”, I would get the lead role without even trying. A soothsayer didn't need to tell me how sunken my eyeballs had become and how disgusting I looked. 

From pauper to palace and now to prison. A sudden fall from a place of position.

“Move!” 

I'm shoved from behind and that is when I notice my hand and feet have been released. The door opens. 

When I rise to my feet I nearly teeter and fall back, save for the hand that gives me a gentle nudge forward. 

I grit my teeth but bite back my disgust. 

In silence, I'm guided out of the dingy cell into a dark and grim corridor. I keep my gaze fixed on the dirty floor. 

The tranquility is broken all of a sudden as labored grunts pierce the air. I look up to see a huge man, twice the size of his handlers, being forcefully dragged across the rough terrain. 

The sound of wood smashing into something – someone – is like a punch to my gut, and the sudden silence thereafter is even more unsettling.

A man to my left chuckles without remorse, “Negodyai.”

Another snorts in response. After that, the rest of our walk resumes with a numbing quiet which I'm thankful for. At least it allows me a few seconds to organize my thoughts.

My eyes land on the man walking in front of me. In his fingers is a gun hanging loosely. If I move fast enough, I can take a few of them down and before they recover from their shock, I'd have found my way out.

The impulsive part of my brain yells orders for my feet to move but rationality keeps me unwilling. Come to think of it; plans are better said than done. 

I could lose my life before I even take a single step in the wrong direction. Not that I am anything of worth to them.

Soon, we're emerging from the endless corridor and climbing stone steps that lead to the top floor. 

When we get to the top landing, I inhale the crisp air greedily, grateful for the scent of unpolluted oxygen. 

My eyes dart left and right as I try to figure out which door leads outside. Hopefully, I'd run into someone who would call the cops and I'd be safe once more. 

Cautiously, I eye the men by my side. They're focused on the way ahead. 

“Let's strike a deal,” I mutter in a silent plea to the Old man upstairs. “From this moment onward, I'll have Eric tied to me before I leave my house. Just get me out of here.” 

Cold metal presses into my lower back as a threat rings out behind me. “Don't try to act smart or you'll have yourself to blame.” 

True. And these men wouldn't hesitate.

Swallowing thickly from the rise of fear, I discard my plans for later. One risky move could get my brain matter splattering against these tiles. 

As we cross through the foyer, the little girl passes by us without pausing for a beat. She opens one of the grand doors and my heart leaps regretfully when I see that it's the main door.

“Eyes forward!” The man from behind me orders, shoving me with too much aggression. 

I do as ordered and clamp my mouth shut once more, choosing to be wise rather than to prove vicious. 

‘These men wouldn't hesitate, Lily’, it's a subtle reminder to myself. 

We head towards another set of stairs with black wooden railings, sculptured to perfection and all I can think of is how symbolic they are to the fine-tuned torture that awaits me somewhere above. 

An older woman is standing at the top of the stairs with an upturned nose as she glares down at me. 

A battle to smoothen the scowl from my face ensues but I know it's a lost battle when my eyebrows tug downwards, refusing to budge. 

Her dress is simple. Elegant for her age even though the neatly pressed navy blue gown with a million pleats from the waist downward manages to spike my fear.

I decide right there that I hate her already.

Her demeanor reminds me of a strict boarding house mistress poised to reprimand tardy diners for flouting regulations.

And judging by the way her nostrils keep flaring – now for the fifth time since we locked eyes – I know I'm in for a world of trouble.

As I trudge up the stairs wearily, my knees give out and I stumble, whacking them against the step’s edge. It sends a stab of pain through me.

“Ow!” I groan through clenched teeth.

The men seize me by the arm and shove me towards the remaining steps. I collapse roughly in a heap in front of the woman, my face almost planting itself onto her polished shoes.

I try to rise to my feet but they seem to have given up on me. All attempts to stand leave me making an embarrassing show of myself. 

“Get up!” One of the men bellows at me. 

“If your eyes weren't shoved so far up your ass, you'd see I'm trying to,” I tell him, unable to bite back my words.

“Try harder.” 

We glare at each other but his weighs with more intensity while I'm tottering on the edge of another collapse. 

“That's enough!” The woman booms loudly in a stern voice. 

I don't miss the look of fear slashing across his features as his eyes fall from my face to the ground. He mutters an apology to her. 

Now I'm amused at the sight before me. 

For some reason, she unnerves me. But I don't let that show. The only one who managed a crack through my composure was the little girl. 

I never want to meet her again. Something about her didn't feel right. Again, I don't think I should be surprised since I'm bound in a house full of lunatics. 

Her features are lined with anger when she rakes her gaze over the four men hovering around me. She fires something rapidly in what I think is Russian. 

The men look…embarrassed. I can't tell for sure.

“Come with me.” She orders in a less authoritative tone. Her words are thick with an accent similar to that bastard. “These men have given you too much trouble, no?”

I nod. Then shake my head, at a loss for what to say. 

“Here, let me help you up, duska.” She gives me her hand and indeed helps me up to her feet. Her grasp is firm and warm to the touch. “Now let's go fix you up quickly. Ty vyglyadish neakkuratno.” 

Her nose scrunches up as she takes in my general appearance. She clicks her tongue to show her disapproval, once more shooting glares at the men. 

Together we both climb up the remaining stairs until we come to a hallway with doors flanking both sides. 

I'm led to a room with minimal pieces of furniture and decorations. The walls are white and bare, save for a picture frame of a stormy night. There's only a giant bed with white linens and a window that I can fit into if I try to run. 

A plan begins to formulate in my head. These people have no idea what's coming for them. 

“Take the dirty clothes off, duska. I'll get you fresh ones.” After this, she remains put. 

My fingers pause in the waist of my trousers, waiting for her to leave. “I need some privacy at least.”

“No, no, no.” She clicks her tongue again. “No privacy. You don't have so much time.”

With great reluctance, I undress taking great care to hide the tattoo on the lower part of my back. It was done in memory of my sister and is my prized possession. 

I enter into the elaborate bathroom and slowly lower myself into the massive tub, bubbling with scented lather. 

The water bites into my skin but I soon become accustomed to the sting. I sigh deeply in relief and when I open my eyes, the woman is smiling at me. 

The first ever friendly face at least. Perhaps she'd understand if I told her I needed to leave and my family needed me. She would.

“I'll wash your hair.” She gets behind me to begin. Her fingers on my scalp feel so therapeutic that for a while, I forget my worries and fears. 

Just like that, time ticks by and the bath is over. I secure the rope of the bathrobe she handed to me around my waist, tying it twice for good measure. 

Unaware, the woman doesn't notice my hand filling with soapy water until it's thrown in her face. She cries out, stumbling backward and onto the floor.

Seizing the distraction, I sprint to the window, swiftly opening it and hoisting myself up. Just as freedom looms closer, a firm grip encircles my waist.

I buck against their grip, enraged and with intent to shake them off. 

“Let me fucking go!” I yell in anger.

Adrenaline takes over and I thrash about fiercely, clinging to the window with all my might. I kick downwards on the person's foot but they maintain a vice-like grip. 

My body grows hot from overexerting myself.

The unyielding grip tightens around me rendering my efforts to become as ineffective as pouring water into a bottomless container.

“You're going nowhere if it's not hell.” A deep voice belts out behind me.

My eyes widen and my body automatically goes limp in shock. I'm tossed to the bed so violently that I almost bash my head against the headboards. 

My vision clears to reveal a searing gaze from a pair of mismatched blue-brown eyes blazing with fury. My heart skips a beat as I stare up at the enraged face above me.

Oh God, I'm fucked.