GHOST (Boston Underworld Book 3) (4 page)

A
rman announces
that he will be away on business. It’s a rare break for me, and I should feel relief. But I never feel anything. My world has returned to normal. White noise. A dissociative static. Numbness blankets me, and I try to forget that I’ve only just started counting my pills again. There are too many days yet to replenish my stash.

I have this plan. It is the only thing I have. The only motivation that breathes life into me from one day to the next. I will be the one to set myself free. It will be my choice. Time does not matter. Time does not even exist in this place. Or in my heart. Only the light in the distance. The angels waiting for me on the other side.

I’ve built a wall of invisible armor around myself. And it works almost all of the time. There is no warmth, no fear, no pleasure. Not even in the smallest thing. But I do still experience sorrow on occasion, so deep and violent that it feels as if I am an endless chasm of despair. And anxiety. I experience that too from time to time. There is only one cure for someone like me. I accepted this truth long ago. But it’s a hard concept to explain to anyone else. Feeling numb, yet sad and anxious at the same time. They are three conflicting emotions, and by definition, I shouldn’t be able to feel them together. But I do.

I want there to be nothing at all. Ever again. No pain. No sadness.

Just nothing.

It is the only way. And I won’t let go of this notion. I won’t give up. It’s the only hope that lives in the barren landscape of my soul. The only true freedom I will ever have. The course has been set, and deviation is not an option for me.

This is the thought that carries me through. The only thing that carries me through.

***

There are seven days in Arman’s absence. I don’t leave my room, and the only time I see another soul is when Karolina comes to my door. She uses Arman’s leave as an opportunity to take out her hate on me. I rarely get to eat when he’s away, and she takes advantage of my already battered face by hitting me every time she pays a visit. Even if I wasn’t shackled to the wall, I doubt I could find the strength to fight back anymore. My body is thin and weak. I don’t need a mirror to know that.

It only grows weaker with every passing day. I welcome that weakness. And her fists too. There is always a chance she will go too far.

But it never happens.

On day four, I hear her arguing with someone outside my door. It’s in Russian, so I can’t understand the words, but it’s the voice that’s familiar. The voice that belongs to the man I now know to be Alexei Nikolaev. The door cracks open, and I can only recognize the distorted shape of his figure from beneath my swollen eyes. His footsteps are soft as they approach, but the words out of his mouth are harsh.

I don’t know what he says to Karolina. But she doesn’t reply.

He kneels before me, his fingers gentle on my cheek again.

“Did she do this to you?” he asks.

I don’t know why, but I want to answer him. I hate him. But the kindness of his touch dissolves my armor, if only for a second. My lips open, but they are too cracked to speak. I haven’t had water all day. It takes me several tries to get the word out.

“Both.”

He nods. And then rises to his feet. There is a blurred flash as he moves towards Karolina and slams her into the wall with his hand around her throat. I can only listen to the harsh cadence of his words, not understanding them.

Karolina nods, the sound of her blubbering satisfying me in a way I have not felt before.

And then, he is gone.

For the next three days, Karolina delivers three meals a day and does not touch me again.

When Arman arrives home, his mood is fouler than usual, and I don’t even see it coming. He blasts into my room, spewing something about what I told Nikolaev, and how I will regret it. He beats me all over again and then chokes me until I pass out.

When I wake up, I’m a bloody fucking mess, and Karolina is hunched over me, cleaning me with a sponge, a smirk on her face.

“It is for your own good,” she says in her thick accent. “Soon you will get out of this place, make us both happy.”

I try to process her words, but my head is still spinning and nothing makes sense. My eyes are too heavy. And I can’t keep them open any longer.

When I do wake again, it’s with a stinging slap to my already sore face. I draw in a sharp breath, only to realize I’m now propped in an upright position against the wall. Arman is standing in front of me, with another man behind him. It takes me a second to recognize Alexei. His lips are pressed together, those steely blue eyes boring into me.

“Did you hear me,
pizda
?” Arman growls, raising his arm again.

Alexei clips out a quick string of words which causes Arman to halt, and I can tell it burns him. Arman does not take orders from anyone. And yet he is taking orders from this man. So perhaps it’s true what those slaves said. Perhaps he is ruthless. A man not to be crossed.

But what interest does he have in me? His eyes move over me in a calculating pattern, observing every bruise and scrape. Arman takes this as his cue to start poking at my body. He seems to be pointing out all the things that he considers my flaws, and he is none too gentle about it. But Alexei is not looking where Arman points. His eyes are on Arman, watching his face intently. The noxious thumping of my heart tells me this can’t be good.

Alexei steps forward, absently running a strand of my hair through his fingers. I flinch at the pain in my scalp, and he frowns.

“She is American, is she not?” he asks.

I glance up at him curiously. He already knows I’m American, since he spoke English to me last week. So why is he pretending he doesn’t?

Arman replies, but Alexei doesn’t seem to hear him. His gaze is still focused on me, and mine on him. It’s only after I break contact first that he turns back to Arman.

The room is silent for a few awkward moments before Alexei repeats his question.

“American?”

Arman appraises him and then nods. “Yes. An American gem. So you must be able to understand my hesitation in parting with her, even temporarily. She is worth a lot of money this one, and she is very valuable to me.”

“Valuable indeed,” Alexei replies. “Like the shipment I was expecting.”

Arman’s face sours at this, and for the first time since I’ve known him he actually looks speechless. And it’s then that I realize that if Arman is afraid of this guy, I probably should be too. Here they are, talking about pawning me off on this man who already fucked up all of my plans. And for what?

“You’ve put us out,” Alexei states. “You can either part with her as collateral, or I can inform Viktor that you have cut the deal altogether...”

Arman growls out his frustration and throws his hands into the air. “Trust me when I say I’m doing you a favor. This girl cannot be trained. She is worthless in that aspect. I have tried everything. I think the
shalava
actually likes the beatings I give her. But I have another slave, who…”

“No,” Alexei objects. “I am not interested in other slaves, Arman. The idea of collateral is to part with something of value. Any of your other slaves will not do. It has to be her or nothing.”

“Yes, yes.” Arman nods obediently. “I understand. We are all friends here… no need for threats. You can take the girl.”

The room is quiet while Alexei looks me over once more. Arman is still nervous, evident by the sweat on his forehead, and it makes me nervous too. But then I think of the possibilities outside of this room. This man does not know me. He may have found my pills, but he can’t predict all of the thoughts running through my mind. Leaving here means more options. More opportunities to find another means.

“I will take her,” Alexei breaks the silence. “Until you have fulfilled the order for the lost shipment, plus three additional…”

“Three additional shipments?” Arman’s eyes bulge. “But that could take…”

“The price of doing business,” Alexei responds. “You have inconvenienced me, and I am growing tired of you already. Do we have a deal or not?”

“Very well,” Arman says. “I can have her sent over this afternoon.”

“No.” Alexei shakes his head. “I will take her now.”

Arman sullenly undoes my shackles and attaches a leash to my collar. He jerks me to my feet and makes me walk outside without a shred of clothing on. He hands Alexei the leash, stroking my face one last time. I shudder, refusing to look at him.

The low sun stings my eyes, and they begin to water. It’s the first time I’ve been outside in over a year. It’s so overwhelming I have to fight the urge to cover my eyes. To hide in the darkness like the animal I am. Alexei ushers me to a car where another man is standing guard. He opens the door and I slide into the back seat, Alexei following suit. Once Arman is back in the house, he removes the leash from my collar. Then he frowns and shrugs out of his jacket, handing it to me.

I don’t understand the kind gesture at all, even if it is cold. I hesitate, but ultimately decide to take it, since I desperately need a safe cocoon. It’s warm and smells like him, but it does not bother me.

Alexei says something to the driver who eyes me in the rearview mirror before cranking up the heater and driving off. As we drive, I feel Alexei’s eyes on me but I am too transfixed by the scenery outside to pay attention to anything else. I don’t even know where I’m at. When Dmitri left me to my fate, I was drugged for many days, maybe even weeks. That time- everything except for the horrifying realization of his betrayal- is a blur.

It does not matter, I realize. Wherever I am makes no difference. My heart and body are sluggish, but I need to keep my mind sharp. To focus on any opportunity that presents itself before I descend into the next level of hell.

I scan my surroundings carefully. Outside the window, there is nothing but landscape. We are on a long, lonely stretch of highway. And Alexei is now focused on the scenery outside. So I peek over the collar of his jacket, appraising him. I hate him for taking away my pills. My freedom. But he has also been kind to me. I know better than anyone that kindness always comes at a cost. Kindness is merely an illusion. Like Dmitri.

This man is no different. He is graceful in his movements as he shifts in his seat and stares out the window. He is cool and collected, like he has a force field around him that nobody can penetrate. He is still as well dressed as I remember, and he is clean, which is more than I can say for Arman, who bathed only when it suited him. But I would rather deal with Arman over this man. At least Arman doesn’t hide his true nature beneath nice clothes and a fake exterior.

“My name is Alexei,” his voice fills the tiny space when he turns and catches me staring.

I don’t reply. But still, he persists.

“Now it is customary for you to tell me your name,” he states.

I don’t have a name. I am nothing. No one. If I ever was, I do not know her anymore. So I remain quiet. Safe in my fugue. He cannot take that from me. He will not.

He frowns, and silence returns to the car. With it, my anxiety. I cannot read him. He’s trying to get inside of my head. Trying to hurl every weapon at his disposal into my already tattered armor. When he is near, the feelings come back. The things I told myself I would never feel again.

I need to get away. I need to fly away. By any means possible.

The driver turns the car off the highway and onto a gravel road, slowing his speed. My sluggish heart is pumping too hard. Too loud. I glance back at Alexei, and all of the uncertainty I feel about him fuels my fear. I make a split second decision before I can give it any more thought.

I fling open my door and thrust my torso out of the car with every ounce of strength I can muster. But it isn’t enough. Something strong catches my leg and the vehicle screeches to a halt. The momentum sends the door crunching into my ribs, choking all the air from my lungs. I try to kick and scream, but my body is frozen in white hot pain.

I’m being pulled back into the car, my gaze colliding with the most volatile of blue. He is cursing in Russian, shaking me as he stares at me with wild eyes. When I don’t respond, he changes to English.

“What are you thinking?” He clutches me tighter beneath his grip. “You would rather kill yourself than come home with me? Do you really think I’m worse than Arman?”

The way he says it makes it sound personal, but I don’t know why. I don’t know what to say, so I just continue to stare at him in silence. There isn’t an explanation I could give that he would ever understand. There are no words to convey that the very life essence has been siphoned out of me and the wreckage in his arms is all that’s left.

I was supposed to die in that bathtub twelve years ago. And I did. Only my body came back to life. What remains now is merely an apparition.

“Answer me!” Alexei shakes me again, and I flop around in his arms like a limp noodle.

His eyes betray his disgust with me. His resentment. I have seen those same things many times in Arman and it did not bother me. But on this face and this man, they bother me.