Page 50 of Silken Chains
The room falls into a heavy silence.
Hit her, Laura, then run fast.
Yet, I stand frozen, mesmerized by the intimidating woman before me.
“Look, I’m up to my neck in trouble,” I spit out, the words tumbling in a rush. “I’ve got a bookstore that’s nothing but ashes now and no insurance to cover anything. I can’t be caught up in whatever madness this is.”
A smile plays on Ksenia’s lips, but her eyes remain as cold as steel.
Note to self: sob stories don’t work on stone-cold kidnappers. My life drama is just white noise to her.
“Come in,” she commands, gesturing to someone outside the door.
The door opens, and two men step in—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in impeccably tailored black suits. They look like they’ve walked straight out of a mobster movie.
“Wait, what’s happening?” I stammer, my eyes darting between Ksenia and the men.
Ksenia doesn’t answer. Instead, she watches, almost detached, as the men approach me.
“Hey, wait a minute!” I blurt out as they close in. “You’re making a mistake!” I attempt a quick escape, but they catch me easily, their hands clamping down on my arms like vises. “Let go, you jerks!” I squirm and twist, trying to break free, but they’re like human walls, immovable and unyielding.
“You’ve got the wrong person!” I protest. I try to twist away, but it’s like fighting against a wall.
“Wait just a second! You can’t do this, you… you gloriously terrifying goddess of doom! I know who you are now, Ksenia! And let me tell you, there’s a special place in hell for stunningly beautiful kidnappers! This is some serious law-breaking stuff, and trust me, it won’t end well for you. My army of angry friends, not to mention the police, are probably storming the gates as we speak!” I try to catch Ksenia’s attention, but her expression remains unreadable, her eyes cold and calculating.
The men yank me out of the room, and I sneak a last glance at Ksenia. She’s just sighing and shaking her head like she’s disappointed or something.
What was that?
As soon as we leave Eli’s room, the house unfolds before me. It’s like a scene from a gothic movie—luxurious, opulent, and eerily silent.
My mind races, fear mingling with a sense of awe. “Where are you taking me?” I ask, my voice trembling. One of the men just gives me a brief, emotionless glance, his grip unyielding like iron shackles.
Oh, Jesus.
Hollyfuckingshit.
My feet drag against the plush carpet as they lead me down the ostentatious corridor. The lavish decor does little to distract me from the dread building in my stomach.
I throw out another feeble threat, my voice weaker now. “You can’t do this. People will be looking for me!”
They don’t say a word, just carry me down the stairs like I’m some kind of mannequin.
By now, my steps become more resigned. The cold marble beneath my feet is a stark contrast to the warmth of Eli’s room; the statues and paintings that adorn the hallways seem to watch me with silent judgment.
Reaching the bottom, I catch sight of a heavy, ornate door. It looks more like the entrance to a fortress than a room.
“Let go… of… me!” I shout, but the sound fades, useless. They’re immovable, holding me firm as we near the door. I’ve stopped struggling now, the futility of my efforts sinking in. My body feels heavy, every step dragging more than the last.
One of the men knocks on the door, his voice gruff but respectful. “Boss, she’s here.”
As the door swings open, one of the men shoves me forward so abruptly I almost face-plant into the plush rug. “Hey!” I protest, my indignation flaring up. “Ever heard of manners, you Neanderthal?”
“He’s waiting for you,” grunts one of the suits as they lock me in.
The door shuts with a definitive click.
Fuck!
