Page 17 of Bound Wings
"You see?" she says, like she already knows exactly what happened downstairs.
I give in. "Why? What did I do to make them hate me?"
"Hate you?" She laughs. "Dear, they are deathly afraid of you. Pakhan told them he will remove the limbs of anyone who makes you even a little upset. One finger at a time, he said."
I frown at the floor. That does sound exactly like him. I refuse—absolutely refuse—to examine the relief currently flooding my system.
Because I don't want this life.
I don't want them.
I don't—
"Thank you," I tell her, waiting for a name I haven't gotten yet.
"Ada," she says.
"Ada. It was really nice meeting you. I'm sure I'll see you around more."
What did I just say? No. I will not be seeing her more. I'm leaving. I'm running as far as I can from every last bit of this insanity.
Right?
"I hope so," she says warmly. "We are all very fond of you already."
Heat crawls up my neck. They're fond of me. My feet practically skip the rest of the way to the apartment.
Chapter Ten
Nora
Ispend the day in Slava's massive apartment, taking full advantage of the luxury.
The absurdly expensive coffee machine, already stocked with the exact espresso pods I like. The Jacuzzi tub, with bath bombs sitting beside it that are definitely not a coincidence. Sushi in the fridge, fresh. When I find a Kindle loaded with what has to be the trashiest romance novels known to man, I put it together—this isn't his. He put all of it here for me.
Strange thing to do for a captive, honestly. But even though he dragged me here unwilling and bound at the wrists, he genuinely doesn't think of me as a captive at all. He thinks I want to be standing beside him.
I shake my head. I'm not built for any of this. I'm not made for it.
My sister calls while I'm upside down on the bed, head hanging off the edge, legs propped against the headboard.
Unlike most captives, apparently, I still have my phone. Which he bought me personally when I asked for it. Because what am I actually going to do with it—call the police? The same police who take money from these syndicates under the table? I'm not dragging anyone else into this mess.
"Hellooo," I sing-song into the phone, keeping my voice light so she doesn't catch on to anything and drag her chaotic self into this unhinged situation I've landed myself in.
"How's Long Island? Please tell me you're actually relaxing for once."
"It's great. Soaking up the sun as we speak." Lie number one hundred and twelve.
I genuinely couldn't come up with a better excuse for vanishing than a spontaneous beach trip with friends she's never met and will hopefully never ask to meet.
"Good. Grab me some sand from the beach while you're there? There's a spell I want to try."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Yeah. Sure. Of course."
How exactly am I supposed to get her sand when I am nowhere within a hundred miles of an actual beach? Do they sell beach sand on Craigslist? Is that a thing?
"What's the spell for?" I ask, only half paying attention, popping open Slava's laptop and typing "buy Long Island beach sand" into the search bar.
