I see that there is yet another fence surrounding it. The lawn is manicured, and it doesn’t seem like even a single blade is out of place. The gate in front of us is manned by four men, and I shiver, wondering where the hell it is they’ve brought me. Prison, but nicer?
It looks nice but kind of deadly too. We drive through the gate that leads to the mansion and down the road until we make it to a plain-looking building. I’m shaking, and there is a sheen of sweat on my forehead. Ivan shifts the car into park and kills the engine.
Ivan steps out of the car, and both men open their doors. One of the men wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me out of the SUV. Shocked, I let out a gasp and tug my arm from his hand. I’m so tired of people grabbing me. Tired of being tossed around like a ragdoll.
“Don’t touch the girl,” Ivan orders, with a look so deadly, it makes my heart quake in my chest.
“It’s not like I hurt her.” The unknown guy shrugs his shoulders.
Ivan ignores him completely and starts walking away. My feet scrape against the concrete as I scurry behind him. I don’t want to be stuck out here with these guys by myself.
“I’m glad you decided not to run,” Ivan says and I almost roll my eyes. Where am I going to run to? He walks me to the large metal door. It looks like it weighs a ton, but of course, a man of his size opens it like it’s a soda can. With the door open, he motions for me to go inside.
I’m not sure if I’m walking myself to my own execution or to a chat with an old friend. Either way, I’m not letting him see how scared I am. Forcing my arms to casually hang by my side, instead of wrapping them around my torso like I want to, like I need to, I walk into the building.
“That way,” Ivan says and points down the hallway. The walls are bare, and everything from floor to ceiling is a light gray color. My shoes squeak against the floor as we walk. He leads me to a room that doesn’t look any different than the hall, except that it holds a table and a few chairs in the center.
“Where are we?” I ask as I step into the room, gazing over my shoulder hesitantly.
“Sit,” he orders, ignoring my question. “I have my guys checking on the story you told me right now, but in the meantime, I’d like to hear the whole thing again from you, and I’d like to ask you some questions. For instance, why were you at Christian’s compound, and how long were you there?”
Sighing, I slump into the chair. I guess I’m being interrogated now.
For the next hour or so, I tell Ivan my story. I repeat the same thing three times. I tell him how they kidnapped me from the hospital. How they kept me in that cell. I tell him everything I can remember about my stay there. Every conversation I overheard. I describe every person I saw and anything else I can possibly remember, none of which gives a single clue as to why they were keeping me there in the first place.
By the time I’m nearly finished telling him the same story for the third time, my interrogation is interrupted by Ivan’s phone ringing. He pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen before looking at me and back down again.
Ivan answers the phone with a grunt, then raises his eyebrows curiously when the person on the other side says something. I can hear a male voice coming through the receiver, but I can’t make out what he is saying. I feel like a small child right now. My butt is sore, and my back is stiff from sitting on this plastic chair for so long. I’m exhausted, physically, and mentally, and all I want to do is to lie down somewhere and go to sleep.
“Got it, boss,” he finally says and ends the call. “Well, this is going to be either really bad or really good for you.”
Fear replaces the pain in my butt cheeks. “Huh? What does that mean?”
“The boss himself is going to come here and talk to you,” Ivan explains.
Puzzled, I stare at him. “I thought you were the boss?”