Trey - Shandi Boyes Page 0,13

if you touch me.” Her threat is stern and to the point, fortified by a strong backbone. “When Nikolai discovers what you have done, he will kill you both.”

I peer back out of the keyhole when the shuffling of feet sounds through my ears. It has me missing what a dark-haired, blue-eyed man replies, but no amount of thickness can detract from the roar of war that thunders down the corridor a few seconds later.

“He’s here! Nikolai is here!” bellows up the stairwell a mere second before gunfire gobbles up the man’s shouted warning.

The corridor fills with men as the redhead strays her eyes to Vladimir. “I told you he’d come. It’s time to pay your penance, Vladimir. The prince has arrived to collect his throne.”

The back of Vladimir’s hand collides with her cheek so forcefully, even my teeth feel the brunt of his hit. “The sale has been canceled. I'll refund your money by the end of the week.”

I bang on the door, wordlessly pleading for Vladimir to leave the redhead alone when he drags her down the corridor by her hair.

He doesn’t pay me any attention. He’s too busy repeating to the man not happy his sale has been canceled that it’s his way or death.

There are no in-betweens when it comes to this man.

When Vladimir and the redhead disappear into the room I was just punished in, I press my back against my door so I can cradle my head in my hands. The sound of a chain being run through the pulley is too much for me to bear. It reminds me that the pain skating across my back isn’t the pleasurable version some women love. It’s because I was humiliated in the very room Vladimir plans to kill the redhead in.

I saw the gleam in his eyes. He only ever gets that look when death is on the agenda.

With my head occupied by horrible thoughts, the time between Vladimir dragging the redhead to her death and a funky wet substance seeping under my door darts by remarkably quick. When I dab up droplets of the liquid onto my fingers, I’m torn between being excited and uneased. The sickly smelling liquid is gasoline, and there are more than a few droplets.

When I return to staring out of the peephole, my heart launches into my throat. Four men are splashing gasoline on the doors lining the corridor while another two soak Vladimir’s room from top to bottom, dosing it with way more gasoline than needed.

Vladimir is a madman, but not even someone as evil as him would burn down an entity bringing him in thousands upon thousands of dollars every night. That’s why my emotions don’t know which way to swing. If they’re planning to burn this place down, that can only mean one thing.

Vladimir is dead.

That should be a good thing, but the fact gasoline is being tossed around while padlocks remain on doors reveals it isn’t.

Vladimir’s captives are being sent to hell right along with him.

We’ll be tortured even more than we already have been.

That isn’t acceptable.

That’s not right.

We’re not animals, so why are we being treated as if we are?

“No!” I shout in Czech, annoyed that Vladimir’s victims will be forced to hell with the men who brutalized them. “You promised you’d come back! You said help was coming.” As tears threaten to slide down my cheeks, I bang my fists on the thick wooden door. “You lied. You lied to all of us.”

I don’t know why the redhead’s deceit is hurting me as much as it is. She was a stranger, so I should have treated her promise as if it were a grain of salt, but for some stupid reason, I trusted her.

How foolish was I?

I continue shouting until the potent smell of gasoline becomes too much for me to bear.

It’s time for me to give in.

To give up.

I’m not strong enough to keep fighting.

“I tried,” I whisper after raising my eyes to the ceiling. “I gave it my all. I’m sorry I failed you again. Please don’t be mad at them. I did the best I could. It just wasn’t enough.” It’s never enough.

As madness steamrolls into me, the deafening thud of people running booms into my ears. Although I’m broken and confused, I peer out of the keyhole again, gasping when I spot the female I saw earlier outside my door.

Is she keeping her promise?

Did she remember us?

Did she remember me?

“Move away from the door,” she requests in Czech, peering