Chapter 2 Laura

We were most afraid of this night, the night of the Pakhan auction, because it meant we would be put up for auction and sold into slavery.

All ten of us sat in our various states of mind. The Pakhan made sure we looked attractive by forcing us to wear heels, balconette bras, and G-strings, and even oiled our skins to make us glow. In a few minutes, we would be heading backstage, leaving this large room behind for good. Yes, for good. Whoever wound up rejected at the auction would be as good as dead, so we prayed we got bought.

We were like lost pets, itching to be sold to our new masters, even though we knew we would either get lucky or wind up in the wrong hands. As captives of the Pakhan, we were robbed of our freedom, surrounded by hostile individuals who mistreated us, and eventually killed us for small transgressions. We craved freedom, much like humans do for water.

Three years ago, I woke up at a hospital and met a couple who claimed they were my parents. I had trouble believing them, probably because my skin seemed distinguishable from theirs.

They sheltered and provided for me, both medically, but they never addressed me by name. They neglected me, and most times they were hostile towards me.

The last time I remembered I ever felt happy in my life was the first time they showed me kindness. That was the day they'd promised to enroll me in school. A naive me was excited about going outside, making friends with other kids like I saw on TV, play.

Did I ask what a school was? No. Because they made me believe it was the best place for kids like myself.

They bought me a uniform and made me feel loved. I was excited, so excited.

I knew something wasn't right about the couple whose names were unknown to me. I should've escaped, but I couldn't. Not that I didn't want to, but because I was sick, and needed a wheelchair to move around then. Also, because I wanted to go to school.

My fake father drove to a suspicious factory building instead of a place surrounded by kids. And that was where my happiness died, that was where I saw him... the Pakhan of Bratva, Mikhailov. And... that was when I realized I'd been sold to him. I realized that I wasn't going to school, but I was going somewhere a child shouldn't be.

I was scared. I'd fallen off the wheelchair, grabbed my father's foot, and cried to him, pleading with him to take me back. But then he grabbed my face and said to me,

"I'm not your family. I don't know who you are, I don't even know your name. I found you on the verge of death and took you to the hospital. Not because I cared, but because I planned to sell you off someday."

My days of crying ended with so much pain and slave training in the Pakhan's captivity. Now I could walk again, I'd do what I'd always wanted to do since I was brought here. Escape. Tonight was my chance. All I needed was freedom to be me, freedom to be called a name for once.

Questions had gnawed at me since then.

How come I didn't have any memories to rely on? Who was I, even? Had my real family lost hope in searching for me? Having no iota of memory, I created pictures of family and friends in my head and gave them identities just to make myself feel human, feel like I belonged somewhere.

The door flung open and five rogues moseyed in with AKs in their hands. Frightened, we jolted to our feet and fell in lines opposite of each other, our heads to the ground. One rogue strolled past us, combing his eyes through us.

He halted a few steps from me. "Ладно, суки. Time to go."

"Sir." I ensured to keep a civil tone.

"What?"

"I... need to use the restroom, пожалуйста."

He hesitated for a while, his gaze burning through my skin. With his hand, he signaled for one of the men to take me to the restroom. "Вернись через пять."

With a hostage bag over my head, disabling my vision, the man walked me through a distance not too far from the room. Soon after the door handle clicked, he pulled the bag off my head and I came eye-to-eye with a cramped and feculent restroom. My stomach twisted at the filth. I swallowed down the sudden burst of nausea, trying to avoid slapping a hand over my nose.

The man stood there, his eyes urging me to hasten up. Ordinarily, we slaves didn't have any shame here. The Pakhan's workers knew what we had behind our clothes.

"My poop smells bad." I pulled a disgusted face, waving my hand over my nose to make him grasp what I meant, seeing as he didn't understand English.

He closed the door after glaring daggers at me.

A sudden rush of adrenaline surged through me, my whole body kicked into action. Nervous and wobbly, I climbed onto the tank cover. I fiddled with the window, trying to figure out how to open it.

The window suddenly made a high-pitched squeaking sound as it slid ajar. I gasped, tensing up.

Quickly pulling myself together, I pushed the window entirely open, careful to avoid more squeaks. I hadn't realized I held my breath until the window was open.

Sighing inaudibly, I looked out the window, examining the surroundings. There stood an exquisite backyard. A few men were on guard, but I doubted my movement could cause a lot of distraction.

I gasped, my heart tumbling down my toes the second the door behind me was kicked open. The furious man burst in, barking in Russian, pointing his rifle at me.

Hyperventilating, I hastily climbed down and threw my hands above my head, shivering, my eyes bulging like they'd fall off their sockets. "I'm sorry, sir. Mне жаль."

He reached for his phone and I quickly worked out he intended to report my action. I let reflexes guide, not realizing when I kicked him in the balls.

The phone slipped off his grip and he bent over with his hands cupping his balls as he yelled away his pain. I grabbed his AK and rammed it against his nape, just like they did to girls who disobeyed. He fell face-first, instantly passing out.

I stiffened, staring fearfully at the unconscious mass on the filthy floor. Was he dead? Having remembered my plan, I hurled the heavy rifle aside, kicked off my heels, and jumped out the window, landing lightly on the brick floor.

As I stood up to run ahead, I groaned and came to a halt as pain ripped through my legs. It wasn't a remarkable height, the pain allayed the further I trotted, sneaking and scurrying from place to place.

I often watched the guardsmen as I raced to the garden, which was dimly lit and bathed in moonlight, hoping its darkness covered me. There was a white picket fence far away, beckoning to me. It gave me the courage to keep moving, even though I was not sure if that was the exit. I streaked through the grove of trees, observing the guards.

One of the guards smoking near the pool cast an absent-minded glance in my direction. Frightened, I hid behind a tree, my heart racing. I dared to shoot him a glance after what seemed like forever. His back was to me as he spoke on the phone. Seizing the opportunity, I spun around and dashed to a different tree.

My body crashed into a rock-hard frame, sending my ass smashing into the grass. I let out a terrified cry. I was so terrified that I swung my head in the direction of the poolside guard. He seemed to have missed my scream.

Panting in terror, I looked at the 6'4" muscular figure towering over my 5'6". Flight and steady reflexes consumed me. I could not decide whether to flee or stay. The man who caught me didn't resemble a guard at all, but his intimidating appearance frightened me more than the guards themselves.

His elegant suit, pricey watch, and golden brown hair, neatly brushed back from his chiseled face featuring a thick stubble, gave him a prominent appearance. Additionally, he didn't look Russian. He emanated a sinister aura. One that was dark enough to evoke fear in people, one that exuded authority and respect even in the absence of words or deeds, and one that could make you flee at the glimpse of him. This man symbolized the existence of danger.

Why was he looking at me with such rage in his eyes? Who was he? My flight reflex took over and I picked myself up off the ground to run past him, but before I knew it, he'd closed in and grabbed my arm. Within seconds of letting out an ear-splitting scream, I found myself pinned to a tree. I realized at that very moment that my scream had alerted the guards.

"It is you."

I panicked and struggled to flee, but he grabbed my arm and propelled me toward the tree, holding my neck gently with one hand while shackling my waist with the other.

"Let me go, please. I'll go back to the other girls, I swear," my voice was panicky, couldn't repress my tears. I wished I could turn back time and reconsider my decision.

He leaned closer to my face, so close we were sharing the air from each other's breath. The hand on my neck inched up as he skimmed the soft pad of his thumb through my lower lip, effectively moving it to the side.

"It is you."

Why did he keep saying that?

"Are you going to report me?" I inquired, my voice stained with tears.

He didn't seem like he would. To my terror, his eyes glistened with a pure tendency to ruin the girl in his hold.

Without a single attempt to answer my question, he leaned into my neck, nuzzling the delicate arch of my neck. His ministration elicited a sharp intake of breath from me. I even shuddered. The sensation was one of a kind. It coursed through me like heated shivers, hitting the delicate area between my legs and causing it to clench.

"Found you," he whispered in the shell of my ear, and his fingers closed around my neck.

"Is this how far you can run, Little Cruella?" he said, his once-impassive bright gray eyes suddenly burning red with a fierce fury.

The gun trigger clicked next to us. Slowly, as if he was distracted from something he was entitled to, his hand slipped from my neck. I could breathe again now, but I was afraid that in a matter of minutes, with three of Mikhailov's guards, my breath would run out completely. I made a dash, but the stranger grabbed my arm and threw me into the arms of one of the men.

"не делай ей больно."

The men obeyed his command and matched me in the direction of the building. Who he was did not matter to me. I wished that our paths would never cross again. Did I?