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VIKTOR
Across the room, Viktor rolled behind his desk, opening a drawer and grabbing the gun he kept there. He leapt to his feet, gun aimed steadily at Agata. The polished surface of the weapon gleamed under the sparse light, but his hesitation was palpable. He couldn't get a clear shot without risking Emerson's life.
"Don't move!" Viktor barked, his voice a mixture of command and cold calculation. His knuckles whitened around the gun's grip, but he remained rooted to the spot.
Agata's breathing was heavy, her eyes darting between Viktor and the exit. She tightened her hold on Emerson, using her as a human shield. "You think I won’t do it, Viktor? Put down the gun!"
“Shoot the bitch,” snarled Emerson, not nearly as frightened as most people would have been. She was truly magnificent.
Viktor's jaw clenched. He didn’t lower his weapon, but the indecision in his eyes must have betrayed him. "Agata, you don't have to do this," he said calmly, taking a cautious step forward without lowering his gun.
Agata pulled Emerson closer, the blade nicking her skin and drawing a thin line of blood.
Emerson flinched as her eyes locked with his. “Take the fucking shot, Viktor.”
"One more step, and she dies," Agata hissed, dragging Emerson toward the elevator door.
Viktor’s mind raced, searching for a way out of this standoff. But with every second, Agata moved closer to escape, endangering Emerson’s life further. Why hadn’t he been able to spot the differences between the two women on the recording? Why had he not known in the depths of his soul that the woman who was his equal in every way would never steal from him? She had trusted him to help her and her sisters, and yet he had been unable to do the same.
He might have fucked up, but he intended to spend the rest of his life making it up to her. He would show her he was worthy of her submission. Agata's eyes were wild, the desperation in them matching the erratic beat of Viktor’s heart.
"Stop!" Viktor shouted, his voice cracking with the weight of the situation.
But it was too late. Agata, still holding Emerson tight, backed into the elevator and pushed the button, closing the door as Viktor tried to reach them. The door slid silently into place, shutting in front of him as he grabbed at it and tried to force it open.
Viktor stood there, gun still ineffectively in his hand, his heart pounding. He had failed. Agata had escaped, taking Emerson with her, leaving behind a room filled with nothing but the remnants of a haunting sense of dread.
EMERSON
Agata dragged Emerson into the dimly lit private parking area, the blade still pressed against her throat. Emerson's feet stumbled over the uneven pavement, her pulse a wild drumbeat in her ears. The damp, clammy air seemed thick and cloying, but she barely noticed it through the haze of fear.
Fishing a set of keys out of her pocket, Agata’s eyes darted around the darkened area, never leaving their surroundings. She pressed a button on the key fob, and the back of an SUV unlocked with a quiet beep, its hydraulic lift raising the tailgate. With a swift, brutal motion, Agata slammed the hilt of the knife into Emerson’s temple sending Emerson to her knees, her vision exploding into a sea of stars before fading into blackness.
As quickly as the lights had gone out, they came back, but slowly. Emerson groaned as she clawed her way out of unconsciousness, her head throbbing with a dull, relentless ache. She opened her eyes to a shadowy room, the air thick with the stench of dead fish and stale sweat. The scent was nauseating, making her stomach churn.
She tried to move, but her hands were tied tightly to a rusty radiator. Panic surged through her as the memory of what had happened came to her. She tugged at the bindings, the rough rope biting into her wrists. She thought of the times Viktor had bound her and quickly decided she preferred those bindings and scenarios to this one. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing the peeling paint on the walls and the grimy floor beneath her.
"You awake, slut?" Agata's voice ground through the silence, filled with venom. She stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the meager light coming from some hallway. "Good. We have a lot to talk about, you and I."
The woman’s voice sounded more rational than it had been. Emerson's throat was dry, her voice barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"
Agata laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Why? Because you got in the way." She stepped closer, her face twisted with fury. "You think you can just waltz in and ruin everything I've worked for? You're nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!"
Emerson flinched as Agata's words hit her like physical blows. "Agata, this won’t work. You have to know Viktor will never let you get away with this.”
Agata ceased her restless pacing for a moment. “Maybe, then again, maybe not. He was quick to believe you had stolen the egg."
“That’s true,” Emerson said in a reasonable tone. “I punched him in the nuts for that. Things are through between us.”
“You lie. I saw his face when you returned. He hasn’t given up on you. He still wants to fuck you,” Agata snarled. “You indulge him in his sick and twisted games.” She backhanded Emerson across the face, the force of the blow snapping Emerson’s head to the side. "You're not going anywhere. Not until I'm done with you. When I am finished, he won’t want you anymore."
Emerson's cheek burned with pain, tears blurring her vision. She could taste blood in her mouth, the metallic tang mixing with the foul air. She looked up at Agata, seeing the hatred burning in her eyes. "What do you want from me?" she whispered.
Agata leaned in close, her fetid breath hot against Emerson's face. "You like pain; I will give you that. Viktor will see he is not the only one who can torture women." She straightened up, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "By the time I'm done, you will be screaming, but not from pleasure. You'll wish you were dead."
Emerson's heart sank, despair washing over her. She was trapped, helpless, and at the mercy of a woman who seemed to have gone mad. Agata turned away, prepared to leave Emerson alone in the dingy room; she could only pray for a miracle to save her from the nightmare she found herself in.
A large man entered the room, his silhouette dwarfing the doorway. He spoke quietly to Agata. They seemed to be speaking Russian, but so quietly Emerson couldn’t really make out all they were saying. She knew a smattering of Russian, but just a very little bit. Agata made several gestures in Emerson’s direction, but the man seemed to be trying to calm her.
