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For the next hour, I waited to feel the whispery brush of spider legs on me. All of my paranoia was for naught. The spider never reappeared, as far as I could tell.
I listened to the cleaning lady in the room next door, having a one-sided conversation in Spanish for an indeterminable amount of time. My attempt to get her attention was fruitless. No matter how hard I threw myself against the headboard, which in turn slammed into the wall, she didn’t come investigate.
By the end of the day, I was fucking exhausted. My shoulders were on fire and my wrists were scraped to hell. Plus I had a hair orsomethingon my nose I couldn’t get to no matter how hard I tried. It was like the time my leg was in a cast and I could only relieve the itch by shoving a wire hanger down the inside, except there were no hangers in sight.
What if he left me here? Sasha’d never been gone this long. Even in the dog cage, I felt like I saw him every couple of hours. How long had it been? All day? It seemed like all day.
I imagined the headline when someone finally found my corpse, shriveled and handcuffed to a bed. BANKER’S WORTHLESS SON, KIDNAPPED AND LEFT FOR DEAD — EVEN THE KIDNAPPERS DIDN’T WANT HIM.
The funeral would be great. Mom would make sure of that. My disgusting remains would be laid to rest in the most expensive casket available, topped with an obnoxiously large headstone. I doubted Dad would even be there, unless Joyce managed to pencil it in his fucking schedule and disguise it as a business meeting.
Frankie was probably the only one actually missing me. Couldshepay the ransom? I’d reimburse her, for sure, but it was better than waiting on a handout from my dad. If Sasha ever came back or let me talk for more than a second, I’d try and find out.
It was the little balloon of hope I clung to until the door opened at long last.
Sasha’s hands were full with a bag of food and more water. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but I knew he was looking at me. It was the same feeling I had before I was kidnapped, a gut feeling I’d stupidly chosen to ignore because “it can’t happen to me.” How naive. Anything can happen to anybody at anytime. Case in point.
Setting the stuff down on the table, he walked over to the bed and slipped his sunglasses off. “No talking, or no food.”
I lowered my gaze, which he must have taken as a “Yes” because he unlocked both handcuffs. Rubbing one wrist after the other, I peeled the tape off as soon as I had feeling in my hands again.
Sasha, in the meantime, dragged the table closer to the door and planted himself in a chair right in front of it.
Since I wasn’t allowed to speak, I didn’t ask permission to go to the bathroom. Not that there was anywhere elsetogo. He didn’t say anything when I closed the door, nor when I opened it again.
But now I was faced with a new decision. There were only two choices for seating options: the bed, which I didn’t want any part of after laying there all damn day; and the chair, at the table. With him. I suppose there was always the floor, but ew. No way in hell.
There was a bag of food and a water bottle at the opposite end of the table, so I assumed that’s where I was more or less being told to sit.
Easing into the chair, I avoided eye contact while unpacking the bag. It was a sub, which was fine, along with a bag of chips and a snickerdoodle cookie. I would have eaten pretty much anything he brought, but the cookie made me pause. Did he know, or was it a coincidence he happened to pick my favorite type of cookie? He didn’t have one. He didn’t have dessert of any kind. Was this an olive branch? Why would you give your hostage an olive branch? God, he was so confusing.
I was nearly through with my sandwich when Sasha scared the shit out of me by speaking.
“Are you still hungry?”
My gaze snapped upward. No surprise, he was watching me, but it was with a mildly curious expression instead of one that looked like he was seconds away from ripping my head off.
I shook my head.
He nodded once and stood, clearing away his trash. I did the same, even though I could have finished the last two bites. The snickerdoodle, however, remained on the table.
His cell phone rang and he answered in Russian. Shooting a look at me, his spine straightened. Snarling his response, he yanked the door open and stepped out, actually leaving me alone and unrestrained.
Now was my chance.
I darted to the nightstand and picked up the phone, frantically dialing 911.
Nothing.
No dial tone. No ringing. Just, nothing.
Slamming the handset down, I grabbed the cord in the back and slid my hand along it until something sharp poked my finger. Wires. Someone cut the fucking phone line, and I’m pretty sure I knew who that someone was.
Hurrying to the window, I pushed the curtain aside a fraction of an inch. It didn’t take long to spot Sasha on the balcony, still on the phone.
Could I sneak past him? No. Hell no. He’d fucking beat me just for opening the door. I’d been in a couple of fights over the years, but there was no way I could go toe-to-toe with him.
I could ambush him. When the door opened, I could hit him with something. Like the fucking phone he sabotaged. Or a chair. Except, I’d have to hit him hard enough to knock him out, otherwise he’d probably kill me, even if he was waiting for his ransom.
