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“If you want to stay here and wait for Sasha to kill you…” Yuri gestured around with his bandaged hand, the one Sasha put a bullet through. “Or you can run.” Once my options were laid out there, he pivoted on his heel and started for the stairs.
“Wait! Why would you help me?” Shut the fuck up, Roan! For once in your life don’t ask fucking questions!
Yuri paused, throwing me a condescending sneer, and continued on his way. The top stair had a distinctive squeak whenever someone stepped on it. Yuri hit that step, but the basement door didn’t swing shut. Even if he managed to close it without making a sound, I didn’t hear the lock turn either. He really gave me bolt cutters and left the fucking door open.
There was a strong possibility I’d be shot the minute I stepped outside the basement door, but it was a chance I had to take.
Grabbing the bolt cutters as quickly as I could, I snipped the padlock on the cuff and yanked it out. My hands were shaking as I unbuckled the leather from my ankle and tore it free.
Darting up the stairs, I paused near the top. The basement opened up to some sort of a landing with stairs to the left and an exterior door right in front of me.
I plowed through the door to the outside world and heaved my first breath of free air, sprinting like a madman down the sidewalk.
No one chased me.
No one shot at me.
Nothing.
I was free, and I fucking ran.
A few blocks away, I collapsed against a tree and clung to its rough bark like a buoy in the ocean. Now there was enough distance between me and the house, I needed to figure out where the hell I was. It was a neighborhood, that much was clear. But I had no idea what town. All of the cars parked on the street had Illinois license plates, so I guess that was a good sign.
Could I trust people in this neighborhood? Not gonna chance it.
It was nighttime, but I had no clue what time it was or which direction I should even try to run. The longer I stood around debating, the better chance they had of finding me.
Darting down the driveway of a dark house, I cut through the backyards, ducking every time a car drove by or I heard voices.
It was slow-going, but eventually I made it to a more populated area. There was a crappy little bar on the corner of the intersection, neon signs flashing that they were open. But that wasn’t what made me nearly sob in relief. It was the payphone outside.
Jogging across the street, I snatched the handset out of the cradle and nearly had another breakdown when I heard an actual dial tone. Punching in 911, I pressed my back to the building and glanced up and down the street, waiting for one furious Russian to appear and drag me back to the basement. Or put a bullet in my head.
“911, where is your emergency?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know where I am. I’m outside of a bar called Stan’s.”
“Ok, what’s going on there?”
“I was kidnapped and I just escaped.” Did I really just say that? I mean, I knew I had been, but saying it out loud was so bizarre. It still felt like I was in a fucked up dream.
There was a pause, with furious typing on the other end of the line. “Are you injured?”
“No. Not really. No.”
“Ok. Stay right there. I have help coming to you, ok? Just keep talking to me.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, all I could do was nod like an idiot, knowing she couldn’t see me. The stress of everything flooded through me all over again, strangling my vocal cords. Breathing came in short, labored bursts, while I tried to get my lungs to cooperate.
I was relieved.
I was nauseated.
And I could finally admit how fucking scared I was. At this point, I didn’t know if I’d ever stop being scared.
26
Sasha
