by Nicole Marsh
Calling out a quick thank you to all of the guards for their help during the search, I turn and sprint through the Club, exiting through the back. Using my keys from Jenna, I rip open the door to her stairs, hustle up, and fly into the apartment like a deranged lunatic. I scan through the each of the rooms in the apartment calling out her name and hoping for an answer.
She’s not in her apartment.
There’s nowhere else that she would disappear to, especially not hours before her Club is set to open for the night. I’m confident she has been taken by the Bratva.
I call Chief to explain what happened while getting into my car. I don’t even know where to start. I’m just yelling words about places I’ve searched for Jenna and her missing shoe left behind in her office at the Club.
Chief interrupts me talking loudly over me, forcing me to stop spewing out words long enough to hear his information that’s actually helpful for finding Jenna. He says that the Station has received a few tips that indicate the Bratva Members in Chicago are holed up in an abandoned warehouse on the other side of town. Chief’s information and his tone are slowly lifting the anvil that’s been resting on my chest. He’s allowing me to feel like I can finally breathe again. There’s a chance that we can still find Jenna, alive.
Chief gives me the address to the warehouse, which I plug into the GPS on my phone. He forbids me from going into the warehouse alone. The tips for this location were in the process of being investigated, to find out if they were valid information, and what type of hideout the Bratva has been building in Chicago.
Chief tells me he’ll send Steele and Smith to meet me at the warehouse because they are finishing up a call not too far out. He tells me I absolutely must wait for them before heading in. We don’t know what type of situation the three of us will be walking into and its unsafe for one man to go in alone. He repeats it won’t help Jenna if I go in alone.
I decide that it’s safer to drive Jenna’s Escalade to the warehouse, instead of my unmarked police car. Before switching into her car, I remember to snag my backpack filled with some lightweight medical supplies, and grab my gun, holstering it to my belt. If any of the Bratva are watching the road, I don’t want to tip them off too early that the police are there, just by my vehicle. We need to find Jenna first and extract her.
I pull up to the abandoned lot across from the warehouse and studiously watch the road, waiting for my backup.
After a half hour of waiting, just as I’m contemplating going in on my own, Steele and Smith slide into a spot further down the lot in their unmarked sedan. We exit our cars as quietly as possible and I wait for them to approach me. Without exchanging words, we head across the street keeping an eye out for cars or people. There doesn’t appear to be any cameras or guards watching the entry to the warehouse. I hope that they don’t exist, rather than being out of our line of sight.
As we walk up, I can see the warehouse is massive. I’m glad that Chief sent in backup, so we can cover more ground. We check a few doors along the side of the building, trying to find a way in, without having to break in. We eventually find one that’s been propped open with a piece of wood. I make eye contact with Smith, then Steele. After receiving a nod from each of them, I take my gun from my holster and slowly push open the door.
My gaze sweeps across the portion of the room that’s visible from the crack in the door, the coast is clear so far. I slowly continue to open the door as silently as possible. Assessing the area for movement. The door is finally open and the room is clear. I make a motion to Smith and Steele, signaling we’re clear to move forward.
We move through the room to the next doorway and repeat the same process as before. This door opens quietly and the coast, again, is clear. We enter into a hallway that splits off to the right and left, creating a T intersection with the room we just exited.
Chief warned me not to enter the warehouse alone. He adamantly insisted that I would be safer with backup, with someone to cover me as I walked through the building. I know his words were, are, true, but I can also feel in my gut that if Jenna is here, she doesn’t have much time left.
Steele makes the decision for me when he motions that he’ll take Smith down the hall to the right and I can continue down the left on my own. I’m relieved that Steele was able to come to the same conclusion, that we need to separate, and quickly. If we want to find Jenna, we’re going to have to cover as much of the warehouse as quickly as possible. We split up and head down our respective paths.
Chapter 12
Jenna
I look down and realize I don’t know where I am, or how I got here. I shake my head, feeling groggy and disoriented. I sit still for a minute, squeezing my eyes closed tightly, willing my brain to stop slamming itself against the inside of my skull. I try to remember what happened that brought me here.
I open my eyes again to survey the situation. I’m strapped into a chair. My wrists and ankles are bound to the wood, held down with leather straps. My shoes are missing and my bare feet are cold against the hard floor. I glance around for anything that can give me more information, all that I can tell is I’m sitting in a dim room with a concrete floor. The only source of light seems to be filtering in from behind me.
The last thing I remember is the lights in the club shutting off and Alex telling me to stay put and to lock the door behind him as he exited the office. I start to panic, gasping a few times when I realize that I can’t remember what happened between the club and now. I close my eyes and picture Alex telling me it will all be okay. I take a few deep breaths trying to reign in my panic.
I exhale deeply and focus on what I remember.
I’m trying to think of how the power outage led to me being strapped into a chair when a screeching noise fills the air from behind me and the room fills with more light from overhead. Shortly after, a heavily accented voice calls out, “Ahh Miss Jenna, I’m so happy to see you’ve finally woken up. I was getting worried”
I crane my head to try to see the man that owns the voice. But my movement is so restricted by the straps and the chair that I can’t move enough to see the portion of the room behind me.
I close my eyes and try to focus on the noises around me. I hear the man that spoke walking closer. His shoes thump softly against the concrete floor as he walks. When I open my eyes again, a man is standing closer, off to the side. He’s across the room, close to one of the walls. I look him over as he stands there, he’s a tall, lean, older gentleman with bright white hair, and pale blue eyes. He’s handsome, but he wears it in a cold, cruel way.
My eyes wander to his face and I see that he is assessing me as well. Watching me take him in and checking my face for reactions. I focus on trying to keep my face a blank polite mask, the same one that I use to decline non-qualifying guests attempting to apply for Membership. I’m not sure what emotion this man is looking for while he searches my face, but I don’t want to give him any glimpse of how I currently feel.
After waiting a few minutes, and hopefully not seeing whatever emotions he was hoping to see on my face, the older gentleman starts speaking again, “My Dear Miss Jenna, I’ve been trying to send you a message for the last few weeks, but it seems that you are rather dense.” He pauses, waiting for my response. I wrack my brain, I don’t have any missed messages, or weird letters or emails that I’ve received in recent weeks and ignored. Well none that are weirder than usual, considering my profession. I think about his words and decide that I have no idea what this man is referring to. He must have the wrong girl.
He finally continues speaking after a long pause, “Five Years ago, you stole something that belongs to me. My most precious possession. Now that I’ve found you, I want it back.”
I sit there stunned into silence by his words. I was ready to adamantly protest against ignoring a month’s worth of weird messages, but now I realize that this man brought me here and strapped me to a chair thinking that I stole something from him.
He looks vaguely famili
ar, but I don’t know who he is. Even if I can’t immediately recall a name, I’m very good at recognizing faces. I know that this man has never been to my Club. I would think that this was all an elaborate prank, if I couldn’t tell from his face that he’s deadly serious.
I don’t know what he thinks that I’ve stolen from him, but he very clearly wants it back and will go to great lengths to get it. The thing is, I’ve never stolen anything. Even when I was living in the dumpiest apartment in the worst neighborhood of Chicago, everything I had was free or purchased with the money I earned from my job at the bar.
I break free from my thoughts and glance up to see the man looking at me, expecting some sort of reaction or waiting for me to respond. I try to flatten out my brow, which has furrowed with my confusion. With my poker face firmly back in place, I respond, “I’m not a thief, I haven’t stolen any of your things.”
The man smirks at my response, “I know that you’re lying, Miss Jenna. I have proof.” He pulls something out of his pocket and walks towards me. As he gets closer, I see it’s a piece of paper folded into fourths. “Someone arranged for my daughter to be taken from me years ago and I know she’s now in your possession. The only logical assumption from these facts is that you arranged to have her taken, or are affiliated with those that took her.”
I have a hard time maintaining my poker face now. Shock and confusion course through me at his statement. He has the wrong person. I don’t know what proof he thinks he has, but I don’t have any children of my own, or any children from anyone else. My profession isn’t the most upstanding, but I would never resort to stealing children, or caring for stolen children.
I start to feel a deep sorrow for this man, who clearly loves and misses his daughter. I can’t believe that someone would take a child.
The man has finished crossed the room and is now standing right in front of my chair. Unsure of where to start, I begin to voice my thoughts, “I’m sorry for your loss, but I can’t help you. I’ve never met your daughter…” I trail off when the piece of paper is unfolded and smoothed onto my lap.
I turn my gaze down, towards the paper on my lap. It’s a printed web page with a photo of me and Katia. The page is from the website for Marla’s boutique. Seeing the photo, I know exactly which day it was taken.
It’s from the day where I brought Katia with me to try on dresses for the Masquerade. I’m wearing my shimmery gold sheath dress that I purchased. The photo shows me looking at Katia, while mid-laugh. Katia is beautiful, in her red dress, beaming at Marla as she took the photo.
Marla said we looked so gorgeous, we were the perfect advertisement for her boutique. We agreed to let her post photos of us in her dresses on her website, in exchange for messages letting us know as soon as her new dresses come in, so that we can get first pick.
I remember Katia putting up a small protest about the photos. She doesn’t like her photos taken or displayed. The only social media that she uses is Photogram, which she keeps on private so she can filter through her followers and only accept the ones that she chooses. I cajoled her into letting Marla post the photos. Marla told us that based on the viewer data, none of her website visitors were from outside of the Chicago area. Her words seemed to reassure Katia and she finally gave in under the combined pressure of Marla and me.
I let out a gasp as all of the pieces fall into place. My brain sluggishly connects the dots, working through the grogginess. This man has been responsible for the dead animals in my apartment, the dead girl with a note in her mouth at my club, and the attack in my apartment. “Katia is your daughter?” I ask, my voice shaking.
The man nods his head and gives a small slow clap, “You’re a wonderful actress Miss Jenna. I would almost believe you, if Katia hadn’t been missing for many years. You’ve done an excellent job of keeping her hidden.”
My brows furrow again, “She’s never even mentioned you. Who are you?” This whole situation is so unreal, I almost feel like I’m dreaming. I was thinking this man was looking for a young child, one that wouldn’t be able to make it back home on her own, if taken from her parents. But he’s searching for Katia, who’s a grown adult. She’s more than capable of returning home on her own. She has been since I met her when she was nineteen years old. She was in bad shape then, but even once she got clean she never once mentioned being kidnapped or “stolen” and needing to return her Father.
The man in front of me lets out a small chuckle. “I’m Katia’s Father. I thought that was obvious.” He is still standing in front of the chair, smirking down at me when he asks, “Where is my daughter?”
I wrack my brain. I know he’s waiting for more information about Katia, but I don’t know where she is. She took a few days off from the club to handle her personal appointments and I haven’t heard from her since. I’m trying to think of what to tell him. Even if I knew where Katia was, I’m not sure that sending him to her is safe. He’s clearly deranged, normal people don’t strap other people to a chair to ask questions about their estranged children.
I decide that asking more questions might be the best way to buy me a bit of time. Alex has to be looking for me by now. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but it has to have been at least an hour or more. That’s enough time for Alex to return to the office in the club and find that I was no longer there.
A small seed of doubt tries to push forward in my mind, saying that Alex wouldn’t look for me after I tried to push him away in the office. He was trying to build a relationship with me and I basically told him a relationship between the two of us would never work because of our choices in profession. I told him our attraction was situational at best. I don’t know that someone starts a search party for you, if you go missing after a conversation like that.
I push the thoughts of doubt down, burying them as deeply as possible. I know Alex cares for me, just like I care for him. He’s looking for me, he has to be.
If… no, when. When I make it out of here, I’m going to redo the conversation with Alex from my office. I need to give him a real chance, to try to let our relationship work, instead of just pushing him away because I’m scared that it won’t.
“What is your name?” I ask Katia’s father, to help distract him and myself from my thoughts of Alex.
“I think that I’m the one that gets to ask the questions here,” he responds with another smirk. “What use is my name to you?”
I’m trying to think quickly on my feet, through my groggy, pounding head. I decide being honest might be my best option, “I feel like I’m not going to make it out of here alive, the least you can do is give me your name.” I try to voice my reply in a sure tone, but my voice cracks on the last word, giving away my nervousness.
Katia’s Father appears to be contemplating my response before he nods and replies, “My name is Pavel. Pavel Zaystev. I don’t think that I will kill you here.” I try not to feel too relieved, feeling a ‘but’ statement coming after his previous response. I don’t have to wait long before Pavel finishes his thoughts, “It’s more likely that I’ll bring you with me. The Bratva can always use more women.”
Without waiting for my reply, he turns on his heel and heads behind my chair, into the portion of the room that I can’t see. I hear things shifting around, metal clanking on metal. It sounds like he is sifting through a pile of tools.
Before I can think too hard about what’s happening behind me, Pavel returns. Standing a few paces in front of the chair that’s keeping me captive, a large hunting knife is held in his right hand.
I eye the knife, more scared than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I replay all of the times that I’ve feared for my safety: the attack in my apartment with Cooper and the man with the knife, the dead doppelganger in my Club, times when drunk men from my first apartment complex body slammed my door after I denied their requests to be let in, breaking up fights in the various bars that I’ve worked in, the door opening to my office during the power outage. None of those situations had
me anywhere near as scared as I am now. Strapped into a chair, facing Pavel holding a knife.
Pavel tosses the knife into the air, catching it between two of his fingers on its fall down to the floor. He looks me in the eye and says, “We’re going to have some fun.” Twirling the knife in his hand, he takes a step closer, “I’m going to ask you where my daughter is again. Each time you don’t answer satisfactorily…” He makes a slicing motion in the air with the knife.
My mind is racing with fear, I’m trying to think of something, anything, that might stall him from his ‘game’ and buy me some more time. I don’t know for certain if anyone is searching for me yet, or if they have any hopes of finding me if they are. I keep hoping Alex is on his way. On a loop I am repeating ‘Alex is coming’, in my head.
My groggy brain comes up with a plan. Hoping, like everyone else, Pavel loves talking about himself, I decide to ask more questions about him and his life. “Are you and Katia from Chicago?” I’m guessing the answer is no, otherwise they probably would’ve crossed paths before now. Regardless of the answer, I’m just hoping this will buy me more time before I’m butchered by the knife in his hand.
“We’re from Upstate New York,” Pavel replies. He takes a step closer, “I don’t know why you’re pretending that you don’t know this. You took Katia from our home there.” He is standing right in front of the chair now and bends over the drag his knife lightly across the tops of my bare thighs. He barely breaks the skin with the knife, leaving a light line of blood in its path.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to stifle a sob, not one from pain, but one from fear. I know that Pavel is doing this for a reaction and I don’t want to react to this small cut in hopes that it will save me from worse.