by Tonya Plank
Okay, I was totally spooking myself out, I told myself. Either that or I was letting Cheryl do it. This was ridiculous. I was steps away from my home. I’d never been afraid in this neighborhood. How dare she try to keep me from getting home and eating dinner, so I could go on to Sasha’s.
I thought of calling Sasha but I knew he was in a private right now and wouldn’t have his phone on. Besides, I’d feel stupid. He’d told me not to worry about the car and, deep down, I felt he was right. I was being totally silly.
“Stop it, Cheryl,” I said clearly and forcefully, without yelling or hopefully sounding the least bit scared. If no one was in the car then no one heard me to think I was being ridiculous. If someone was in the car and it wasn’t Cheryl, who cared what they thought? I straightened my posture to make myself as tall as possible, show her she couldn’t scare me. When I was home safe and sound, I’d feel really stupid for being so afraid.
Standing tall, I walked briskly past the car, not bothering or daring to look inside. I simply opened my bag to take my keys out and walked past pretending not to care. As I passed the car’s passenger side, a sense of relief passed over me.
It wasn’t until I passed the car’s front bumper that I heard the door open. I still had my hand in my bag. Before I could even turn around, I felt a large, muscular arm sheathed in leather grab me around my waist. I opened my mouth to scream but a hand reached around the other side and clamped over my mouth and nose. I tried to kick. I felt myself being lifted off the ground and pulled backward. Then everything went black.
Chapter 8
I woke up in total darkness and silence. I tried to feel Sasha’s body wrapped around me from behind, as we usually slept, but I felt nothing. He wasn’t there. Did he go downstairs?
No. The cold sheets and stiff mattress immediately made me aware I wasn’t in his bed. But street noise and light from Hollywood Boulevard usually streamed through my bedroom window. Where was I? Then I remembered the arm tightening violently around my waist, then the huge hand that smelled of gasoline covering my nose and mouth.
No, no. That was a dream. A nightmare. It had to be.
I sat up, now jarred awake. I realized my hands were tied behind my back. But there was nothing around my mouth. I tried to scream but I had no air in my lungs. Nothing would come out. The lack of light and noise was deafening. And it was freezing. It was a cold spring night and there was no heat, wherever I was. My pulse raced. I opened my eyes widely, tried to see something, anything. But I couldn’t see a thing.
I swallowed a couple of times to wet my throat, then took a deep breath and tried again to scream.
“Help! Hello? Cheryl?” I said. My voice seemed to be sounding in slow motion. And there was no clarity. I sounded like an adult talking in a Peanuts cartoon. As I tried to find the edge of the bed with my feet, I realized they were tied together as well. I bounced on the bed, trying to find my way to an edge. It was so hard. I felt like I was on box springs only, no mattress.
“Hello,” I tried again, out of breath shortly after the “H” so that it sounded like I’d said “hehhh.” My head hurt something fierce. Please let this be a nightmare, I told myself, trying to jerk myself awake. But nothing happened.
Was Cheryl really screwing with me badly? What in the world was this woman capable of? Was she going to keep me here until Blackpool? Was this even Cheryl’s doing? If not, whose? No, this was a dream. One of those really bad dreams where you’re falling or drowning, or in my case, choking on the peanut butter my sister had tried to force-feed me during my anorexia stage. I could wake up. I could. Maybe if I tried to go back to sleep, I’d soon wake up. I threw myself back down on the bed and closed my eyes. Now I could hear only my breathing.
What seemed like minutes later, the door flung open. Now bright light blinded me. I squinted, unable to cover my eyes.
I heard heavy boots stomp toward me. Two sets of heavy boots. But one set remained a distance away. I could feel someone hover above me. I could feel and smell hot, heavy breath that stank badly of cigarette smoke. I could also smell a body odor that emanated beets. I remembered the smell because of Sasha’s beet juice. I felt like I was going to be sick to my stomach thinking of my Sasha. How I should have woken up with him.
Hard, heavy, deeply callused hands touched my chin. The touch was surprisingly soft, not rough.
“Tanya,” said a deeply accented, gravel-laden voice. The bed creaked and sank as a heavy body sat down next to me. “Tatiana?” The voice said again. Then came a long line of words in Russian.
My eyes were beginning to adjust. I saw, standing in the doorway, a short, squat but heavyset figure dressed head to foot in black. I could tell from his wide build he was a man. He wore a black bowler hat and large, dark sunglasses. He had his hands folded across his chest. He wore black gloves. He looked like something straight out of a gangster movie.
I looked at the man next to me. His palm was still cupping my chin. He wore no glasses. He had large black eyes and a heavily pockmarked face. His nose was long and crooked. He wore no hat and his hair was long, thinned and tangled. As mean as he appeared, he had a kind look in his eye, something like sympathy. He spoke again in Russian. Whatever it was he said, he sounded sincere, pleading, not at all angry. He began caressing my chin with his hard, heavy construction worker hand.
“I don’t…” My voice was soft and squeaky but present. I cleared my throat. “I don’t know what you want. Please. Let me go. Please.”
Did they want a ransom from Sasha? Did Cheryl hire these people? Why was this man looking at me with such sympathy? Was he going to rape me and kill me and felt badly for knowing he was going to do so? A barrage of disjointed thoughts stormed my mind.
The man next to me frowned. His brow furrowed deeply. Oh no, I’d said something wrong.
“Sasha will pay. He has lots of money. He will pay for me,” I blabbered.
His frown deepened. The men looked at each other.
“Tatiana,” said the man standing in the doorway. His voice was hard, like lead, and rote, almost mechanical. I couldn’t see his eyes but that voice told me they didn’t bear any look of sympathy. He stomped his foot loudly and said something quick and loud in Russian.
I shook my head frantically. Of course I had no idea what either had said. The man next to me took his hand from my chin. He said something to me in Russian as well. Again, his voice sounded pleading, as if he expected me to respond. What did these men want of me?
“I can’t understand. I don’t speak any Russian,” I said, shaking my head rapidly.
The man next to me stood, now hovering over me. His look of sympathy had turned to one of anger.
“Please,” I said, now nearly crying. “Sasha? Does Sasha know I am here?”
The man standing in the doorway said something and walked away. The man who’d been sitting next to me walked to the door and followed him out. Before he closed the door behind him, he turned around and regarded me with a look that simultaneously indicated confusion and disdain. He slammed the door behind him, and I was in darkness again.
I took several deep breaths trying hard to calm myself down and think straight. This had gone on too long for it to be a dream. My brain haze was wearing off and I was thinking more clearly. Did Cheryl hire these people? And to do what? It seemed more likely they knew Sasha somehow. Oh my, what could he be involved in? Was Rajiv right? Was Sasha in the Russian mafia? Did he owe these men money? But why had the first one seemed nice initially? Did he take pity on me because he had to do something bad to me to teach Sasha a lesson?
I could hear the men talking, speaking in Russian of course. They weren’t far from the door. My heart pounded nearly out of my chest for the entire time. And I have no idea how much time that was. I felt my skin wet, like I was sweating. But I was shivering at the same time. I still couldn’t believe this wasn’t a nightmare. But as more time passed with me in that room, and the men outside speaking Russian, the more I knew it was real. I’d b
een kidnapped. Would I ever see the inside of my apartment again? Sasha? My mother and sister, however on the outs with them I was? I suddenly missed them dearly.
Without warning the door bolted open, interrupting my thoughts. The bright, blinding light returned. I must have been in the room for a while, while the men argued, for the lights to blind me like that again. I squinted. I felt the floorboards shake and someone hover above me. I looked up to see the short, squat man. He was still wearing the dark glasses. So I had no idea how to interpret his look. He just stood there for what seemed like several minutes. Then he yelled.
“Tatiana!” He followed the name with a long paragraph in Russian. It sounded like he was chiding me.
Who was this Tatiana? I shook my head rapidly. “No, no, no, no. I don’t know. I don’t know anyone named Tatiana. I don’t know Russian. Please!” How I wished I at least knew how to say something simple in Russian, like I don’t speak Russian. I only knew the few loving words Sasha had taught me and now I’d forgotten them. Not that “I love you” would do me any good here.
The man stood over me. His breath was heavy and smelled of sauerkraut and tobacco. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. I was too scared. I could see the shadow of the other man standing in the doorway now. Suddenly, the man in front of me turned and stomped away, both men leaving and slamming the door behind them.
Again I could hear them arguing in Russian. Their banter seemed more heated this time. The one was yelling at the other. I hoped we were in a place where someone might overhear them and wonder what was going on. But that seemed far from likely.
Again the door opened with a bang and I was blinded by light. This time only briefly, though. I could see the short, squat man stomping toward me. This time when he reached me he didn’t stand over me. He grabbed my arm and pulled me up. He was strong for a smallish man. I gasped. In one fell swoop he tore open the top of my shirt, buttons spilling to the floor. Then he reached into my shirt and grabbed my bra between my breasts, tearing it right in two. I still couldn’t cry. Nor could I say no. I was too petrified to move.
He opened my bra wide, my breasts completely exposed. He grabbed my left breast with his cold, leather-gloved hand. He lifted it and moved it to the side. What the hell was he doing? It was like he was looking for something. I still couldn’t speak. He did the same with the other breast, checking over every millimeter of my skin. Finally he let both of them fall and said something to the other man.
They changed places and the other man sat down in front of me and did the same, inspecting me. This time, he donned glasses as well. But at one point he briefly pulled them up, I guessed, to better see whatever it was he was looking for. He still had that same look of anger and confusion in his eyes. The other man yelled at him and he covered his eyes with the glasses again. The other man yelled again and the man currently inspecting me said something back to him, not harsh-sounding, but in the same gentler, sadder tone of voice he’d used with me initially. He covered my breasts with the bra cups but it was futile. They wouldn’t stay inside with every thread between them torn. He tried to tighten the bra and tie the middle section but my breasts were too big and it wouldn’t hold. He shrugged and pulled the shirt over me, trying to find a button to connect the two sides. The other man yelled again. The man in front of me stopped trying and just covered me as best he could.
Then they were gone again and I was in darkness. But this time not for long. The door opened, and in came the short, stomping man.
Everything happened so fast this time. I saw it was him by his shadow, and the next thing I knew he was behind me, his arm was around my waist again, and I felt cold, wet metal at the back of my neck. Again, everything went blank.
***
When I came to, I was cocooned in rich, velvety plush blankets. Blankets I knew well. Sasha’s blankets. His cinnamon-y smell emanated from them. But another aroma flooded the room as well: flowers. Roses. And chocolate. I opened my eyes. The room was dark. But the blinds weren’t shut and the gauze curtains allowed moonlight to pour in from the canyon. It was the most beautiful sight, feeling. I breathed it in, momentarily thinking the whole thing with the Russian guys was indeed a dream.
As I inhaled deeply and my sight adjusted to the moonlight, I realized the scent of the roses was for real. I looked down the bed. The outline of my body in the blankets was traced with rose petals. It was beatific. Wait, was this the dream? Was I still back in that dark, horrible room?
I sat up quickly in bed and began to remove my arm from under the blankets to touch one of the petals. I heard Sasha moan. He was lying next to me. Though he wasn’t touching me, I felt the weight of his body. The sound of his voice, combined with my realization that I was only in my underwear, made the soft velvet of the blankets all the more comforting. I wrapped my arms around my chest and rocked myself.
Sasha sat up with me.
“Oh my God. You won’t believe…I had the most awful—”
He wrapped his arms around me and pressed his lips deeply into my left cheek. Holding me more tightly so that I was completely encompassed in his brawny arms, he transferred his lips to my forehead, then traced kisses all around my face and neck. His lips, his arms and hands all over me, the roses, and now I spied a dark chocolate rose lying on the bedside table, along with a long-stemmed glass of champagne. I couldn’t have had a more comforting welcome back to my life, my wonderful life. My amazing life that I hadn’t valued enough. And yet, it was all too much. Something was not right.
I struggled out of his grasp and turned to face him. I opened my mouth but he was the one who spoke.
“I’m so, so, so sorry, my love. My beautiful, sweet love. It will never happen again. I promise. I promise I will never doubt you again. Never. And I promise you those men are gone. They will never harm you again. No one will harm you again. I swear it. I swear on my life.” He spoke fast but each word was pronounced and heavy. His eyes were large and dark, his piercing gaze more shock serious than I’d ever seen it.
I couldn’t believe it, but his words indicated he knew those men. He knew what had happened.
“Sasha, what—”
He brushed his index finger lightly over my lips and caressed my chin with his thumb. “Please, I can’t talk now. I will. I promise. Just not now.”
I shook my head. “No, you have to tell me,” I said. “I have to know what just happened to me.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I promise I will tell you. I can’t now. I can’t. For now, please just trust me, Rory. Please.”
“I do trust you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to know what happened. I could have been raped. I could have been killed! Who were those men, Sasha? Are you in some kind of trouble? Those men were evil!”
“No.” He shook his head firmly, as if he knew for sure I was wrong. “They never would have killed you. Nor rape you. They never would have hurt you at all. They would never hurt anyone. That was not their intent.” His pupils flooded his irises, making his eyes wide and dark and deadly serious.
“Sasha!” I squirmed completely out of his embrace and shifted my position on the bed to face him. “How do you know that? How do you know those horrible men?”
“I do. I just…do.” He shook his head and looked away. “I cannot tell you right now. I promise you, they will not hurt you again. They will not hurt anyone. At least not anyone who does not deserve…” His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes and pinched his temples.
“Anyone who does not deserve what? Sasha!”
He turned to me again, looked me straight in the eye. “Please, Rory. I need you to trust me. I promise you they will never ever harm you again in any way. You have to trust me.” Again his words were fast but he pronounced every syllable with razor sharp precision and immense weight.
“Sasha, are they mafia? They’re mafia, aren’t they?”
“What? No!” he said, raising his voice for the first time. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Don’t even…please
don’t even…”
I knew any assumption related to a Russian stereotype bothered him greatly. But I deserved to know, after what I’d been through.
“I promise you they are not mafia. They are not related to mafia. I know this for a fact. Rory, this is not about me and it’s not about you. It’s…I can’t…please. I need your trust.” He ran his hands up and down my shoulders and arms. He rocked me back and forth.
The friction from his strong hands and the heat from his body created warmth that I just wanted to envelop me, that I could disappear into. This just wasn’t happening.
“Sasha, I’m a lawyer. I do criminal law now, for crying out loud. A crime was committed. A kidnapping. Do you realize how this goes against every fiber of my being not to report—”
“Yes,” he said, whispering in my ear, now even closer, his arms engulfing me even more. “I do. I do,” he continued whispering. He wrapped one arm around my back and one around my knees, now cradling me, his body cocooning mine. “I do,” he said once again. He held me like that for several moments before continuing. “You are so brilliant. My brilliant lawyer. I love you so much. I love your good soul. You are everything to me. Everything.”
I felt sick with worry that he was involved in something dangerous. But I also knew in my heart of hearts that I could trust him. And I knew he loved me, and would do everything in his power to keep me from getting hurt.
I breathed in the air around him, his cinnamon-y scent. I opened my mouth to tell him I trusted him but still wanted answers soon. But before I could say anything, his lips were on mine, his tongue coaxing them further apart, filling my mouth. Soon we were both lying down, his body covering mine protectively, our limbs entwined.
“You are mine. If anyone ever tries to touch you again, they will answer to me. And they will be very sorry,” he whispered into my ear, kissing my earlobe, neck and face.