My Russian Nightmare Read Online Free PDF Page B

ear. Once again he’s speaking in that language I don’t understand. It’s becoming more familiar, and I’m sure I know what it is now. He hangs up, and his jaw is tense, his forehead crinkled. He doesn’t look happy.
    “Were you speaking Russian?”
    He nods and grabs my right hand hard. I tremble, both because I’m frightened at the swiftness and strength behind the movement, and from the touch itself. He releases a breath and eases his grip.
    “I’m sorry, but I need to do this.” He won’t look at me while he restrains my hand once again.
    I hold the other up to him before he even asks as a show of good faith. He shakes his head. “No. It’s okay. Just finish.”
    I look down at the piece of bagel I’m still holding. I’ve devoured most of it. I pop the last of it into my mouth right before there is a knock at the door.
    “Behave.” He gives me a hard warning look before leaving me alone to let our “company” in.

 
     
    Chapter 4
    I expected the other men to return, but the voice I hear trailing in from beyond the door isn’t a man’s voice. It’s a woman’s. The slightest flicker of hope lights in my heart. A woman. Hopefully someone with a heart. Maybe I could befriend her, and then she might be my key to freedom.
    Once again, the language being spoken is foreign. Although I now know what the language is, it doesn’t help me understand what’s being said. While Dima’s voice is low, hers is not. I don’t need to know what she’s saying to know she doesn’t sound happy.
    The voices come closer.
    “Get your hands off me,” he says in a warning tone, and I wonder if there’s someone else here besides the woman.
    When I see her, I’m certain he was speaking to someone else. She’s gorgeous, and there’s no way he wouldn’t want her touching him. A pang of disappointment wells up in me as I wonder what their relationship is.
    They walk through the door. The woman is a step in front of Dima and holding a large pot. From where I am, it looks like a rice cooker that needs to be plugged in somewhere. Maybe she’s his girlfriend and she brought us food?
    Her eyes look me over from head to toe. She examines every inch of me, sizing me up, although I don’t know what for. Right now I feel like a specimen of cattle on the auction block at the state fair.
    I stare back at her with the same intensity. Her skin-tight jeans not only hug the curve of her ass but look painted on. Her low-cut shirt shows off more cleavage than someone so thin could have naturally. She’s striking. Beautiful. Her blonde hair hangs below her shoulders. Large grey eyes are the centerpiece of her face and highlight perfect, high cheekbones, a complete contrast from my brown eyes and rounded face.
    Her mouth twists into a snarl and one eyebrow shoots up. With a nasty look on her face, the tall, super-model thin woman looks down her nose at me. I hate her. I know I’m judging a book by its cover, but the cover is ugly and reeks of an unjustified attitude.
    “What the fuck is this?” she asks in a whiny voice, her accent contrasting with Dima’s perfect English. “She’s awake,” she says as if it’s a shock to her. “And why is her hand free?”
    “It’s none of your fucking business. You’re here to do a job. Get it done,” he looms over her, a severe no-bullshit look on his face.
    “Give her something to knock her out. She’s not supposed to be conscious.”
    “You don’t give the orders around here. I told you to mind your business.”
    “Fine. Then I’m leaving. I can’t work like this.” She shakes her head and turns.
    He grabs her arm and stops her. “Where are you going?”
    “You don’t understand English? Maybe I should say it in Russian?”
    “Get to work,” he says with such authority, I doubt anyone in their right mind would argue with him.
    She holds firm, “I have nowhere to set up.”
    Dima leaves the room with the woman on his heels and comes back with an air mattress. He opens