Page 5 of Tangled Vows

“Just a minute,” I call back. With a final glance in the mirror, I exit the small bathroom into the upstairs hall where Dmitri waits patiently. Over six feet tall with a muscular build, reddish-brown beard and sharp eyes, he cuts an imposing figure. But his manner and actions portray a different story. To me, at least, he’s been kind. He offers a faint smile now.

“How did you sleep last night?”

I give a little shrug as we descend the stairs. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

Images from the kidnapping kept flashing through my exhausted mind every time I drifted off. Strong grips yanking my arms behind my back. The prick of a needle in my neck. Echoes of the other girls screaming. Then, my own muffled cries of terror in the back of a sweltering van. My heart starts hammering against my ribs again, so I shove the memories away, grateful when we enter the bright kitchen.

Two young women sit chatting at the round table while an older man with a medical bag leans against the counter, sipping coffee. I recognize Dr. Yuschenko, the physician who arrived yesterday evening to assess us. He greeted me kindly then, but I’d detected some sadness in his pale green eyes. I wonder if it has anything to do with the slight tremor in his hands and the old scars peeking from his shirt collar. Or there’s something else at play, a reason that still eludes me.

“Ah, Clare. Good morning,” the doctor rasps gently in a thick accent. At my hesitant nod, he gestures to a small room across the hall.

The exam room turns out to be an office space with a desk pushed aside to make room for a folding table. Dr. Yuschenko closes the door behind us and turns his gaze back to me.

“Have a seat, and we’ll get started.”

I perch on the table’s edge, muscles tense. Sensing my unease, he offers a reassuring look. “I apologize for the rather... makeshift setup. But I want to check your vitals, breathing, some reflexes, and document any external injuries before we talk, alright?”

I nod tightly. Gathering supplies from his bag, the doctor’s skilled, scarred hands make quick work of the examination. The familiar routine almost lulls me into a calm before he clears his throat. “Now, will you tell me what happened? The more details we know, the better.”

My pulse quickens as my mind drifts back to those awful moments. I clear my suddenly dry throat, staring at the floor. “I was shopping at a boutique in South Beach with my friend, Rachel. These men barged in out of nowhere wearing ski masks and waving guns. It happened so fast...” I press trembling hands against my eyes, more images rushing back into my brain. “Screaming, shots firing. They grabbed us. I felt a needle in my neck, then passed out. Next thing I knew, I was rolling around in the back of a hot van and then locked in that dark warehouse room with five other women.”

Sneaking a glance at the doctor, I expect to see pity or horror. After all, my story warrants both those emotions. These crazy things don’t happen every day. Yet, his expression remains neutral as he jots quick notes on a chart. “Did your friend Rachel remain with you the entire time?” he inquires.

My breath catches. “N-no. When I woke up, she was gone. I have no idea where they took her or the others from the store.” Hot tears spill down my cheeks, and I wipe them away, anger creeping into my system. Not knowing my best friend’s fate is pure agony, a kind of pain I can’t handle right now.

The doctor passes me a tissue, hovering nearby as I get my emotions under control again. “I am very sorry, Clare. But we will do our best to locate the other missing women.” Worry flickers across his worn face. “I know you’ve been through hell these past forty-eight hours. Try to remember you are safe now.”

I glance around the makeshift exam room, anger and bitterness swirling within me. “Safe? Am I really? No offense, doctor, but I was kidnapped, drugged and locked away by members of the Russian mob!” My voice pitches louder. “And now, I’m being held by different scary mob men with guns in some secret safe house location!”

Hysterical laughter bubbles up inside me. I really want to laugh in this idiot’s face, because he thinks his words are going to put my fears at ease. “Do you blame me for not exactly feeling safe at the moment?” I challenge, wiping more tears off my cheeks.

The doctor regards me, wearing a solemn expression. After a heavy beat of silence, he drags over the desk chair to sit facing me. Once he’s in that chair, he braces his elbows on his knees. His piercing eyes remind me of someone else’s intense gaze, but I can’t put my finger on who.

“You’re right to feel fear and uncertainty, Clare. What happened to you is any woman’s worst nightmare.” He clasps his hands over his lap. “But you are safer here than you realize. The men who control this territory found and rescued all of you by chance. What you don’t realize is that it wasn’t the Russian mob who kidnapped you. It was the Armenians. You’re under the protection now of the Russian Bratva, and they protect the vulnerable.”

I scoff, anger still simmering through me. In my mind, this is just po-tay-to, po-tah-to. “Oh, they’re saints, then?”

His eyes crinkle. “No. These men live by violence and the strictest code there is. Make no mistake; they are dangerous.” The doctor’s expression softens. “But not to you. I have known Leonid and Ivan many years. If they give their word that no harm will come to any of you, they’re going to keep it, no matter what.”

My defensive anger disappears into thin air, hearing the fierce sincerity in his gravelly voice. I think of Leonid wrapping me so gently in his jacket, shielding me even after I lashed out. He could have told me to get lost, but he did no such thing. Instead, he ignored my outburst and continued to be gentle. A different type of warmth fills my chest at the memory. Is it possible Dr. Yuschenko speaks the truth about these hard men? Or is this just some ruse designed to knock down my defenses? I have no idea.

I take a slow, grounding breath before offering my response. “How can you be so certain we’re safe?”

He offers a grim half-smile. “Because the man in charge values life, especially those viewed as innocents suffering undeserved cruelty.” His green eyes bore into mine, betraying his desire to convince me. “Viktor Yelchin built this Bratva on strict principles his men live and die by. One is showing utmost respect to women. Protect them, grant them comfort.” He reaches forward to squeeze my hand. “You may not see it yet, but you stumbled into safe hands here.”

I absorb his solemn words in thoughtful silence. My initial terror has faded into wary caution overnight. None of these gruff, watchful men have offered anything except care since storming the warehouse. I sensed genuine concern radiating from both Leonid and Ivan yesterday. They made sure we felt secure, posting guards 24/7. So far, no one has broken the oath that we would not be harmed here.

With a slow exhale, I meet the doctor’s patient gaze again, managing a weak but grateful smile. “Thank you for the reassurance. And for checking me over.” I twist my hands in my lap. “When do you think we can go home, doctor?”

Sympathy lines his worn face. “Soon, I hope. But there are still bad people out there looking for you. This sick auction...” His expression hardens. “Well, let’s just say when Leonid or Ivan give the word, I promise, you will all return to your families.”

At that moment, voices sound from down the hall, drawing our attention. He rises with an encouraging pat on my shoulder. “Rest if you can. We will take good care of you all.” With an understanding smile he departs, leaving me alone with my conflicted thoughts.

Goosebumps prickle my skin so I rub warmth back into my bare arms, rising to pace the small room. Despite the doctor’s assurances, my mind spins with unease. I may be grateful for the rescue, but the fact remains I’m still stuck under the control of dark, dangerous men connected to the Russian mafia. Anxiety starts building again until I can barely breathe in the suddenly cramped office space. I need to get some fresh air.

Wrenching open the door, I hurry upstairs to a small balcony off an unused bedroom. The other women are still in the kitchen, chatting over breakfast. Nobody tries to stop me as I step outside, sucking in deep lungfuls of the crisp morning air. Finally alone, tears spill from my eyes as reaction sets in.

For two days, I somehow held myself together, trying to stay calm for the sake of others while we huddled in terror. I managed to keep my cool despite the dreadful situation I’d been caught in. But now, delayed panic threatens to crush my ribs at the memory of being at the mercy of evil men, then getting handed off to an even more notorious crime syndicate.

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