Page 43 of Ruin

I nod my head, his thick finger stabbing the call button for the lift, the both of us stepping inside when the elevatordings, doors sliding open. He hits the ground floor key, the lift taking us down fast enough to give me head rush and then we’re stepping out into the cold, icy spring air slapping across my face.

I move unconsciously, Dima opening the back door of the car, my arse hitting the leather, feet like lead on the carpeted floor. I stare out of my window as we drive, letting the blurred darkness wipe away my thoughts. Then his voice is what brings me round again.

“We’re home, Pakhan,” Dima grunts deeply, his dark eyes on mine, where he peers in through my open door, holding it open for my exit.

My finger and thumb pinch the bridge of my nose, a heavy sigh making the tension in my shoulders drop.

Stepping out of the car, damp cobblestones beneath my feet, misting rain in the freezing air. I trudge my way up the wide front steps, the door to the house already pulled open. I grip Dima’s shoulder once he slams the front door shut behind us, only the two of us in the entrance.

“Spasibo, Dima,” I sigh heavily, grateful as always for his loyalty.

He dips his chin in response, blonde hair flopping over his brow. Dropping his dark gaze, his meaty hand patting atop mine where it rests on his wide shoulder.

“Whatever I can do, Kazimir,” his deep voice sincere, his rumble pulsing through my pounding temples.

He reads my face well, a grateful expression buried somewhere beneath the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours, and just like that, he makes himself scarce, leaving me alone in the cold echo of my marble foyer.

Chapter20

Ava

Chattering teeth make my jaw ache. The cold embedded so deeply inside my skeleton, ice has replaced my bone marrow. I wonder if my owner likes the cold, the way he never wears anything on his top half, seemingly unfazed being here in the low temperature. We must be underground, what with the industrial floor drainage, the lack of windows, air only circulating through a vent.

I try to shift my numb legs, huffing when my brain denies sending them the memo to move. Using my arms to pull them out from beneath me, I drag my bent knees up to my chest. Just to circle my arms around them, tucking all of my parts together to hold what little heat I have left to myself. I blow breath through my mouth down my thighs, the air cool as it ghosts over my belly. My teeth chattering so hard they feel like they’re going to rattle until they shatter free of my gums.

My stomach twists sharply, forehead dropping to my knees, eyes squeezing tightly closed. Days of pills being fed into my body is making everything feel like it’s burning, yet I’m still cold on the outside. My crackly lungs feel lighter, my breath less raspy, but I feel worse. I feel...hungry.

A groan mumbles from my lips, I have been starved for as long as I can remember, I don’t get hungry anymore, but my belly rumbles so loud, it feels as though the sound bounces around the black, cavernous walls. I can’t sleep, my insides knotted with pain, but I place a palm down on the steel floor, try to turn onto my side, shuffling away from the bars at my back. Something that is always cold to the touch.

Shivers rip through me, a tremor uprooting from its place in my core and spearing its quivering talons through my flesh from the inside out. Goosebumps lift on my skin, chattering teeth sinking into my bottom lip to try and quell the tremors, but nothing calms it. I squeeze my eyes closed, feeling sick, the dimly lit red room around me twirling like I’m on a carousel.

A loud bang jerks me awake, the tang of copper dry on my tongue, my bottom lip crisp. Stinging as I drag my sandpaper textured tongue across it, bitten from my clattering teeth which continue rattling even with my clenched jaw.

Another monstrous bang has my eyes snapping wider, blurrily scanning over the space before me.

Charlie stands in the open space between me and his workbench. His bare back heaving, body folded in half, hunched over, tattooed hands on his knees, fingers gripping hard. A low sort of choking sound bubbles free of him, and I curl my hands around the condensation coated cage bars to heft myself up to sitting.

His gasping breath makes my own lungs feel like they’re collapsing, and I have the desperate urge to help him. To do… something. I lick my lips, dropping my gaze. Heart pounding at the thought of leaving my cage again, my eyes roving onto the open gate. I haven’t left voluntarily, except to use my bucket just outside of the bars. Not since the last time.

Even with the thought of that, of what has happened when I have left the illusion of safety inside of my crate. He held onto me, almost tenderly, like he didn’t want to let me go, and I think that frightens me more than him forcing himself on me. I’m used to that, but sometimes, when he touches me, it feels like warmth, even though his hands are cold, and his eyes are colder.

It feels like more.

Like it could mean something.

I gave him my name.

Ava.

I’m half surprised I even remember it. After all these years of nobody using it. Calling me all of the other names. Horrible, derogatory ones that aren’t true, but at times, feel that way. It’s hard to reject the ideology of something the longer it is forced on you. You start believing the vile things they say to you, carve into your skin.

Baby Bird.

Identity.

It fuels me.

Thighs flopping open, I grip my ankles, moving my legs, my flesh squeaking over the metal base. Ignoring the pain pulsing through my thighs, I shift onto my knees. Arms shaking with the strain of pulling myself up, pressing my face into the gap between bars, a heavy breath huffs out of me at the exertion, a cold sweat beading along my spine. Matted clumps of hair obscure my vision as I focus on my bruised thighs, scratched knees, and then I look up, bladder seizing tight with shock.

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