Page 14 of Refrain

CHLOE

There’re three of them.They’re playing cards in the larger room, while the rest of us huddle together, two to a cot, our arms strapped down. One of them comes in, brandishing a syringe. Spotting me, he smiles. “This one is ready to make us some money…”

I jolt awake. Or did I? Pieces of my nightmare chase me into the present. It’s too dark. A metallic stench taints the air, and my inner elbow throbs. Terror claws through my belly as my thoughts dissolve and collide—and that’s not the worst part. My arms are positioned on either side of me, weighed down by my wrists. Bound.

Don’t panic.I suck in air to avoid just that. One breath. Two. It’s cleaner than I’m used to. My new prison isn’t quite a cellar. Something above ground but still enclosed. A closet?

Either Grey has a funny concept of punishment, or someone else grabbed me in the aftermath of whatever happened at the club.

“Get off my case, Arno,” a man snaps, his voice sounding muffled but close. In another room? Deciphering his location takes a back seat to the name he said. Arno. It rings a bell. Analarming one. “I told you I don’t fucking know what happened. Someone tipped their hand, but it wasn’t me—”

“You don’t think I fucking know that?” a deeper voice cuts in. “But that’s it. Six fucking months down the damn drain—”

“You think it was the Cartel?”

“Fuck no!” Unstable laughter echoes off the walls. “Those fuckers couldn’t get in the door without shooting themselves in the foot. No. That shit was too clean. I’m just glad you got out okay. If I had known there was any risk, I fucking swear I would have never let you—”

“I know. I know.” A tired sigh follows.“Don’t sweat it. The Ruskies must have pissed off someone else. You’ll find out who. You always do.”

“You’re damn fucking right I will,” the other man agrees.

They sound closer now, as if they’ve been walking while chatting, nearing my darkened prison. The lack of urgency unsettles my stomach. They’re comfortable.

“Lie low for a while until I figure out what the fuck is going on. If anything happened to you, Dante would—” The man cuts off with a sharp intake of air.

“You can stop worrying now, Mom,” the other voice finally pipes up. “I did get a few boo-boos though. Want to kiss them better for me?”

“Knock it off, you little shit.” Another gruff laugh echoes off the walls, followed by a few more minutes of unnatural silence. “Take it easy, Espi. I fucking mean it. Come to the bar once you’ve gotten some rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

A door opens and closes. I think… My eyelids feel heavier by the second. To conserve energy, I rely only on what little clues my senses can gather. Judging from the muffled sound, a solid wall separates me from the room where a lone figure starts to pace. One of Vlad’s men? No. They aren’t built like a typical guard. Their footsteps barely make a sound, their path aimless, bringing them closer. Then farther away. Closer. Away. Closer.

On their next trip in my direction, the doorknob jiggles, and my nerves prickle to life.Get ready…I flex my wrists, testing the give of the manacles. One is loose enough to slip it off—if I can move, that is. My muscles react sluggishly to my brain’s commands.

Wake up!A few of my fingers twitch in response to the plea. Good enough. I even manage to peel one eye open as a rush of air alludes to a door opening. The entering figure must switch a light on nearby. Suddenly, everything is bright.

“Shit. You’re awake.” His surprise is a bad sign. In my experience, captors were only that confident if their victims were drugged. “Try not to move,” he warns, his tone gruff. “You’ll bleed through the—”

Move!The word triggers every instinct I have. My loose arm twists and I pull, ignoring the burning, icy scrape of my flesh against metal. Two agonizing tugs free it, but a smattering of rushing footsteps warns me that I’m too late.

“Shit—”

I kick my feet out only to feel air. Taking a risk, I throw my weight toward the empty space.

It’s a mistake. My head explodes, my thoughts splintering. As if the agony surging down my spine jumpstarts my vision, it clears. I’m in a room. The floor beneath me is smooth tile, and the lone window across from me isn’t barred. An ebony sky serves as a fitting backdrop for the figure standing in the center of the room, watching me.

I blink rapidly to register his features. Glinting, blue eyes. Black hair slicked back away from a painfully innocent face. He switched the other shirt for a gray one, pairing it with ratty jeans.

“Take it easy.” He warily holds his hands out in front of him.

His voice. I recognize it from the earlier conversation.Espi.Is that his name?

Not that it matters. If he works for the Syndicate, I’m as good as dead.

“Get these handcuffs off me—now!”

He winces.

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