Page 79 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

Just as I pull it open, Arslan calls out to me. “If anyone can lock a woman in a closet and still end the night getting laid, it’s you,” he calls.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Go get her, buddy.”

I shake my head and step inside.

18

BELLE

I’m falling to pieces.

I can practically feel the memory of Elise pressed against my side, her small body shaking. It’s like I’m thirteen again.

“Who was that man?”

“Mom’s friend,” I gritted out, trying my best to sound normal. “He’ll leave soon.”

“And then we’ll get out of here?” she asked.

I looked around the small, dark room. It smelled like foot sweat and dust. The only light came through the crack at the bottom of the door. Sometimes, Mom slid a towel in front of it to muffle our voices so her friends wouldn’t hear us scream. But she left it uncovered today. She was in a hurry.

“Yeah, we’ll get out,” I tell her. “We always do. We just have to wait.”

Wait and stay quiet. Not usually a four-year-old’s strengths, but Elise tried her best. She was too young to face the punishment for being too loud, for interrupting Mom’s “personal time.” But I was in the closet alone night after night before Elise was born. I sat in the dark by myself while Mom jabbed herself with needles, inhaled from glass pipes, and danced to too-loud music until the radio went off-air.

At least Elise had me to teach her right from wrong.

I had to learn the rules the hard way.

Now, trapped once again in the dark, I don’t even have the comfort of Elise’s small body beside mine. The shadows press in on all sides, consuming and oppressive.

“I’m in a restaurant in New York City,” I whisper to myself, my voice wavering as the panic grabs hold. “I’m not in the trailer. I’m not a frightened child. I’m an adult.”

The calmly spoken facts are a shitty defense against the countless hours I spent sitting in a dark closet with my little sister’s tears soaking into my shirt. It happened several times a week when things were bad. Less often when Mom made one of her half-hearted attempts to clean up.

But none of those ever lasted long.

She would shut us away before her dealer showed up, afraid we’d bring down her high, I guess. Or, more likely, so she could sleep with her dealer to make up for what she couldn’t pay in cash.

Elise would cry, and I’d shush her, reminding her of the punishment for making too much noise.

No food. No going outside. A coat-hanger spanking, if we really ruined things.

Be quiet. Be good.That ingrained training is the only reason I didn’t scream at the top of my lungs the moment Nikolai slammed the door shut. It’s the reason I’m now curled in the fetal position on a dirty floor, breathing through the pent-up trauma that’s trying to drown me.

“I’m okay,” I murmur to myself. “I’ll get out of here. The door will open. I’ll be fine.”

I don’t know if any of this is true. I don’t know why Nikolai locked me in here in the first place. All I know is that I’m far from home and not a soul on earth who cares knows where I am.

A sob lodges in my throat just as I hear a bang on the other side of the door. A moment later, it opens.

Harsh light slices across the narrow space, and all I can make out is his silhouette. But that’s enough.

“You asshole!” I launch myself towards the door, but Nikolai flips a switch, blinding me further.

I clamp my hands over my eyes, hissing like a movie vampire doused with holy water.

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