Page 115 of Ruthless Reign
Sofiya immediately scrambles to my side as he unceremoniously drops a duffel bag onto the floor in front of us. “You have an hour to pull yourself together,” he orders.
“What do you mean? Pull ourselves together for what?” I scream at his back, but he doesn't bother answering, just shuts the door in my face.
Sofiya rises from the floor where we’ve been sitting with our backs to the wall, trying to get some rest. Like me, she's tired. Neither of us has been able to eat very much, and other than a quick doze on the plane, we've barely slept.
What do you think is in here?” Sofiya reaches into the duffel bag.
She pulls out a garment bag and lays it on the mattress. As she unzips it, my stomach lurches. I know exactly what this is.
She pulls out two wedding dresses. My name is written on one hanger, Sofiya's on the other, as if our respective grooms had selected the perfect dress for their beloved bride.
Bile rises in my throat. The idea that we have to dress up for our farce of a wedding is sickening.
"I don't know why they care what we look like." Sofiya shakes her head, her dark brows pulling together. "Are we going to be taking pictures? Are we supposed to put on a happy face?" Her shoulders slump.
I wish I could say something to comfort her, but the truth is that we don't have a plan yet. We've talked about possible scenarios, but it's impossible to know how this is going to play out.
Sofiya dumps the remaining contents of the duffel bag on the table. She frowns, holding up a cosmetic bag that appears to be full of makeup and hair accessories. From a shopping bag, she pulls two sets of high heels, towels, and stockings. The last item she finds makes her blanch.
“This is twisted.” She holds up a lacy black bra and a barely there thong.
I rip the lacy undergarments from her hands and hurl them across the room. “Forget this. Sergey will never see you in these—not if I have something to do with it."
Her shoulders slump as she shakes her head. She looks so defeated it makes my heart hurt.
“Liza, we need to stop pretending. We're in a foreign place, with no money, no phone, and no idea where we are. We're surrounded by big, burly guards and men paid to keep us in line. I don’t see how we can escape without getting killed.”
“I know we don't have a plan yet, but we’ll get there. Don't give up.” I’m trying so hard to be strong for both of us, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.
Sofiya bites her lip and looks away, refusing to make eye contact. “Do you want to take a shower first, or should I?”
“You go first,” I murmur.
She nods and takes the towels, shuffling away to the bathroom.
With the shower running, I hear her faint, muffled sobs. I slide down the wall and clutch my chest, sadness coasting over my skin.
Maybe I’m deluding myself, believing there’s a chance in hell for us to break free from here, but what's the alternative? Lying in wait and accepting whatever fate Anatoly has in store for us? That’s not an option I can live with.
Leaning back against the wall, I remember Roman's promise to teach me how to fight—a promise he'll never fulfill. It's one of the many moments I’ll never experience with him. Time was stolen from us.
Even without those skills, I can hear Roman urging me to use whatever means necessary to escape. He had faith in me, and it's time I find that faith in myself.
Pulling myself up, I dig through the duffel bag again in search of anything that might serve as a weapon. The makeup case offers little, but a compact mirror could be broken into a sharp shard. There's also a pair of tweezers and a metal nail file—used correctly, they can both inflict damage.
I can't help but grin. Whoever packed this bag made the mistake of underestimating me.
Sofiya is subdued when she gets out of the shower. Wrapped only in a towel, she pads back into the main room, looking drawn and tired.
“Will you do my hair for me, Lizka?”
“Don't worry about that,” I tell her, buoyed by my findings. “I figured out a way to get us out of here.” I wave my hands over the table to show her the items I've pulled aside.
Her lips part in confusion. “I don't understand.”
“The mirror can be smashed in two and used as a blade. The tweezers and nail file can be shoved in someone's eye. Hell, we can get creative with the stiletto heels.”
Her look of genuine surprise coaxes a laugh out of me.