CHAPTER THREE: Harbinger Of Death.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound of blood hitting the cheap linoleum floor resounding throughout the empty room. I test the chains binding me to the single pole in the middle of the room and I find I can barely move a few feet away from the pole.

I feel the wounds on my back reopening at the slightest movement. Always on my back. The pain of old scars mingled with the new ones until I couldn't tell one apart from the others.

He never whipped me in any visible place. His aim was to inflict as much damage without actually damaging me so I was still presentable to any viable suitor.

I sit upright, blacking out for a moment from the pain. The pressure in my bladder increases by the minute.

I spot the black bucket sitting in the corner and I cringe at the embarrassing mental picture of having to urinate in that bucket.

I look at the familiar walls of the basement. These walls were like my best friends, swallowing my painful screams and soaking in my blood. I had been whipped a hundred strokes this time for attempting to escape but given another chance I would do it over and over again.

I refuse to be a complacent party in my own suffering.

I had lots and lots of pictures of the great America. I was going to escape there. I had no particular city in mind but all I knew is I was going there. Alina had drawn them for me from all the times we visited America when we were kids. Because you see, Alina suffered from Hyperthymesia, so she could remember everything.

I crawl slowly towards the bucket, stretching my arms to pull it closer to me. But as it turns out, I underestimated the extent of my injuries and the stretch tugged at one particularly deep injury which caused an extreme amount of pain making me unconscious.

The next time I wake up, I'm in a room that looks like a hospital room. However before I can move to do anything or check the extent of my injuries, I'm injected with something that steals my consciousness slowly but surely.

“It's okay, by the time you wake up later, you won't feel even a little pain.” A kind voice whispers in my ear.

I feel like I'm lying on a cloud. Am I already in heaven? Did I die?

The next time I open my eyes, I find a nurse staring down at me with a wide smile on her face.

“It's a good thing you're awake, it's about time.” The nurse says.

The nurse picks up a pen-like device from a medical tray and gently lifts my eyelids, pointing the device into my eyes.

“Thank God you are awake, I was getting really worried.” My father says, barging into the room.

“I told you she would be okay, now all you have to do is keep the injury closed and away from water.” the nurse says, looking at my father indulgently.

When my father moves to my bedside, I whimper and shift away. This does not go unnoticed by the nurse. My father laughs nervously and holds my hand forcefully in his.

“Will she be well in time?” My father asks the nurse.

“Yes she will be. As long as she takes her drugs and stays away from any broken glasses, she will be fine.” The nurse says, giving my father a look that says she did not believe him in the slightest.

“Honey, you've heard the nurse. Next time be careful enough not slip and fall on any broken glasses.” My father says in an obviously fake tone.

That was his story every time someone sees any of the bruises and scars on my back. He would tell them that I slipped and fell on broken glasses which cut into my back. Of course the story was always totally unbelievable but no-one cared enough to look deeper.

“Why did you bring me here?” I ask my father the moment the nurse steps out of the room.

“Look here you ungrateful little bitch, I could have let you bleed all over the floor but I choose to bring you here, the least you could do is show a little gratitude.” My father says dropping the facade of being an adorable father concerned about the wellbeing of his daughter.

“Why didn't you?” I ask angrily, the response escaping before I could hold it back like I usually do.

My father looks at me with disgust written all over his face. “It's a good thing you are going away for good. I advise you to lose this attitude before going to your husband's house, he might not be as lenient as I have been.”

“Going away to where?” I ask my father a question I already know the answer to deep in my heart.

“Stop asking the most stupid questions, Anya. Of course you are going away to live with Boris. The engagement party is in a few days, it will serve you well if you are well rested. I must take my leave now. Your company is adding more wrinkles to my ageless face.” My father says storming out of the room.

So that was the reason. He didn't bring me here because he cared for me. He brought me here so I wouldn't disgrace him when the time comes for me to be married off to Boris. I wonder who I offended in my last life to have gotten such a father like Maksim Fedorov.

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DIMITRI'S POV

“You are running out of time.” Ivanov Gusef says, settling down in the car beside me.

I glare at him. Nikogda ne obsuzhdayte dela pri neznakomtsakh. Never discuss business in front of strangers. It was a rule I made after we had found more than two spies in the organisation. They had paid the ultimate price of betrayal of course.

I wait until the driver had raised the partition effectively giving us the privacy I needed.

“You know as well as I do that I've been trying.” I say to my brother.

“Then try harder brother. The leaders of the factions under us are threatening to leave with their soldiers.” Ivanov says with a serious expression on his face.

“I'm sure there are other things to bother about, why are they so concerned about my lack of a male child?” I ask Ivanov, pinching the bridge of my nose. The pressure was becoming too much.

“A heir means stability, brother. Everybody wants to see you succeed. Nobody wants to see that scoundrel Igor become the Pakhan, but it will come to that if you do not do something about your situation. Their allegiance to us is threatened.” Ivanov says, looking me straight in the eyes.

“What do you propose I do? The doctors said we should give it time. Giana is still young enough to carry my heir.” I say to Ivanov.

“Time you do not have. And who said anything about that bitch, Giana?” Ivanov asks with a frown.

“Ivanov!ty ne budesh' oskorblyat' moyu zhenu.” You wont insult my wife. I say angrily.

“Izvinite , brat , eto ne povtorilos' by snova.” Sorry brother, it wouldn't happen again. Ivanov says solemnly.

“You can get a mistress to carry your heir. This has nothing to do with Giana.” Ivanov continues.

I breathe in heavily. On a normal day I would have said fuck the factions and their leaders but this was not another day. As a pakhan, it is compulsory to produce an heir that would eventually take over from me.

“Is this why you asked to see me?” I ask Ivanov after a moment of silence.

“No brother, we have a problem. A debtor has refused to pay up.” Ivanov says, handing me a folder.

I frown at his statement. “Why did I need to be told? Surely you can handle this by yourself.”

When I open the folder I see exactly why he brought this matter to me. “Isn't this Father's former consigliere, Maksim Fedorov?”

“Indeed it is.” Roman says, nodding his head slightly.

“Give him some more time.” I say, more than happy to be done with this day.

“That's the thing, Pakhan. He owes us more than five million rubles.” Ivanov says.

I still don't see the problem so I give him a confused look. “And?”

“He has no means of paying back, he owes other less than savoury people double that amount and who would not hesitate to put a bullet in his head. That's not even the worst part. He gave his daughter away as repayment for a debt and her body turned up dead, bruised and battered.” Ivanov says disgust written all over his face.

“kakogo cherta? What the heck? Was he not paid well enough?” I ask, sitting bolt upright.

Ivanov shakes his head. “Dad cut him off when it was clear he did not and would not have a male child. And he was never reinstated.”

“That doesn't excuse what he did.” I say angrily, it took a different kind of evil to do that to your own daughter.

“What should we do about him?” Ivanov asks.

“Eliminate him. He doesn't deserve to spend another day walking on this planet.” I say harshly to Ivanov.

“And you're coming?” Ivanov asks in a sceptical tone.

“Of course. YA budu tem, kto privedet yego v ad.” I'll be the one to take him to hell. I say, smiling widely in a probably maniacal way.