"He was a drug dealer. Dontello Maroni, an Italian mobster, wanted criminal, and you murdered him," the officer stated his tone chillingly calm.
"I did not murder anyone," I replied, my voice trembling slightly.
The officer leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "We've got your blood samples, Ms. Rosewood. If we find anything suspicious, well, all the evidence will turn against you."
"I told you, I was at work last night," I insisted.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The place you claim to work at has been shut down for two years now. Are you sure you're not on drugs, Ms. Rosewood?" He paused, his gaze piercing. "Or maybe you're just confused. It's understandable, given your… condition."
My heart pounded in my chest. "I'm not on drugs, and I'm definitely not confused."
"Here's my theory," he continued, his voice dripping with condescension. "You went into that private meeting as a prostitute, hoping to score some drugs. When Maroni refused, you came out crying, and out of spite, you killed him. Isn't that right?"
His words echoed in my mind, sowing seeds of doubt. I shook my head, trying to cling to my truth. "No, that's not what happened."
He sighed, feigning sympathy. "You might not remember it clearly, but deep down, you know it's true. The evidence will prove it. You're not a killer, Ms. Rosewood, just a desperate woman who made a mistake."
The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as his words hung in the air. I clenched my fists, fighting to keep my composure.
"You're wrong," I said, my voice firmer. "I know what happened, and it's not what you're saying."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Denial is a powerful thing. But let's talk about something else. You claim to work for Judas Romanovski, do you even know who he is?"
I froze my breath catching in my throat as I looked up at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, come on, Ms. Rosewood. We know more about you than you think. It's all in your file. The late-night outs, the unexplained absences. Do you think people haven't noticed? That they don't talk?"
My mind raced, trying to piece together what he was saying. "I told you my work required me to come in the evening and leave around midnight- "
"Your deceased father, he was quite a character too, wasn't he? A troubled past, and a lot of anger. Maybe you inherit these traits from him. I know people can be dangerous when are in anger, you can admit you let your anger take the best of you and you murdered him."
My blood ran cold. How did he know about my father? "Leave my family out of this."
The officer leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face. "Touchy subject, I see. But the more you resist, the guiltier you look. If you're innocent, why not cooperate? Tell us the truth, and we'll help you. But if you keep lying, you're only digging your own grave."
I felt trapped, the walls of lies closing in around me. Every word he said felt like a noose tightening around my neck.
"I've told you the truth," I whispered. "I did not kill Dontello Maroni."
The officer sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Such a shame. We could have helped you, Ms. Rosewood. But if you won't help yourself, there's nothing more we can do."
Suddenly the door opened, and a woman dressed in formal walked in, carrying a stack of documents. She handed them to the officer without a word and left as swiftly as she had arrived. The officer opened the folder, and I held my breath, dread pooling in my stomach.
His smile widened as he scanned the contents. "Well, well, Ms. Rosewood, are you sure you don't take drugs? Because there are drugs found in your blood."
I paled, my heart hammering in my chest. "That's impossible," I stammered. "I don't do drugs."
He leaned in, his eyes glinting with sinister amusement. "You see, Ms. Rosewood, the evidence is piling up against you. First, you lie about your work. Now, we find drugs in your system. It's not looking good for you."
I shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady. "I told you, I was at work. The tests must be wrong."
He raised an eyebrow. "Or someone drugged you? And then you conveniently don't remember killing Maroni? That's quite the story. You're a troubled woman with a violent past, just like your father."
The mention of my father stung like a slap. "Leave my family out of this," I repeated.
He chuckled, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "Your father was a known criminal. Maybe it's in your blood, just like the drugs. Maybe you snapped, just like he did. Admit it, Ms. Rosewood. It will be easier for everyone."
Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes. "I did not kill Dontello Maroni," I whispered fiercely. "I don't know how those drugs got in my system, but I'm telling the truth."
He sighed dramatically as if my denial was merely a minor inconvenience. "Shame. Guards!" He yelled and two bulky men stormed in. he motioned at me. "Throw her in the jail."
They grabbed me roughly by the arms and panic surged through me. "No! Please, you have to believe me!" I cried out, struggling against their iron grips. But they were unyielding, dragging me down the cold, sterile room.
The walls seemed to close in around me, the harsh fluorescent lights casting long, eerie shadows.
"Please, listen to me!" I shouted, my voice breaking. "My father wasn't a criminal, and neither am I! You've got it all wrong!"
They didn't care. They never did. They threw me into the cell, the metal bars clanging shut with a final, cruel thud. I stumbled to the floor, my knees hitting the cold concrete, and the reality of my situation crashed down on me.
Hot tears streamed down my face as I pounded my fists against the unyielding bars. "I'm innocent!" I sobbed, my voice echoing off the walls. "My father was an honourable man!"
I aggressively slammed my hands against the metal bars, feeling the impact reverberate up my arms. The pain was sharp, but it only fueled my anger. Over and over, I struck the bars, ignoring the raw, stinging sensation that soon gave way to the warmth of blood trickling down my fingers.
My knuckles split open, the skin tearing with each forceful hit.
The metallic scent of blood mingled with the cold, damp air of the cell.
But I didn't care.
I couldn't care.
I was too consumed by the burning fury and helplessness inside me.
"I'm innocent!" I screamed again, my voice hoarse and desperate, tears rolling hot and angry down my face. "My father…" I shut my eyes, collapsing to the ground and sliding down the cold, unforgiving bars.
"He was… an honorable man…" I sank to the floor, cradling my injured hands against my chest. My sobs quieted to ragged breaths.
My hands throbbed, slick with blood.
The fight drained out of me, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. Why?
Why did it have to happen to me? What did I do to deserve this? I just wanted to do something for my mother. I wanted to vanish, never to return to this place again.
I thought I was walking the right path, yet it only offered me pain and anguish.
Mama must be waiting for me at home.
She must have baked cookies for me.
Mikhail… he must be missing me… Oh, good Lord.
I'd do anything, anything, to see my mother for just a fraction of a second.
Everything was darker and colder around me as I hugged my knees, trembling.
The metallic taste of fear lingered in my mouth, mingling with the salt of my tears. What was I to do now? How could I ever go back home? The terrifying thought of being dragged into court, the evidence twisted and forged to frame me, gnawed at my mind.
Who would do this to me? Why would anyone want to frame me?
All I ever wanted was to live my life. Was that such a sin that I was being punished for it?
Would I ever see my family again? The cold seeped into my bones, a relentless chill that promised a miserable, pathetic death. Executed for a murder I didn't commit, would my life end like this-forgotten and despised, a victim of someone else's cruel game?
The silence was suffocating, broken only by my ragged breaths and the distant hum of the police officers.
Then suddenly I heard footsteps as the voices stalled. Confused, I looked up to find a man standing in the area near the officer's desk.
Hollow ache was replaced by a surge of fright and anticipation. I strained to see, my breath catching in my throat as the man I hadn't expected to see came into view.
My eyes widened for a fraction of a second as I lunged desperately at the bars to get his full view hoping I was not imagining things.
It was Kyle, someone I least expected.
His eyes bore into mine. Then, without breaking his gaze, he turned to the police officers and spoke in rapid Russian, his tone low and commanding. I couldn't process his words, but the effect was immediate and chilling.
The officer's face paled visibly, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow as he glanced nervously at me. His hand trembled slightly as he fumbled with his radio, clearly shaken by whatever Kyle had said.
Confusion clouded my mind, and I stood on trembling legs, gripping the cold metal bars tightly. I leaned forward, straining to catch any hint of the conversation, my heart pounding louder with each passing second. The atmosphere thickened with tension, and a gnawing fear settled deep within me as I tried to make sense of the unfolding circumstances.
As much as I wanted to believe he was here for me, a part of me didn't want him to be.
His presence brought a complex blend of hope and dread that I could barely process.
He spoke again, his voice a low, urgent rumble in Russian, and the officers immediately motioned to the guard behind them. The guard, expression grim and unreadable, began moving in my direction.
Panic surged through me, and I stepped back, pressing myself against the cold wall of the cell. My mind raced fearing what his involvement might mean.
If Kyle was involved, that meant Judas was too.
And I didn't know how that was supposed to calm me. Instead, it frightened me more.
The guard muttered something under his breath in frustration, his eyes flicking to my hands as I gripped the bars even tighter. He grumbled again, louder this time, the frustration clear in his tone.
He uncuffed my wrists and I rubbed them together as he motioned me to follow him out. I hesitated but then complied. Kyle didn't look at me, instead, he gave an envelope to the officer and started walking out.
I stood there confused, not knowing whether to follow him or stand here. The officer noticed my hesitancy and he cleared his throat.
Kyle smiled, but it barely reached his eyes. Slowly, I walked towards where Kyle was standing, my eyes darting to the officer who avoided my gaze and mumbled in English, "We... apologize for causing you trouble, Ms. Rosewood."
I swallowed barely managing a nod and felt the damn of emotions break inside me. I felt like a chess pawn, dragged into the mess I had no role in.
Something was wrong, but I was too confused to process it. Nodding numbly, I followed Kyle as he motioned for me to come with him. We walked out of the station, Kyle leading the way, his steps purposeful and brisk. I looked around, feeling lost and uncertain. My bags were at the dorm, and my missed flight loomed in my mind. I had no idea if I could catch another one.
My legs trembled as I took a step towards the door where Kyle was standing now, with his back to me. Then another. And the more I walked towards the door, the scarier it got. Why did it… felt like… I was walking towards another prison?
But this time, it'd be deadlier.
As we walked out the cold air frisked into my nostrils and I shivered. Pulling down on the sleeves of my sweater, I sniffed and with trembling fingers, I adjusted my glasses, but my vision was still blurry and I realised I was crying.
"Why… are you here?" I wanted to ask, but the words lodged in my throat, unable to escape. Cold. It was cold out here.
The brooding man in front of me slowly turned around, his gaze softened for a brief moment.
I could feel my pulse quickening, each beat echoing in my ears as I struggled to comprehend what was happening.
"Why?" I asked again this time, my vision cleared slightly as I blinked and tears rolled down my eyes. I harshly wiped my cheeks with the sleeves of my sweater and barely did anything to provide me warmth.
I suddenly missed the coat my mother brought for me. It was larger, warmer, and… close to home.
Kyle sighed, muttering something under his breath before glancing over his shoulder at something behind him. I followed his gaze, but there was no one-only parked cars. Taking a step back, I felt a chill run down my spine.
"Ignorance is bliss, Ms. Rosewood," Kyle said softly. So he told me last evening.
I bit my lips shaking my head in disbelief. "Can we not talk in riddles, please? Why are you here?"
"That I cannot answer,"
I took a step back feeling overwhelmed. I felt like I was drowning. My body was tired and tense, my heart raced, and I couldn't catch my breath. My mind was a storm. Making decisions was hard, and I couldn't focus. I was annoyed but infinitely scared. I either couldn't process or think too much.
I just wanted a moment of peace, but it felt impossible to find.
Unsurprisingly, he took a step forward. "I don't want to lose my hands, but if you try to run, I'd have to use force."
Panic gripped me as I realized I had no escape.
The police station was behind me, but he held power over me, at least his demonic boss did.
I clenched my jaw as he asked me to follow him. My legs felt heavy, but I moved, my heart pounding in my ears. Like a puppet, I followed him to the black car. He stopped and opened the back door, motioning for me to enter.
I hesitated, my feet rooted to the spot as he stood beside me. I knew if I made a run for it, he'd catch me instantly. With a deep breath, I bent down to get into the car, my heart pounding.
And I wish I hadn't.
I gasped, my eyes widening in shock.
Every emotion I had been feeling intensified tenfold. Fear, anger, suffocation-everything surged through me with a force that left me trembling. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the man sitting casually inside. His head was tilted to the side curiously, and though he wore shades, I felt his gaze piercing through me, cold and devious.
Fear gripped me like an iron vice squeezing the air from my lungs. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst from my chest. My hands trembled uncontrollably, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. It was like being caught in a nightmare I couldn't escape.
The urge to run, to scream, to fight back was there, but my body refused to obey. I was paralyzed until I felt a slight push from behind, and my lack of balance had me tumbling inside the car. I didn't get to process or fight as I landed with my hands and knees on the car floor. Shiny leather boots blocked my vision, and I heard a faint click.
A finger hovered over the back of my nape, sending a shiver down my spine. I flinched, clenching my jaw, and more tears fell down.
I should've known.
"What… do you want?" I stammered feeling his finger brushing the hair to side.
Don't. Please don't touch me.
I looked down at his feet and realised I was between his legs.
His hand slid from the back of my neck down to my chin, gripping it with a force that made me wince. He tilted my head up, forcing me to meet his eyes through the dark lenses of his shades. The sinister smile that played on his lips made my blood run cold.
He held me there in his clutches.
"Haven't I made it clear already?" he menaced. His other hand trailed down my arm. He leaned forward, his breath was hot against my ear, making my skin crawl. "Your mouth," he chuckled, "around my cock."