Page 9 of The Bratva Sinner

If I can get to a phone, I’ll call for help.

“Save yourself, Lila!”Mama’s voice is in my head, telling me to move.

I stumble back to my feet. My legs will not cooperate. I brace myself against the wall to keep from falling face-first.

"Mama," I whisper. My voice cracks. "I need my Mama."

But Mama's dead.

The grief tries to swallow me whole, but I can't let it. I need to focus. I need to get out of here.

I make my way to the door, using the wall for support. My bare feet are silent on the plush carpet. I reach the door and try the handle.

It’s locked.

I should’ve known. They’ve been keeping me locked away since they took me. I pound on the door with my fist, but the sound is pathetic, weak. I can barely lift my arm. My body is still off, making everything slow and difficult.

"Let me out!" I shout, but it comes out as barely more than a croak. "Let me out!"

I hit the door until my arm gives out. I lean my forehead against the wood, fighting back tears. I won't cry. I can't. If I start now, I won't stop.

I hear footsteps on the other side, and then a key turning in the lock. I stumble backward, looking around for something to use as a weapon. There's nothing. Just expensive furniture and soft pillows. This place is a lot nicer than the last room they had me in.

The door opens.

The woman in the doorway is holding a tray. Her bright red hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She's wearing jeans and a black tank top. She looks to be in her mid-thirties, but she’s got an edge. I’vebeen around people like her. Hard eyes. The kind you earn, not inherit.

"Good, you're awake." She steps inside. "Sit down before you fall down."

"Who are you? Where am I?" My voice is hoarse, barely recognizable.

"I'm Cinder." She sets the tray on the dresser. "And you're safe. That's all you need to know right now."

"Safe?" I let out a bitter laugh that turns into a cough. Coughing hurts my head. And my chest. Everything is sore. "I'm locked in a room. That's not safe; that's prison."

"Prison has worse food." She gestures to the tray. "Sit. Eat. You need something in your stomach."

"I need to leave. I need to go. I don’t want to be here.” The room spins again.

I sway and feel myself going down, helpless to stop it.

Cinder moves quickly, catching my arm to support me. "I said sit."

She guides me to the bed. I don't have the strength to fight her. I collapse onto the mattress, hating how weak I am.

"Let me go," I say. "Please. I need to go home.”

I stop. There's no home to go back to. And Mama's gone.

Cinder offers me a sympathetic look. "Eat first. Then we'll talk."

"I don't want to talk. I want to leave."

"That's not up to me."

"Then who is it up to?"

She doesn't answer. Instead, she picks up the tray and sets it on the bed next to me. There's toast, scrambled eggs, and orange juice. The smell turns my stomach. It looks good, but I’m nauseous.