Page 10 of The Bratva Sinner

"I can't eat."

"You need to. There are still drugs in your system. Food will help."

Drugs. My stomach turns. "What drugs? What did they give me?"

"I don't know. Whatever the Albanians pumped into you, it was a lot." She sits in the chair by the window, watching me. "You're lucky Maksim pulled you out when he did. You were headed somewhere much worse."

"Maksim?" The name means nothing to me.

"The man who took you from them."

“Took me,” I murmur. “Like I’m cargo.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“They told me I was being given to someone,” I say. Fragmented conversations flit through my mind. They didn’t speak to me much, but there had been plenty of threats.

“That’s generally the way it works.”

I stare at her. “No. That’s not how life is. People don’t give away other people.”

“That’s exactly how life is. You’ve been lucky to not see it before.”

I have so many questions, but my brain can’t formulate what I need to know.

“Where am I?” That seems like the most important question. When I escape—and I will—I need to know which direction to run.

“Maksim’s house.”

“Where?”

She tilts her head and stares at me. “Florida. Miami. Where are you from?”

“Texas.”

“What’s your name?”

The citrusy scent of the orange juice calls to me. I reach for it and take a tiny sip, then stop. “Is this drugged?”

She smiles. “No.”

“You wouldn’t tell me if it was.”

“We don’t drug people. Don’t drink too much without eating some toast.”

I take another drink. The flavor bursts over my tongue. I feel my body coming alive from the nutrition in just those few sips. I pick up a piece of toast and take a bite. This is the good bread. I take another bite.

“How long were you with them?” she asks.

I consider the question. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

I do the math. “Three days.”

She nods. “Your name?”

“Lila.”