The Friendship proposal (book #1: The Proposal Series)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The one with a hole in its heart

Natalia's Point of View (P.O.V.)
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The space was small. It was dark in here and hay was on the floor at my feet. I couldn't see it per se, but my feet were left naked against the scratchy pile of hay. The light sinked in between the wooden crate's vertical-lined cracks, which gave me hope: hope for a tomorrow. I do not know where I am or who has taken me hostage. The only thing I do know is that I am not in Canada anymore..

The men came back. Footsteps thudded, slushing against the wet concrete floor, maybe. They whispered in Russian; something about a bomb, I believe. My Russian skills are actually paying off. All those late night classes in university was worth something at least, other than just an extra language to add onto my résumé. As seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours, I found myself pondering on whether I would ever make it out alive. The men passed by not bothered by the wooden crate and better yet, their hostage. What could they be after that I have? Was this purely random? Was this planned? I ran out of strength to conspire anymore scheming possibilities. Instead, my heart raced. Suddenly, I tasted blood splitting from my bottom lip. Torturous thoughts began to invade my skull as I grabbed hold of the wooden crate by both palms. My voice was trapped. Nothing, not even a squeak of protest was getting out. This was undeniably my worst nightmare by far. If only Chief was here.. He'd know what to do.
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Two men entered a dimly lit room. One man held a black key in his hand. He unfastened the lock of the chain around his neck and dipped the key in through the opening.

"What. To. Do. With. Girl. Svechnikov?" Asks the clean shaven man with bright piercing grey eyes right next to him. The room was tense. Both men turned to face each other now. Svechnikov twists his chain between his nimble fingers. He responds in a thick Russian accent and says to take the photo of Robnyskovinsky, the one that he handed to him earlier that morning, and show it to her. Grey eyes simply nodded and left the room.

Svechnikov was contemplating. He poured himself a glass of scotch. Ivlev, his mute younger brother held out ice cubes with the pin. Svechnikov dismissed the gesture and surrendered to a nearby couch, leaving his brother standing all by himself. His feet were bare as were his brother's. The concrete floor was cold but the cold didn't bother either of them. They were used to the cold.

Svechnikov sipped the last drop of scotch and felt a warm fizz stirring low in his belly. That warm feeling was that of hope: the only driving force he had left, and was prepared to go to any length to materialize this acclaimed feeling once and for all. Ivlev watched closely. A few feet apart, Ivlev closed the distance and threaded his left hand's fingers through his older brother's slightly wavy brown hair. He then lowered his chin atop his brother's right shoulder and grabbed onto the couch's collar for support. Svechnikov, closed his eyelids for a moment. Ivlev began to massage his older brother's head like mamochka (meaning, mother in Russian) used to do it as soon as the two brothers would arrive from school as children. Svechnikov opened his now blood-shot eyes. He stood erect letting Ivlev's left hand slap down onto the couch's arm. Ivlev casually watched his brother leave the room, without a single glance to spare his way.
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