Only Him

Chapter 16

Why did it always start with a headache?

It was so cliché. In the few books I'd actually ever sat down and read the main character always complained of a headache when they came to after being knocked out. Of course, it kind of made sense, didn't it? You get knocked out by a blow to the head so of course your head hurts? Sense or not you'd think with how many times I'd been knocked out in my life that I'd be used to it. But no. It still hurt just as bad each and every time.

I forced open my eyes and squinted into the dim room around me. I was lying in an uncomfortable heap on a concrete floor. The first thing I noticed was the cold. The room was freezing. The next thing I noticed were the chains.

Real honest to God chains. And not the wimpy bicycle chain kind either, but instead the heavy-duty get shit done kind of chains. The thick links were each an inch long and about as thick as my pinkie finger. Unbreakable with just my own strength. One end of the chain was shackled around my right ankle, the other end bolted into the concrete floor. My wrists were restrained behind my back but judging by the chafing sensation around my them I was willing to wager that more chains were involved.

It wasn't overly bright in the room but there was a dim light bulb hanging from a wire far above me. It gave off just enough light to survey my surroundings. Three of the walls were made up of cinder blocks, the fourth one was made of metal. I could see the ribbing of bolts holding several large sheets of metal together, a heavy duty metal door inlayed in the center. There was no handle on the inside. Faint noises eked their way through the thick walls: footsteps, the rustling of clothing, the murmur of conversation. I was alone in the room but there were people—Strigoi—close at hand.

Okay, so I was in a type of cell. What type of building could I be in? An old prison? No, I doubted that. There'd be metal bars to my cell if it were. Besides, I didn't think the room was originally intended to hold a prisoner. The bolts holding the metal door in place were different—older—then the ones that fastened the chain to the floor. Obviously, the chain had been a later addition. So really, I had no idea where I was. And why the hell was I even here? Images of the fight came back to me in pieces. We'd been ambushed. I'd thwarted their trap so the Strigoi had taken matters into their own hands by forcing us to stop. There'd been a fight. Lissa had gotten away. I felt relief wash over me as I remembered watching Lissa disappear inside the retreating truck.

Then I remembered Marlen.

Marlen.

Fucking Marlen. I'd thought the bastard was dead. I'd thought Dimitri had killed him back in Russia the night I'd escaped. He'd told me he had. I doubted Dimitri would lie about that so he must not know that Marlen was alive either.

What was he doing in America?

What did he want with me?

I remembered his promise back in Russia. He'd said that he would kill me. I'd cost him a lot. Galina's trust, the other Strigoi's respect. Strigoi had huge egos and hurting his was probably one of the worst things I could have done to him. I'd earned myself an enemy. Not that unusual in my line of work but I hadn't realized that this one was still alive and harboring a grudge.

Okay, so Lissa was safe and I was locked in a cell by Marlen.

Now what?

Carefully I started taking stock of my body.

Headache? Check.

Bruised, possibly broken ribs? Check.

Baby?

"Fuck!" I gasped as I immediately tried to bring my hands forward to cup my belly. My restraints stopped me as my wrists and shoulders wrenched painfully in the attempt.