Trapped

A boy lay on a bed, unmoving, the pressure on his chest worsening by the second. Every breath he took was a stab to his gut. Clamping down on his tongue, he opened his eyes; they hurt; everything hurt. Once they had painfully adjusted to the light, he looked around the limited view of the room. He couldn’t see any windows, the only light in the room an artificial one above him. It was a drab room, a plain shade of grey with nothing on the walls, not even a clock. The only items he could see in the room was the bed he was lying on… and the chains.

Once he realised he was shackled to the bed, he tried to move his arm, excruciating pain pulsing through it. This time, he couldn’t hold back his strangled sob. He turned his head slowly, his neck aching. His arm seemed fine; there was nothing visibly wrong with it.

“It’s broken.” A girl’s Russian voice broke the silence, no more than fifteen years old. She was in a school uniform, lingering next to him. He cursed himself for letting her sneak up on him, glaring in her general direction. She flashed her teeth at him, white as pearls, in a snarl. “Lots of you is broken. Does that make sense?” The girl mumbled something in Russian under her breath. “I think that’s how it translates.”

Nathan took in the girl playing with her stunning white hair, confusion clouding his vision. She came closer; he tried to back away, hissing in pain. Why did his ribs hurt? Then he remembered what she said. Lots of you is broken. So that’s what she meant.

“More of you is broken than I realised.” Nathan snapped out of his thoughts, only then realising her unsettling grey eyes were boring into his; eyes that could unsettle even the most emotionless of psychopaths. She squinted at him. “What happened to you? Were you always this broken?”

Nathan wriggled around on the lumpy bed, his body protesting. His forehead was slick with sweat, black hair sticking to it. Lethal rage seeped into his eyes, thick as blood, and that anger he was taught to control when he was a toddler took over him. He spat at her. Her features turned from soft and caring to a volcano, all the while he smiled at her, his blue eyes sparking.

“You’ll regret what you did to my sister, Nathan White. I’ll make sure you do. And since you’re not civilised enough to hold a conversation with me, then I might as well not bother.” The snow leopard prowled over to the side of the room, where Nathan could just about make out a thermostat. She twisted the white knob down. “Enjoy the cold, gang leader,” she spat out, opening the door.

“I never caught your name, child,” Nathan taunted, that same dangerous smile stuck to his lips.

She turned around, her grey eyes flaring. Brushing her long hair behind her shoulders, she replied, “Vikoria,” then left, the click of a lock resonating through the room.

Nathan destroyed his smile, questioning why he did that. Small shivers wracked the young man’s body, gradually getting worse as the room froze. Instead of focusing on the cold fingertips creeping across his face, he thought back to how he got… wherever here was.

They’d just returned to his gang house after defeating Isaac, and his gang members were coming out of hiding. Then sleek, black limos bombarded his car park at the front, demanding he come outside and pay for the crimes of… of killing Diana. I didn’t kill her, he thought, shaking his head. Isaac did. Back into his memory he went. When he refused to face them, or rather Jacob wouldn’t let him outside, they pulled guns out and attacked them. There was a battle… and evidently he lost. But where was he?

Nathan stared at the thermostat longingly, trying to wriggle his hand out of the cuff. Instead, he succeeded in breaking the skin of his wrist, blood trickling down onto the sheet.

“Shit.”

“Language,” the familiar Russian voice called from the hall.

“Vikoria? Get your ass in here now.”

“Not if you talk like that, I won’t.”

“Please?” Nathan forced out.

Another voice came from outside, a male’s. It sounded like he was scolding her in Russian, then a slap. Why was everyone speaking Russian? Diana wasn’t Russian.

The door opened to reveal Vikoria, rubbing her face, and a man with those same grey eyes… where had he seen their eyes before?

“This,” the man snarled at Nathan with disgust, “is the famed gang leader that killed my only legitimate daughter? I expected more… maybe someone older.”

“Well,” Nathan replied, “the person who killed Diana was much older than me.” The man looked at him like he had two heads. “The only similarity we really have is… our eyes. They’re the same colour. Nothing else, though. I didn’t order her killed; she was my girlfriend’s best friend.”

“Who killed her, then?” Vikoria asked, her eyes emotionless and voice flat.

“My… girlfriend’s father.”

Another boy walked into the room, around the same age as Vikoria. He would have suspected them twins, but his eyes were completely different; too different. He looked at the man, who was glaring at him, then at the girl, who smiled, and finally at Nathan. Seeing him shiver, the boy walked over to the thermostat, and relief flooded through Nathan; short lived relief. To his utter horror, the boy turned the knob even lower. The boy faced Nathan, and had the audacity to smile at him.

“My mother wants to see you, O glorious one,” the boy told Vikoria’s father with a cheeky grin, earning a slap. That grin didn’t slip off his face. “What did I do this time? My mother doesn’t slap all of your illegitimate children. She’s never slapped Vikoria once.”

“I don’t care what your mother does. You will not talk to me like that, Alekzandr. You will show me respect. If you keep this up, I will throw you out.”

Nathan frowned. The boy didn’t have a Russian accent. And then they started talking in Russian. Again, Nathan lay there, not catching a word they were saying, apart from a name. Jason. Why were they talking about Jason? Was it the same Jason who was from Isaac’s gang?

“What happened to Jason was not my fault, Alek. It was his choice. I sent people to keep an eye on him.” They resorted back to talking in English, letting Nathan eavesdrop.

“And then you killed them and didn’t bother to send anyone again. He could be lying in a ditch, dead. Don’t you care!?”

“Get out,” the man whispered, his fists clenched by his sides. That made Nathan feel better. At least he wasn’t the only one with anger issues.

Everything clicked.

“You have the same eyes as him.” Nathan’s gaze flicked between Vikoria and her father, now seeing the similarity.

“As who?” She replied.

“As Jason.”

Everyone froze. So slowly it was painful, the Russian man’s face turned into a lethal snarl.

“Is this some sort of game to you? I will hurt you, boy, if you push me.”

“I’m not lying to you. Conlaed found him when he was younger and took him in.”

“Conlaed? As in Isaac’s son?”

Nathan blinked a few times. “How… how do you know Isaac? And yes.”

The man hid everything behind an emotionless mask. “None of your business.” He walked over to the thermostat, turning it until it reached the bottom. He looked at Vikoria. “I hope you’re not getting soft.”

She smiled sweetly and replied, “Never, father.”

They all left Nathan in the freezing room, but not before Vikoria could whisper, I’ll be back, so only he could hear Hiiiiiiii! I’m back!

By the way, I don’t think I will be keeping this trashy title (and book cover), but I’ve yet to think of another one. If you have any ideas, please comment (I’d really appreciate it!).

It’s nearly Christmas so woooooooo. Super excited!

Oh, and you know how I’m obsessed with Greek mythology? Well, if you didn’t, now you do. I got a really good mark in my classical civilisation test, which was on the Odyssey, and it was the only test I found fun.

Enough of the random talk.

I hope you like the first chapter of the sequel to Wanted, and I want to say thank you for reading my books.

See you next week (hopefully (if I remember to update (which I will set a reminder for now))).

-Izzy