CHAPTER j often acatalepsy (n.) the inability to truly comprehend anything Wla, | piwn’t move WHEN THE door shut behind him. A cool draft touched my bare skin and sent a shiver through me. I was naked and cold, my wrists secured uncomfortably above my head, but somehow, I managed to drift off to Sleep. Self-loathing was exhausting. I woke to the sun slanting across my body and an uncomfortable pressure in my bladder. For the first time, I viewed the room in daylight. I lay in the middle of a king-size bed with an elaborate iron headboard and a white duvet. Heavy drapes, the color of blood, framed the window with a reading seat beneath. The space was large, conveying wealth in a traditionally Russian way. Seeing no personal effects, I surmised I was in a guest room. My eyes settled on a cracked wooden door leading into what I hoped was a bathroom. I really had to pee, and I wasn’t about to add urinating all over myself to my list of humiliations. I jerked against the ropes, trying to twist my wrists out of them, but they were so tight, all I managed to do was rub my skin raw. I let out an angry sound of frustration and pulled hard against them, ready to take the headboard down if I had to. At the sound of the door opening, I froze. A dark-haired woman stood in the doorway wearing skinny jeans and a frayed T-shirt over the slight curve of her pregnant belly. She held a toddler on her hip who wore an oversized Possessed band T-shirt as a dress and