Once Gunsyn is gone, I sit alone in the concrete cell for what feels like hours – maybe even years—trying to find a way to be okay with what just happened. Or at least understand it.

But what’s to understand? Gunsyn is a Russian mobster. A psychopath who’s used to getting what he wants by whatever means necessary. And for some insane reason, right now he wants me.

Or else he would have killed me, right? He had the knife. Why not just slide it between my ribs after he fucked me or slit my throat like he warned back in his car? Why keep me alive now? Just to...