Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Feeling doubly like a pervert, I stay quiet—to see if they mention me again, I tell myself—but when all I hear for the next ten minutes are sex sounds, I force myself to finish brushing my teeth and go back into my room.
Maybe, just maybe, Yulia’s persuasion tactic will succeed, and I might find a way out of this predicament.
At least now I have some real hope.
45
Peter
We spend the day before the strike running through the different versions of the plan, calculating success probabilities and coming up with solutions to potential problems. Our plan is risky, but it has a good chance of working—assuming we get the timing right.
By night, we’re as ready as we’re ever going to be, and that’s a good thing, as our client, the Ukrainian oligarch, is getting impatient. In two days, Arslan is supposed to vote on a bill that will all but decimate our client’s business in Turkey, and we have to act before that happens.
As I close my laptop to catch a few hours of shuteye before my shift, Anton calls me over, his tone unusually excited.
“Look at this,” he says, and adrenaline floods my veins as I see a new email from our hackers.
Swiftly, I read through it on Anton’s screen, and a savage smile spreads across my face.
My adversary has finally made a mistake.
Walter Henderson III’s wife, Bonnie, was at a winery in Marlborough, New Zealand—something we learned thanks to a picture posted on Instagram by the clueless winery owner. Our hackers’ face recognition program picked it up within hours of it appearing online.
“Get ready,” I tell Anton and the twins when I finish reading through the email. “After we’re done here tomorrow, we’re going to New Zealand.”
“What about Sara?” Ilya asks. “Are you going to leave her with Kent?”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “No.” I can’t bear to be separated from her for even a day longer. “She’s coming with us.”
And before going to bed, I call Lucas to check up on her.
46
Sara
I spend the day pacing my room, my anxiety intensifying with each passing hour. By dinnertime, I’m ready to tear my hair out.
In less than twelve hours, Peter’s dangerous mission will begin, and Yulia still hasn’t come by to talk to me—nor has her husband brought me the promised pill.
“I should have it later today,” he told me when he delivered my lunch. “Though it could be tomorrow as well.”
By tomorrow, it would be too late, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting my jailer to know that I truly need that pill. If nothing else, I can stash it away for future use, and pray that my fertile window wasn’t so fertile this month.
A quiet knock on the door interrupts my pacing.
“Sara?” a woman’s voice asks. “May I come in?”
My pulse leaps with joy. “Yes! Please, come in.”
The door opens, and Yulia backs into the room, holding a heavy-looking tray with covered dishes.
“Here, let me help you.” I rush toward her, barely containing my excitement as I assist her in setting the tray onto the dresser.
She smiles at me. “Thank you. How is your stay so far?”
“It’s good,” I answer, beaming back at her. “And obviously, the food is wonderful. Thank you so much for that.”
Yulia’s blue eyes gleam with pleasure. “You’re welcome. And how is everything else? Do you have everything you need? Lucas said you asked for a couple of medicines…”
I nod, then decide to just go for it. With Peter potentially returning tomorrow, I have no time to waste, and I already know Yulia is on my side. “I need the morning-after pill,” I say bluntly. “And today is the last day I can take it.”
Her beautiful mouth rounds in surprise. “Oh. Wow. Lucas didn’t mention anything about that. He sent one of his guards into town today to pick up a few things, but I know that something came up and the guy was distracted. Let me check to see if he got it, okay?”
“Wait.” I grab Yulia’s slender arm as she turns to leave. “Please. I need your help.”
Her expression turns carefully blank. “What do you mean?”
I drop my hand. “I have to leave. Now. Tonight. Before Peter returns. Please, it’s very important. I’m not his girlfriend; I’m his captive. He kidnapped me, and now he—”
“Wait, Sara. Please.” She lifts her hand, palm out. Though her manner remains calm, I can tell she’s distressed. She must not have expected me to plead for help so openly. “Is he abusing you? Has he hurt you?” she asks carefully.
“He cut me with a knife and waterboarded me,” I say, and immediately feel a twinge of guilt at the horror on Yulia’s face. I should probably mention that the torture took place before our relationship, such as it is, began, but if I’m to get her help, I can’t afford to paint my captivity in a rosy light.