Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“We’ll find her. See you soon.” I don’t have to ask; I know Cyrus and all the rest of my crazy-ass friends will go to war with me.
I fire off a text back to Julian.
Gideon
I want everyone meeting in one hour. Bring the Russian informant.
I don’t care what I have to do. I will find her. I will tear down the entire city if I have to.
51
SASHA
I wake up with a jolt, the back of my head pounding like a jackhammer. I open my eyes to find myself sitting in a chair, my wrists and ankles tied up tightly with rope.
I try to move, but it’s no use—the knots are too tight to escape.
Fear courses through my veins as realization slowly sets in—I’ve been kidnapped.
A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling, casting a dull yellow glow across the empty warehouse. The place is dark, and it’s the only source of light, that and a single ray of moonlight coming from a tiny window up high near the ceiling.
With my limited vision, I can make out the walls and a faint outline of an enormous metal shelf.
Sweat runs down my forehead as terror takes hold.
In the dead silence of this place, all I can hear is the sound of my own erratic breathing.
My heart feels like it’s beating faster until it feels like it might burst right out of my chest.
I frantically search for any sign or clue that might tell me who brought me here and why.
Then I remember…
The Russians.
The man from the picture that Gideon asked me about.
He was there, in my apartment.
Tightness spreads through my chest. I’m suffocating. The stale and musty air makes it hard to breathe.
My heart races as fear takes over me. Fear of what could come next, fear of the unknown.
I try to move my legs, but they are tightly bound to the chair, so I can’t even struggle properly against them.
Approaching footsteps have me stopping my movements.
“Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?” The voice is low and menacing—sending chills down my spine like icy fingers tapping on glass windows. The man is still shrouded in darkness, and I can’t make out his face.
All I can do is sit wide-eyed, his question lingering in the air between us as he stares me down, waiting for an answer.
Words stick in my mouth. “Can I have some water?”
His jaw is taut, and his next words are gritted through his teeth. “Where is the money?”
“I already told you. I don’t have the money. I never did. Roman was a liar.”
The man stalks closer, and when he bends, I recognize him. It’s him. Again. The man from my apartment, the man from the picture.
“You will talk. Pain has a way of loosening even the tightest of lips.” He turns around and speaks, but not to me this time. My gaze dashes around the room, and I notice two men in the corner. The burning cherries from their cigarettes glow in the dark.
“Make her talk,” he says before stepping back into the hall and leaving me alone with his goons.
My body shivers, but not from the cold.
Another man steps up; he’s younger than the last, with dark hair and darker eyes.
“You’ll be thirsty unless you give the boss what he wants.” His voice is thick with his Russian accent.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s going to die anyway. Her cooperation will be the difference between a quick death and a painful one,” the other voice says.
I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. I can’t believe what’s happening to me. What can I say that will make them believe me?
Nothing.
The air around me is thick with terror, and I can barely breathe from the weight of it all. It feels like a million tiny needles are pricking at my skin.
My stomach lurches in protest as nausea builds up inside me.
Only a few moments later, I can feel it rushing up, bile coating my throat and threatening to expel.
I cough, dry heaving, but nothing comes out. Only tears stream down my face.
My eyes screw shut, tight against the pain tearing through my soul, wishing desperately that this was all just a dream and not reality.
These men will kill me, and it’s Gideon’s fault.
He lied.
He betrayed me.
If he’d been honest from the beginning about everything, maybe it would be different.
No.
It wouldn’t have.
The realization hits me in the stomach. Nothing would have been different. He could have told me the truth, and I still would’ve tried to escape. I’d still be here.
Nothing changes the fact that the outcome has always been the same.
I close my eyes, but the tears still stream down.
This is where I’m going to die. I’ll see Roman.
The revelation has my breathing starting to regulate.
Death is inevitable, and a new sense of clarity comes with that thought.