Could it be Ronan? Or Elio? Could it be both of them?
If so, they might be able to save me. Or they might have walked right into Desmond’s trap.
The door opens, and Desmond steps in. "Sounds like we have company," he says with an eerie smile, and I flinch. "Right on schedule."
"What are you talking about?" I ask, my voice hoarse.
He steps into the light, and there's a gun in his hand. "Your brother. I sent him your location an hour ago, along with a photoof you tied to this chair. Told him if he wanted you back, he'd better come alone."
"He won't come alone." I force the words out with more confidence than I feel. "Ronan's not stupid."
"No, but he is predictable." Desmond checks his weapon, then looks at me with something like pity. "He loves you. And love makes people do incredibly stupid things. Like walking into obvious traps."
There’s a sound of breaking glass upstairs, sudden and sharp—and then gunfire. I flinch at the rapid percussion of shots, and Desmond smiles. "And there it is. Right on time."
"Let me go." I pull at the restraints. "Whatever you're planning, it won't work. Ronan will kill you?—"
"Ronan is going to try." He walks to the stairs. "The question is whether he'll succeed before I kill him. And you get to watch the whole thing, sweetheart. Front row seat to your brother's death."
"No—" I cry out, my voice rising to a screeching pitch, but he's already climbing the stairs. The door at the top opens, and I hear the firefight more clearly now. Shouts. More gunfire. The heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor.
Someone's screaming.
I pull at the zip ties with renewed desperation, the plastic cutting deeper into my already raw wrists.
Please.I don't even know who I'm praying to.Please don't let Ronan die. Please let him be okay.
The gunshots seem to go on forever. I can't tell what’s happening, can't tell how many men are fighting. All I know is that if Desmond is telling the truth, somewhere above me, my brother is in danger. Maybe Elio, too.
And it's my fault.
If I'd never run, if I'd never gone to Elio, if I'd told Ronan the truth—none of this would be happening.
Ronan would be safe.
Elio would be safe.
The baby?—
The baby wouldn’t even exist.
But that would be better, wouldn’t it? If things go the way Desmond has planned, the baby is going to die with me. We’re all going to die. Me and Elio and Ronan, in this awful tableau he has planned. All of this will be for nothing.
The gunfire intensifies, closer now. Whoever's fighting has moved toward the basement stairs.
I hear Desmond's voice, shouting orders. Then another voice?—
Ronan.
"Where is she?" My brother's roar is unmistakable. "Where's my sister, you son of a bitch?"
"Come and find out! I’ve got her waiting for you. Ready for the show—" Desmond's response is followed by more gunfire.
I scream as loudly as I can. "Ronan! I'm down here! Ronan?—"
The door at the top of the stairs bursts open, and someone comes tumbling down. Not falling—thrown. They hit the concrete floor hard and lie still.
One of Desmond's men, I realize. Dead or unconscious.
