His response was quick. “Never say you’re sorry after a fight. We both did all we could and what we thought was right. I really wish you would’ve run, though.”
“But they would have killed you!”
“You should have let them. She’s only targeting you because she wants me to work for her. If I were dead, there’d be no reason to threaten you.”
“You can’t mean that!”
“The Russian Mafia is efficient. They won’t allocate resources for unneeded tasks. You’ll be safe.”
She didn’t need to argue with him about saving his life. She hadn’t actually saved him, anyway. “I’m still sorry that I didn’t stop them.”
“No saying sorry. These are the cards we’re dealt now. I should’ve thought about farm tools. That one-handed sledgehammer was an excellent weapon. Not to mention using the chickens as a distraction. That was a stroke of genius.”
Sarah stared at the dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling. “It didn’t work, though.”
“The operation isn’t finished yet. Success or failure is not determined until the operation is finished.”
They were both captured and waiting to be executed. The operation felt prettyoverto Sarah. “What are they doing?”
“The mercenaries are dragging the bodies outside. Considering how quickly they’re coming back, I suspect they’re dumping them in the cornfield, not even burying them in shallow graves.”
The year before, the scuttlebutt around the auction barn was that a farm on the other side of town had a cow go down and hadn’t properly disposed of it. “The coyotes and vultures will take care of them within a few weeks.”
“That’s good to know,” Blaze muttered, his tone dry.
“But that won’t happen to us. If they kill us and drag us into the cornfield, Remi will go to one of the neighbors and lead them to us. We’ll at least get a proper Christian burial.”
“That’s better than I’d anticipated and probably more than I deserve.”
His resigned tone alarmed her. “But we’re going to get out of this. We can figure something out.”
“That’s the spirit,” Blaze sighed.
Sarah wiggled backward toward the coffee table and began sawing the plastic zip ties around her wrists against the wooden leg. The wood splintered, thin shreds peppering her hands. “These guys are mercenaries, you said?”
“Yeah.” He sounded even more flat.
“Are they the same mercenaries who came to your house in Chicago?”
“No. I called an outfit called Rogue Security. Rogue goes gray hat sometimes, but they’re not likethoseguys.”
Of course these were the really bad guys. Not thesomewhatbad guys. Not thekinda-sortabad guys. Thereallybad ones.It figured.
Blaze said, “Micah texted me that these guys are from Koch Group, a private mercenary company out of Russia. They recruit from Russian prisons and guys thrown out of the military for war crimes or insubordination, but it’s usually war crimes. They’re the worst of the worst.”
At least it had takenthe worst of the worstto bring her down. Getting beat up and captured by the middle of the middling bad guys would’ve been downright embarrassing. “Well, they wereobviouslyRussian, right?”
“Yeah, and about how they were speaking Russian, we shouldn’t—” He trailed off.
“Oh, Iwouldn’t.”
“Good.”
The sneering, shaved-head mercenary stomped into the room. “We take you to Dr. Bell in New York now. You be quiet in car, or else we punch you in the head.”
“We’ll be quiet,” Blaze answered him.
One of the other guys, his arm hanging in a sling and one eye swelling shut, followed him in. The two mercenaries grabbed Blaze by the shoulders, wrestling him to his feet.
