“Not another sound from either of you,” my captor whispers. “We don’t need you alive.”
Inessa bursts into noisy sobs, muffled by the duct tape and they drag us out the door. The hallway is dark. It’s never dark. The building’s always well-lit but it’s dark and they pull us down to the service elevator, the doors opening with a cheerful‘ding!’
There are security cameras even in the elevator and I stare up at the panel desperately. They’ll see us. They’ll have footage, they can get clues from-
The camera is ripped out of the panel, wires drooping from the hole.
A white van is waiting in the parking lot, the engine running and the side door open like a gaping mouth. I try to drag my feet as they haul us out of the elevator and into the concrete garage. Could I slow them down maybe? Even a few more seconds and the night security guard could see us.
There are two bloody bodies crumpled next to the van and Inessa screams through her gag. They both have tattoos on their throat. Dubrovin Bratva tattoos. Oh, god this is real.
If they take us to a second location we’ll never make it We’ll die we’ll die…
Driving my elbow into the man’s abdomen, I nearly scream again as it hits something hard and sends agony shooting up my arm. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest. The man holding Inessa puts his gun to her chest, shaking his head. I stumble forward, letting them throw me into the van like a bag of flour.
Chapter Eleven
In which Lucya was not expecting this.
Alexi…
Earlier that night…
“What happened?” My fist tightens on the phone hard enough to crack the glass.
“Motherfucking Rurick Dubrovin happened,” my father roared, “he stole fifty million dollars’ worth of our weaponry and eighty men died when he torched the warehouses!”
“How do we know it was the Dubrovin Bratva?”
“Are you questioning your Pakhan,boy?”
Ah, now I’m “boy” and no longer “son.” Our usual dance continues.
“No, Pakhan,” I say steadily, “I only need the background and a target.”
“That’s better,” he snaps. I can hear the clink of a glass and know he’s filling it to the brim with his favorite vodka, a 192-proofPolmos Spirytus Rektyfikowanyfrom Poland. His go-to beverage when things are dire. “The fucking idiots aren’t that bright. We intercepted the transmissions from their men on the ground back to Dubrovin’s compound.”
“Have we tracked where they’ve taken the gun shipments?”
“Not yet. But your placement happens to be convenient,” he says. His words are already slurring a bit, so I suspect this is not his first glass. “The Dubrovina daughters. You have their location?”
“Da,yes.” I already know where this is going.
“Pick them up, and hold them in two separate locations. I want video.” His tone is brighter as if the very thought of two terrified, innocent girls is making his day.
“In what condition?” Sweat’s breaking out on my forehead. Why should I care? Still, the memory of Lucya’s sweet, happy face twists my gut.
“Crying, scared to death, tied up,” he says, smacking his lips with satisfaction. “No visible marks, but you may enjoy yourself.”
Fucking bastard.
“Do it tonight,” he says. “I’m sending your brother to take out Dubrovin’sObshchak.That should destabilize them enough for him to come crawling when word that we’re holding his Bratva princesses.”
“There’s no greater loss of face than not protecting your women,” I agree woodenly.
“Get it done,” he says, “I’ll be waiting for that video. If Dubrovin even hesitates, the next one will be from a whorehouse.”
My mouth twists in disgust. “Da,Pakhan.”
