"I'll kill you," he snarls, spit flying from his lips. "I'll fucking kill you!"
The pressure is different this time. Before, he wanted control. Now he wants me dead.
My vision tunnels, darkness creeping in from the edges. I claw at his wrists, but the blood makes them too slick to grip. My legs kick uselessly, strength fading with each second without air.
The gun sits on the nightstand, might as well be miles away.
His face above me blurs, features dissolving into shadow. My hands fall to my sides, no longer able to fight.
This is how I die. Not from the violation I feared, but from fighting back.
At least I made him bleed.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Lorenzo
The address burns in my mind as I drive like a man possessed through Chicago streets. Marina's building comes into view, and Dante grabs my arm.
"Fuck, something's not right."
Two black SUVs sit in front of the entrance.
My vision goes red. Everything inside me turns to ice and fire at once. Sophia is up there.
My Sophia.
I rip my Glock from its holster and yank open the glove box, grabbing the backup piece. The metal feels right in my hands. Necessary.
"We need to wait for—" Dante starts.
"Fuck waiting." I'm already moving, door flying open. "She's up there with them."
"Lorenzo, we should?—"
"Take the front car. I've got the back."
I don't bother with stealth. Don't care about being seen. Anyone between me and Sophia dies tonight. Simple as that.
My footsteps echo off wet pavement as I approach the rear SUV. Through the tinted glass, I see nothing. No movement. No guards.
Empty.
The terror that grips me is worse than finding them occupied. Empty means they're already inside. Empty means I might be too late.
"Clear here too," Dante calls from the front vehicle. "I'm going in first. Already called for backup."
He doesn't wait for my response, disappearing through the building's entrance. I follow, every muscle coiled tight, ready to kill anything that moves.
Two shots crack through the stairwell.
"Clear!" Dante's voice echoes down.
I take the stairs three at a time, passing Dante standing over two Russians bleeding out on the second-floor landing. Their eyes are already glazing over. Good. Two less between me and her.
My legs burn as I climb faster than I've ever moved in my life. Third floor. Fourth. My heart pounds so hard it might crack my ribs. Fifth floor. Marina's apartment is 5C.
A Russian stands outside her door, ear pressed against the wood, gun hanging loose at his side. Amateur. Probably listening to whatever's happening inside, getting off on it.
