He reaches out and I flinch so hard the chair creaks beneath me, but there is nowhere to go. His fingertips run along the side of my face, rubbing my cheekbone.
"You're very pretty, you know that?"
I shake my head, trying to pull away, but his hand follows the movement. Not forceful, just persistent.
"Easy," he says. "What I want is obtained by keeping you alive."
My pulse is racing. I don't understand what I could possibly give them or what they think I'm worth.
"We know all about you," he continues, pacing slowly around my chair now. I can't see him anymore, but I can hear his footsteps. "Why you're here. That you were at the hospital when he died."
He leans down again, close enough that I can feel his breath against my ear.
"The Killaneys will be very happy to meet you."
My stomach drops.
No.
No, no, no.
The Killaneys.
Everything I was ever told about them floods back in a sickening rush. The monsters of Boston. The family who murders without mercy. Who butchers anyone who crosses them. Who burned half of Boston to the ground in the war with Cormac's people.
They are the reason we came to Germany. They are the reason Darragh Killaney is dead.
And this man, this Romanian stranger, is going to hand me over to them.
"No," I breathe. "Please, you can't. You don't understand, they'll kill me."
A door swings open somewhere behind me.
I twist as much as the restraints allow, trying to see, and catch a glimpse of another man entering. Younger. Clean shaven. He steps inside and says, "Matei," then continues speaking in rapid Romanian.
So this is Matei Ionescu, the man I was told I was being sent to.
Matei listens, then nods once and waves a hand dismissively.
Then another man approaches. He is older with broad shoulders and is wearing doctor gloves and carrying something in his hand.
I focus in on it.
A syringe.
"What the hell is that?" I gasp, pulling against the restraints instinctively.
Matei walks back around to face me.
"You've got a long flight," he says. "This is so you don't cause any trouble."
I shake my head violently, the chair rattling underneath me. "Wait. Please, don’t."
The man grabs my arm, pushing the sleeve of the filthy ritual robe up. I twist away, but Matei suddenly grips my jaw in one strong hand, forcing my head still.
"Stop moving," Matei says, his tone almost bored now. "It'll hurt less if you stay still."
The needle bites into my arm and I scream, but it is pointless. The drug burns as it enters my bloodstream.
