A slow smirk curves my lips, the familiar thrill unfurling in my chest.
“Then let’s not waste time.”
He opens the door of the waiting SUV for me, and I slide inside.
The driver, a man in his late fifties, catches my eye through the rear view mirror and gives a single, respectful nod before pulling away from the helipad the moment Adriano settles beside me in the back.
Night has settled over the British countryside, the fields slipping past the windows in long, shadowed sweeps, the soft hum of the engine the only constant in the dim interior.
I glance at Adriano. “Where was the rat hiding?”
“Paris,” he says. “He figured crossing borders would keep him hidden.”
Idiot.
My eyes drift back to the window, watching the sprawl of city lights gather on the horizon as we near London’s outskirts.
“And how did we find him?”
“The usual way.”
Which means the dark web.
“You verified everything?” I ask.
Adriano nods once. “All of it checks out.”
I don’t reply.
Instead, I let my head fall back against the seat, the gentle sway of the car letting my thoughts slip where they please, whether I welcome them or not.
For a moment, I’m no longer in the SUV at all.
I’m somewhere far darker… a place I never wish to revisit, yet am dragged back to again and again, without mercy… without a damn choice.
His warm breath ghosts against my ear.
My stomach pitches.
His weight crushes down on me, too heavy and suffocating.
I heave.
The snap of his belt…
Acid floods my mouth.
“Kukolka,” he whispers.
The sound of that name rips through me. Revulsion rises so violently I can’t hold it back.
I vomit.
I jolt back into the present on a sudden inhale, my eyes snapping open.
Adriano watches me closely, concern flickering in his gaze, though he’s wise not to give it a voice.
I slow my breathing, count to three, and force the images back into whatever locked box they belong in.
