For the first time in months, I feel something like anticipation.
Four hours pass.
Four hours of pain.
He doesn’t say a word.
Not one of consequence.
And now I understand the pattern without doubt.
These men are monsters, yes, but they love their families. Their daughters. Their wives. Whoever is behind this knows exactly how to exploit that.
He doesn’t recruit men with nothing to lose. He selects men with everything at stake.
And this reminds me of someone… but who?
I straighten slowly, blood dripping from my hands, and look down at Andrew as he whimpers in the chair.
He starts coughing.
Deep and wet. His head jerks forward and for a second I think he says something, but it’s swallowed by the sound.
I’m on him instantly. I fist my hand in his hair and snap his head up.
“What did you say?”
His lips barely move. His breath is shallow and broken.
“Russia.”
My heart slams so hard it fucking hurts.
Did he just give me a lead?
“What Russia?” I snap.
Andrew’s head slumps forward.
“Get me a doctor,” I bark.
Isaak is already moving, the phone in his hand.
I press my fingers to Andrew’s throat, searching for a pulse.
Nothing.
“No,” I snarl.
I shove the chair back and drag him to the floor, dropping to my knees. My hands slam onto his chest and I start CPR.
“You don’t get to die,” I grind out. “You don’t get to say one word and fucking leave.”
I keep going. My arms burn, but I don’t stop.
“Finish what you were about to say!” I roar.
I don’t know how much time passes. It hardly matters.
