“Man, shut up,” Pale Guy says. “She’s scared. And I don’t want to hear you complaining every two seconds.”
“Should’ve tranquilized her.”
“Boss said no drugs.”
Boss?
“Please,” I moan. “Please just let me go. I won’t… I can’t…”
“Listen,” Pale Guy says, “just chill. Our job is to transport you, not hurt you.”
Scar Jaw flicks his eyes over to me again. “Right. Not our job. They’re not paying us enough for that.”
“But you knocked me out.”
“You bit me,” the man with the scar replies. “Should’ve just come quietly.”
My stomach twists. I curl forward, trying to see if there’ssome angle I can hit to loosen the restraints. Nope. Every movement makes them dig deeper into my skin.
“You’re not getting out of that,” the man says.
“I’m pregnant,” I snap. “Do you want to be responsible for hurting a pregnant woman and her two unborn children?”
Pale Guy leans forward. “We know you’re pregnant. That’s why we were told not to hurt you.”
Now I’m confused. I’ve spent the last few weeks avoiding death, and now that I’ve finally been caught, they want to go easy on me? It doesn’t make any sense.
I crane my neck to look out the window across from me. I spot the steam whooshing up from a manhole as we turn into a warehouse district—one of those parts of Chicago you don’t even know exist unless you’re in the right business. I think about Sasha’s Bratva HQ that he took me to, wondering if it’s somewhere around here. Doubtful. That would make things too easy.
The car slows. My pulse hammers so hard, I worry I might pass out. I feel dizzy and scared and nauseous.
“Let me out,” I beg. “Please. You can just set me free and open the door and let me out. I won’t tell Sasha.”
“Come on,” Scar-Jaw says. “Let’s get her in there. She’s waiting for us.”
She? I gasp. There’s no othershe.I shiver but not from the cold. Pale Guy slips a little knife out of his pocket and walks over to me. I tense at the sight of the blade.
“Easy,” he says. “Just cutting these ties.”
He reaches around me, and with a flick of his wrist, he frees me. For a brief moment, I debate running the hell out of there. But fat chance I’d even get out of the van, let alone run faster than these guys.
The driver gets out, and I hear his heavy footfalls on gravel circling the van. He opens the door, cold air rushing in. My eyes adjust to the light, but I can barely make out the man. He’s wearing a puffy parka, a military-green beanie on the top of his head, with a bushy red beard covering his chin and cheeks. He’s middle-aged, grizzled, and terrifying.
“Let’s get her in there and get paid,” he says.
“We just drop her off and that’s it, right?” Pale Guy asks with a tinge of worry to his voice, as if he’s afraid he’ll have to do something worse.
Scar-Jaw nods.
Pale Guy looks me up and down. “See, hurting you is not in the mission. Just stay quiet, and you’ll be fine.”
He’s trying to reassure me, but I’m practically frozen in fear. The two men hurry me out of the van, their hands clamped around my wrists.
They lead me toward a dingy warehouse that looks like something out of a bad crime drama. Concrete walls, corrugated roof, a single rusted door leading into the side. The driver opens the door, and together we head in. The warehouse is just as cold inside as outside, my breath puffing the air in front of me.
We move deeper into the warehouse until we’re on the main floor. Just as I’d feared, standing under the central overhead light is Ruth. Her silhouette is unmistakable—tall,elegant as ever, her trench coat cinched at the waist, like she’s the most expensively dressed private eye you’ve ever seen. Four men flank her.
“Just stay calm.” Pale Guy leans close and whispers the words into my ear.
