The realization hits me like a second explosion.
I'm bait.
"He will come," Vlad says, standing up. "He will come because he cannot help himself. His obsession will not allow him to stay away. And when he comes, we will be ready. Twenty men. Thirty. However many it takes. He will walk into this warehouse looking for you, and he will not walk out."
"No." The word comes out as a whisper. "No, please, you don't have to?—"
"I do." Vlad's voice hardens. "He killed my brother. Now I kill what he loves. And then I kill him. My honor demands it. This is justice."
He turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing on the concrete. The other men follow him. A metal door slams shut. A lock clicks.
I'm alone.
The warehouse is dark except for a single light bulb hanging from the rafters above me. It casts long shadows across the floor. I can hear water dripping somewhere. The distant sound of traffic. The groan of old metal settling.
I pull against the zip ties but they don't give. The plastic cuts into my wrists until I feel something warm and wet—probably blood. I stop struggling. It's pointless.
Think. I need to think.
Luca will come. Vlad is right about that. Luca will come because he's obsessed with me, because I'm his, because the ideaof someone taking me is probably driving him insane right now—if he's alive.
He has to be alive.
But if he comes, it's a trap. They'll kill him. They have the numbers, the planning, the advantage. He'll walk into an ambush and they'll cut him down.
I need to warn him somehow. I need to find a way to tell him not to come.
But how? I'm tied to a chair in a warehouse in Brighton Beach with no phone, no way to communicate, no way to do anything except sit here and wait—wait and be bait, wait for Luca to come and die trying to save me.
The tears come again. I let them. There's no one here to see, no one to pretend to be strong for.
I think about the ER, about the night he came in bleeding, the gunshot wound I treated without asking questions. I should have called the cops. I should have reported it. I should have done a hundred things differently.
But I didn't. And now I'm here.
I think about my apartment, my normal life that feels like it belonged to someone else. That woman who walked to work and complained about double shifts and had no idea a monster was watching her from the shadows.
I think about Luca saying he loves me... and I think about the answer I never got to give.
The warehouse is cold. I'm shivering now, or maybe that's shock setting in. My wrists hurt. My face hurts where they hit me. Everything hurts.
Worse than the physical pain is knowing I can't warn him. Can't stop him. Can't do anything except sit here and wait to be bait.
Please, I think into the darkness. Please don't come. Please be smart. Please survive.
But I know he won't listen. He'll come because it is integral to who he is… because I'm his and he doesn't let go of what's his.
He'll come and they'll kill him.
And it will be my fault for existing, for being the weakness he couldn't afford, for being the thing they could use against him.
I close my eyes and try to pray. I'm not religious, haven't been since I was a kid, but right now I'll take any help I can get.
Please let him be alive.
Please let him stay away.
The light bulb above me flickers once, twice.
