“Move,” a second voice snaps. “Back room.”
They shove me forward, and my shoes scrape against the floor as I stumble, trying desperately to keep my balance.
Vanda darts forward, snarling, teeth flashing.
The man aiming the gun shifts the barrel toward her.
“No!” I gasp, finally managing to break free enough to speak. “Don’t hurt her!”
The man holding me sneers. “Then tell your mutt to back off.”
“Vanda,” I whisper, voice trembling. “It’s okay. It’s okay, girl. Stay with me.”
Her ears flatten and she tucks her tail obediently. But she stays close, growling low in her throat
“Closet,” one of the men orders, pushing me toward the back hallway.
He yanks open the small storage closet where I keep extra pots and ribbon spools then pushes me in.
“Please—” I beg helplessly. My heart is beating wildly, my stomach twisting into painful knots.
“Now.”
I grab Vanda’s collar with shaking fingers and pull her into the closet with me. Her body is shaking as hard as mine. The moment we’re inside, the door slams shut, plunging us into darkness.
A lock click, followed by silence.
I press my forehead to the door, my heart hammering violently, my knees threatening to give out. I reach into my apron pocket for my phone and it hits me like a brick to the gut—
I left my phone on the counter when I heard the crash.
Viktor’s men are still outside, buried under a pile of café furniture and a panicking cyclist. They didn’t see anything. They couldn’t have…
Nobody knows I’m in here.
Nobody knows I’m in danger.
A cold wave of dread crashes over me, tightening around my lungs.
“Vanda,” I whisper in the dark, pulling her trembling body against mine. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby.”
But even as I say the words, I know they’re meant more for myself than her.
Chapter Six
Viktor
The warehouse Alexei uses for private sit-downs feels colder than usual.
Maybe it’s the reinforced steel walls.
Maybe it’s the storm rolling in.
Or maybe it’s the fact that Natalya isn’t in my arms where she belongs.
I sit at the long metal table with Alexei at the head and Dmitri to my right, the low buzz of industrial lights overhead humming like a warning. Papers are spread across the table; photos, reports, surveillance stills…all pointing to the same stupid, suicidal conclusion.
A street gang is trying to poke the bear.
