The thought guts me.
If he’s dead, no one is coming for me. No one will even know where I’ve gone. I’ll disappear completely with no trace left behind. I’ll be just another girl who stopped answering texts sent from my friends overseas. I’ll be another name shuffled through embassy paperwork. Another missing persons case buried under bureaucracy, another statistic in a country that doesn’t care.
The van jolts violently, rattling over what feels like potholes or broken asphalt. My body slams against the cold metal floor, the vibration singing through my bones. I try to steady myself but my wrists are bound behind me. The zip ties bite deep into the soft flesh, burning with every little movement.
I twist, testing the give, but there is none. The plastic bites tighter, cutting my skin raw.
By the time the van finally slows, my head is pounding so hard it’s making me nauseous. For one single heartbeat, everything is still. Then the doors burst open and icy air rushes in, hitting my skin like a punishment.
Hands clamp down on my arms again, dragging me out. I stumble, my legs rubbery, and I’m yanked onto solid ground before I can even find my footing. I’m dragged for what feels like forever. Somewhere ahead, I hear a door groan open, heavy hinges crying out in protest.
They drag me inside, my feet catching against the threshold, bumping over uneven ground until I’m shoved down hard into a chair.
Soon, there’s a scrape and a click. A lock sliding into place from far away.
And then silence.
Oh, God. Where am I?
I can’t see anything through the thick material of the bag over my head. Minutes blur into hours. Or maybe hours blur into days. Time collapses in itself, meaningless, one long stretch of fear that chokes me.
My wrists throb from how many times I’ve tried to wiggle out of the restraints, circulation prickling from the zip ties biting so deep. Every twitch tightens them, but I can’t help it. I want out. My body is hot, then numb, then burning all over again. A cycle that never seems to stop no matter what I try and focus on.
But worse than the pain is the reel in my head, playing over and over again with the same flash of memory of Maksim’s body snapping back when that bullet tore into him.
He can’t be dead. He can’t be.
But there was no mistaking that last shot that had been taken after the van doors slammed shut. What if that was the one that got him? What if he had been left bleeding out in the streets? How much time would it take for his men to come find him?
Bile rises in my throat.
What feels like years later, the door ahead opens, hinges dragging high-pitched like they did when it was shut behind my captors. My pulse kicks up when I hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps heading toward me. Heavy boots strike against stone until they stop right in front of me.
My chair is suddenly tipped back, just a few inches off the ground, but it’s enough that I lurch, my stomach dropping. A strangled sound rips from my throat, fear jerking through me uncomfortably.
A low chuckle follows, dark and pleased. The bag is yanked from my head in one brutal motion.
Light floods my eyes, too bright after hours of my vision being concealed. I blink rapidly, tears spilling unbidden from the sting as I force myself to adjust. The outline of a man sharpens in front of me, slowly at first, then all at once.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Salt and pepper hair. A face I know, strangely.
Anton.
Relief slams into me so hard, it nearly knocks me sideways. For the first time since that van door slammed shut, I can finally breathe.
“Oh my God.” The words tumble out of me in a rush, shaky and raw. “Thank God you’re here. I–I don’t know what happened. I was walking down the street with Maksim when we were attacked. You have to help?—”
But then I see it, the way he’s looking at me. Not with concern after finding me trapped down here, not even surprise that I’ve been taken. He wears a small, humorless smile that curls his mouth, as if my panic is the most amusing thing he’s seen all day.
The words die on my tongue in an instant.
“As long as you cooperate, Ivy, you won’t be losing any fingers. Do you understand me?” Anton says smoothly.
I stammer, choking on the words. “W–What? What do you mean?”
My brain won’t connect the dots. Refuses to. Relief curdles into confusion, confusion into dread. He tilts his head, studying me like I’m some trembling little animal he’s about to dissect. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes make me feel smaller than I’ve ever felt before in my life.
“I find pain can be quite persuasive. But that’s not something I want to start off with right away. So…” He leans closer, enough that I can feel his breath against my face. “Be a good girl and behave for me.”
