The sandy-blonde Malibu Ken model figure I’ve worked with for months is bloodied, battered, and heavily bruised.
His perfectly sculpted face is swollen, and a dark crimson stain blooms through his torn shirt. He sags against the doorframe, his knees buckling as he struggles to stay upright.
I rush forward, catching him before he hits the concrete floor. “Oh my God, Henry! Talk to me. What happened? Who did this to you?” I gasp, my hands shaking as I try to support him.
He gasps for air, and his words come out in painful, fractured pieces. “They were dangerous men…Elena, strange, dangerous men. That night…they jumped me.” He winces, clutching his ribs. “They were the ones who…who forced me to call you. They wouldn’t let me go to the marina.”
“What do you mean?” I whisper. Terror grips my chest. “So you weren’t with Stephanie?”
He shakes his head.
My voice catches in my throat. “You were…you were being held somewhere against your will?”
He nods, and my free hand flies to my mouth, covering a sob before it escapes.
The events of that night are still fresh in my mind. I remember the panic that swallowed me whole when I thought my life was over.
I can’t imagine what my friend must have gone through, being tortured and held captive for days.
My heart breaks for him, but I can’t understand this.
Henry is one of the best people I’ve ever met. He’s kind, generous, and wouldn’t hurt a fly. It makes no sense whatsoever that he’d be roped into something where the mafia was involved.
My brows crease when I look up at him. “Why you? Whywould anyone do this to you, Henry? Did you owe them money? What…what happened?”
His face twists in pain as he tightens his grip on his ribs. “They knew about the Russians smuggling on theMona,” he chokes out, and his eyes grow wide with a manic, primal fear. “They needed a distraction so they could spy on them that night. That’s why they targeted you…they used me to get to you. And now, I’m going to die.”
“Hush,” I scold firmly, hiding the quiver in my voice. “Stop talking nonsense. You’re not going to die.”
He releases an agonized cry, and my heart races against my ribs like a trapped bird as I take in the full extent of his injuries—the deep purple swelling around his eyes, his split lip, and the way he can barely keep his head up. Whoever did this is an evil maniac who desired to hurt him. The marks on his bodyare brutal, physical manifestations of the world we’ve both been dragged into.
“Elena, you don’t understand,” he whispers, his breathing shallow. He grips my arms, his fingers trembling violently. “They left me like this…they let me crawl to you because they know. They know he doesn’t forgive loudmouths or traitors or anyone who’s not on his side.”
“Who, Henry?” I plead, almost desperately. “Who doesn’t forgive?”
“Leonid Nazarov. Once he finds out I compromised his operation, he’ll kill me.”
My heart starts beating faster for a different reason. “Shh, just breathe. I’ve got you,” I reassure him softly, trying to keep my voice calm.
I want to be an anchor for him, but internally I’m completely panicking. He’s been promised death at Leonid’s hands, and my husband is definitely capable of killing him.
To say I’m terrified is an understatement.
The wheels begin spinning in my head as the reality of this life I’ve been pulled into crashes down on me with suffocating weight.
If it wasn’t clear before, it’s clear now: this isn’t a game. Someone’s life is on the line.Henry’slife is on the line. And the man who will decide his fate is my husband.
The doors of the office slam open.
Speak of the devil. His men burst through the entryway, their boots thudding heavily against the concrete.
In a split second, a dozen guns are raised, all aimed right at Henry’s chest. The metallic click of safeties turning off resonates like thunder in the small room.
Henry lets out a choked sob, but as I step in front of him, shielding his battered body with my own, a fierce, desperate vow solidifies in my chest.
I’ll do whatever I have to in order to save his life, even if it includes begging Leonid to spare him. My pride is of no importance. I will get down on my knees if I need to, because Henry is completely innocent in all of this. He’s just a casualty of this nightmare.
The confrontation at the docks ends in a blur of shouting—mostly by me as I yell at them to take their stupid guns out of his face as they drag him away.
