Fuck.
I stop struggling and force myself to lie still.
The car hits a pothole, and my head slams into the back of the seat as a thought rushes into my brain.
This is what you get for leaving him.
I swallow hard, the gag making it difficult, and force myself to focus.
The men in the front seats are talking in Russian.
Their voices are low and casual. They don't seem to care that I can hear them. They assume I'm as good as dead; maybe they're right.
"...little betrayer," one of them says, and he laughs. "Dimitri's going to make an example of her."
"Good," the other one replies. "Should've thought twice before spreading her legs for a Romanian."
Rage runs through me, but there's nothing I can do or say.
"Doesn't matter now," the first guard says. "The hit squad at the hotel took care of him. Probably bleeding out on the floor as we speak."
The world stops.
My heart stops.
Everything stops.
No.
"One less Ionescu to worry about. Dimitri will probably dump them both in the sea when he's done with her."
They laugh again, and the sound echoes in my skull, drowning out everything else.
They got Victor.
They killed him.
The panic hits me like a wave, and I can't breathe. The hood presses tighter against my face, the gag chokes me, and I can't get enough air.
No. No.
I try to logic my way out of it, try to force myself to think rationally.
Victor is smart. He's capable. He's survived worse than a hotel ambush. He would've anticipated the threat. He would've...
But the guards sound so certain.
My chest tightens, and my eyes sting beneath the hood.
I blink hard, forcing the tears back, but the image won't leave my mind.
Victor, lying on the floor of that hotel suite. Blood pooling beneath him. His dark eyes empty, staring at nothing.
No.
I can't let myself believe it.
I won't.
