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"We need something to tie it off with," Sophie whispered, her hands shaking as she pressed against the wound.

I grabbed a pillowcase off one of the beds, ripping it into strips. Sophie took one piece and started tying it above the wound, pulling it tight. The maid whimpered, her body going rigid.

"Tighter," I whispered to Sophie. "It has to be tight enough to stop the bleeding."

Sophie's hands were slick with blood, but she pulled the makeshift tourniquet as tight as she could. The bleeding slowed. Not stopped, but slower.

"Good," I breathed. "You did good."

The maid's eyes focused on me for just a moment. Terror. Pain. Pleading.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Viktor barked something in Russian. Before I could process what was happening, one of his men lunged across the room and grabbed Sophie by her hair. She gasped as he yanked her upward, her feet barely touching the ground.

"No!" I started to move, but the other man stepped in front of me, his hand going to his weapon.

Sophie's face was twisted in agony, but she bit down on her lip so hard I saw blood. She wasn't going to scream. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

Viktor said something else in Russian—a command. The man holding Sophie pulled her higher, then drove his fist into her stomach. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.

Sophie's face went gray. When he released her, she dropped like a puppet with cut strings, curling into a ball on the floor, gasping for air. Tears streamed down her face.

"Stop!" Russell's voice cracked. "Stop it! Please! My laptop—it's on the balcony! In Sophie's tote bag! I'll give you everything, just don't hurt her anymore! Please!"

Viktor smiled. That same pleasant, terrifying smile. He gestured to one of his men, who moved toward the balcony door.

I looked at the nightstand between the two beds. The digital clock read 4:05.

Code had said eighteen minutes at 3:49.

That meant he and Jase would be pulling up to the hotel at 4:12.

Seven minutes.

Seven minutes, and they'd be here. Seven minutes, and Code knew exactly what he was walking into because that phone was still in the goon's pocket, still transmitting everything.

Just hold on. We just have to hold on for seven more minutes.