“Wren. Talk to me,” he snaps.
“Two big guys are beating the crap out of a kid. I can’t tell if they’re his men or not. Or one of his kids. They’re dragging him into an alley and…frankincense. I can’t see them anymore.”
“Going to check it out. Be ready to move if I tell you.”
My heart thuds so loudly I think he can probably hear it over comms. But I force myself to move slowly, calmly, as I pull out a handful of rubles for my bill. Tucking the book I’ve been pretending to read all afternoon back in my bag, I scan through all of the camera images. Nothing. I can’t find Ryker or the goons.
When his voice returns to my ear, it carries a hint of panic. “Something’s wrong. Get the fuck out of there. Rendezvous point three. Five minutes.”
With a little squeak, I shove the tablet into my bag, throw the rubles on the table, and try not to run for the front door. My first breath of fresh air helps center me, and I remember to check for anything or anyone out of place before I set off for the bar Ryker showed me this morning.
A handful of people are out and about. A businessman talking on his cell phone, a mother with a small child holding her hand, and an older couple—maybe fifties, heading for the cafe. No one looks like a threat, but would I even know?
Two blocks later, I’m almost in control of my emotions until a young man rushes past me, his shoulder slamming into mine. I stumble and snap, “Hey. Watch where you’re going.”
When the kid stops, turns, and meets my gaze, time stands still.
“Semyon?”
The boy from the mug shot curses under his breath as he races down the street and then darts into an alley on the next block.
“Ryker? I just saw Semyon.” I follow, clutching my bag tightly against my stomach as I start to jog. “I’m turning down Ulitsa Tel’mana to follow him.”
“No!” Ryker growls over comms. “Get to the rendezvous point, Wren. Now!”
I should listen. But the look in Semyon’s eyes—it was like he recognized me. And if I leave him now, I might never find him again. At the mouth of the alley, I stop, warning bells going off in my head. Except…Semyon is at the other end, banging on one of the building doors. “He’s right here. I can see him…”
“Wren!” Ryker’s voice sounds both in my ear and from a few blocks away. I glance back at him, seeing the pure terror on his face as he sprints towards me. A shout rings out from the alley, and I turn, seeing Semyon struggling with a big burly man.
“Let me go,” he shouts and tries to kick at his attacker. I don’t think. I have to get to him. To save him. For Z.
Ryker begs me to stop, but I can’t, and as I race down the alley, Semyon manages to wrench his arms free and escape out onto the street. I try to stop my forward momentum, but I skid, my heart rate skyrocketing and my feet tangling with one another. Unable to find my footing, I crash to the ground, scraping my palms. As Ryker curses and shouts, rough hands grab me.
“Ry!” I flail my legs, but the man holding me slams me into the wall, and the side of my head explodes in pain. Fear wraps icy fingers around my heart as his scent invades my nose. Sweat and onions. I can’t…I can’t move. Can’t think. I have to get away. But he’s too strong. Too big. Pressed against me. “Ryker,” I choke out, and a shot explodes close to my right arm, sending bits of concrete flying up to hit my arms.
“Let her go, fucker!” Ryker shouts, and I find enough focus to squirm and land a solid kick to my attacker’s shin.
“Stupid cyka,” the man grunts and whirls around. Something hard smacks into my cheek. As my world goes dark, I hear Ryker scream my name.
23
Ryker
Two shots is all I can risk. I could hit Wren. But they’re not enough. Small bits of concrete explode from the side of the building as a dark-haired man with tattoos running up and down his arms tosses Wren over his shoulder and disappears inside the building. The other asshole—this one blond—sends a return shot my way before following his partner.
“Wren! Wren, sweetheart, talk to me!” I shout over comms. She can’t answer me. I saw the blond one punch her hard enough to knock her into next week, but I have to try. She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t have a broken jaw. What am I thinking? She’ll be lucky if she lives.
I reach the door, but it’s locked, and my pounding does nothing but bruise my fist. “Let her go, you dumb fucks! I’ll hunt you down and rip you apart!”
Footsteps slap on the concrete at the other end of the alley, and I spin, raising my gun. “Freeze!”
A young kid—no more than twenty-five—stops, stares at me for two seconds, and then darts around the corner. My shot misses him by inches, and indecision paralyzes me. Pick the lock or go after the kid?
Muffled voices echo over comms. Not Wren, but the men who have her. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I think I hear a door slam. The sound frees me from the terror gripping me, and I abandon any thought of picking the lock. Stepping back, I fire two quick shots at the deadbolt.
The door swings open, and I slip inside and press my back to the wall, listening. Laughter, I think, and another door.
Fuck. Get your bearings, soldier. She needs you.
I take a deep breath. Scent the air. Sweat. Gunpowder. And honeysuckle. This is some sort of warehouse, I think. Stacks of boxes halfway to the ceiling hide the other end of the room from me, and light glows from somewhere behind them.
I know in my heart, she’s gone. This was a targeted, planned attack. Somehow, they knew she was here. Knew just how to get to her. But I can’t give up. Not this time. I’ve failed everyone I’ve ever cared for. I can’t fail Wren. Can’t lose her. Not now. She’s…everything.
Creeping silently around one stack of wooden crates, I find an open door leading to a hallway. With a quick check to verify no one lies in wait, I follow Wren’s scent. Until something glinting on the floor stops me.
Her bracelet. The purple and green beads are smooth between my fingers, and I say a silent prayer of thanks they didn’t break when they fell off her wrist. Except…she needs her bracelet. Without it, her anxiety…her panic attacks…
Keep going.
I can’t let myself dwell on what might happen to her. Because I know what will happen to her if I can’t save her. Bursting through another door out into the sunlight, I’m seconds too late. The dark-haired goon grins through the side window of a shiny new car as the vehicle pulls away from the curb, tires squealing, and Wren’s gone.
I don’t remember how I get to the safe house. I only have vague memories of running back to the car. I know Kolya has her. But I can’t get into his fortress without a hell of a lot more fire power—and help.
Wren’s laptop sits on the couch. Nestled amid the sleeping bags. Dropping my pack, I sink to my knees. Her scent is everywhere in this house. But nowhere more than right here. In the makeshift bed where I found peace for the first time in…forever.
My heart pounds in my ears. Rhythmic thumping I can’t stop. I failed her. This morning, she kissed me right here. I ran my hands over her small breasts, down her stomach, to the patch of reddish curls over her mound. The pressure inside my head builds, more thumping threatening to drive me insane. I can’t get myself under control.
Wren kept me calm. Centered. Focused. And now…
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Open the damn door.
The pounding. It’s not in my head. Inara.
With Wren’s bracelet still clutched in my hand, I fumble for the lock.
“About time.” Inara pushes past me with a rucksack half her size on her back, and I start to close the door, but a hand shoots out and slams into the wood.
“Is that any way to thank me for postponing my fucking wedding?” West raises a brow, and I stagger back, shocked. “Jesus, Ry. Did you seriously expect me to stay back in Seattle?”
“Where’s Wren?” Inara asks as she drops her pack and West shuts the door behind him.
I look from one to t
he other, suddenly unable to speak. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I trace patterns over the beads in my hand.
Inara grabs my arms and tries to shake me. But she’s half my size. “Ry?”
“They took her.” Saying the words suddenly makes the horror real, and then I’m on the floor. I don’t remember sitting. Or falling. My ass hurts. All I can smell is honeysuckle.
Cool fingers touch my cheek, and for a second, I think…she’s here. I dreamed the whole thing. But then the scent of lilies and vanilla drives the honeysuckle away, and Inara’s face swims in and out of focus. “Ry. Talk to me. Where’s Wren? Where did they take her?”
“He’s too far gone. If she’s wearing her tracker, Royce’s program can find her.” West pulls out his laptop, and even though I should get up, should help him, should do something, all I can do is stare at the beads in my hand and think about what Kolya is doing to my sweet Wren, right now.
24
Wren
A hard slap sends pain exploding in my cheek. “Wake up, cyka.”
Dizzy, I struggle to focus. I’m in a chair—plush, leather—and I try to bring my hand up to soothe the pain, but it won’t move. Oh God. I’m tied up. Ankles secured to the legs of the chair, wrists bound behind me. And the sickening scent of too much aftershave in my nose.
I whimper as another hit sends my head rocking. “Stop. Please.” I can barely manage a whisper through the throbbing in my cheek and the nausea churning in my stomach. Ryker. Where’s Ryker? He was close. I heard him. And then…nothing.
Someone grabs my hair and forces my head back. “You will look at me when I am talking to you.”
Kolya Yegorovich. Oh shit. I’m dead. He’s going to kill me. Panic coils around my heart, and I start to hyperventilate. “P-please…” I beg through rasping, wheezing breaths. “Need…my…meds…”
With a snarl, he punches me in the stomach, and the shock makes me retch as his fist drives the air from my lungs. I hiccup, but after the room stops spinning, I can breathe again. Who knew a punch could stop a panic attack? The absurdity of what just happened makes me want to laugh—or perhaps that’s the terror talking.
“You and your brother have caused me much trouble. I disposed of him too quickly. You…you will beg me to break you.” His hand tightens around my throat, and I try to pull away, but the back of the chair stops me. As my body runs out of air, tears stream down my cheeks.
Darkness tinges my vision, and I see Ryker’s face, hear the panic as he screamed my name over the roar of my heartbeat in my ears. Ryker will come. Won’t he? He’ll save me like he saved me in Boston.
Except he doesn’t. My arms and legs spasm in their bonds, and pressure builds behind my eyes until I’m sure I’m going to pass out. But then Kolya lets me go, and I suck in huge lungfuls of air until I can see again.
Kolya paces back and forth in front of me, and two large men—blondie and the handsy guy who grabbed me and felt me up at the same time—stand between him and the only door I see in the room. Arms crossed. Guns in shoulder harnesses. Tattoos cover their arms, even up to their necks.
“I thought taking care of you back in the States would be simple. But the stupid fucks I hired could not manage such a simple task. Imagine my surprise when I saw all of those pitiful emails Elena sent your brother had been read. How much did you tell that brute with you?”
Horror clenches in my gut. He knows about Ryker. Does he know about the cameras? The mics? I swallow hard and force myself to meet Kolya’s steely-blue gaze. “Go to hell.”
His deep laugh makes my skin crawl. “You are in no position to demand anything, cyka.” A slap to my other cheek makes my ears ring. “What information did your piece of shit brother steal from me? Did you know he tried to blackmail me? Me!” Grabbing my upper arms, he squeezes hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. “He thought he could get me to let Elena go. Her gopnik brother too.”
“You…don’t need them,” I say as another tear rolls down my cheek. “You have…an empire. Zion just…wanted to be…free. Let us all…go and you’ll never…see me again.”
“Stupid bitch,” he mutters as he shoves the chair so hard, it topples onto its side, with me still tied to it. My head hits the rich wood floor, and I see stars.
“Pick her up,” Kolya barks to one of his men, and the blond giant lumbers over and winds his beefy hand in my hair, using my curls to lift me—and the chair. I whimper at the pain, and my throat tightens up again. Please…just let me pass out. I think I’m still wearing my tracker—I’m fully dressed, though my earbud is gone. If Ryker’s alive, he’ll know where I am. Maybe…he’ll be able to save me.
With his back to me, Kolya digs through something on his desk. My bag. Dammit. My tablet’s in there. Except, it’s encrypted. As long as I don’t give him the password, he won’t know what I know. Won’t know about the cameras. The tracker. All of the financial data Elena and Zion stole.
“Give me access,” he orders as he thrusts the tablet in front of my face.
“No.”
“You think you are so brave?” Leaning closer, he stares me down, and his breath threatens to suffocate me. He smells like onions and sour milk, and I fight not to lose my lunch.
“Not brave,” I whisper. “But not stupid either. The minute I tell you, I’m dead. You might as well just kill me now. Because I’m never going to give you what you want.”
Kolya’s lips curve into a sneer. Perfect white teeth fill his wide mouth, so perfect they have to be fake. Oh God. I hope I haven’t just made a terrible mistake. “Never? If you are at all like your brother, little Red, you will beg to tell me very soon.” He turns to Blondie. “Take her to the bath. I will be along shortly with proper…motivation.”
Motivation? Oh God. He’s going to rape me. Or try to drown me. What else would he do in a bathroom? The big guy pulls a jackknife from his pocket and flips it open, waving it menacingly at me as he comes closer. His partner moves behind me, and in seconds, they’ve cut me free, but I’m too stiff, sore, and dazed to run for the door before Blondie grabs my legs and the Groper yanks my arms over my head and pins my wrists together. They carry me almost like a hammock, swinging me between them, letting my back hit the floor every couple of feet. I struggle, but it’s no use. They’re too strong. With every step, my panic rises, until I’m half-sobbing, half-screaming as I thrash and buck.
Down a short hallway, then around a corner and into a lavish bedroom. I wheeze as the panic attack hits its apex and try to throw my weight from side to side, anything to get them off balance, maybe force one of them to drop me. Screaming like a banshee, I give up on all of the polite and cute curses Mama taught me. “Let me go, fuckers!”
And the Groper does. My head slams into hard, black tile, and the entire world tilts, darkens, and quiets as I fight not to lose consciousness. “There,” the Groper says in a thick Russian accent. “I let go.”
Blondie kneels down next to me and fiddles with something close to the floor. When a cold, solid weight settles around my ankle, I try to push myself up. A chain runs from the thick, metal cuff to a pipe under a gleaming black sink. Shit, shit, shit.
Heavy footsteps approach, and my heart leaps into my throat. Kolya looms in the doorway, that same, sneering grin plastered on his face. He has a small bag in his hand, and I can’t look away it as it swings from his short stubby fingers.
“Take her clothes,” he orders.
“No!” I flail my arms, trying to scramble back, but the Groper grabs my hands and uses his knees to pin them to the floor.
“If you do not want to end up bleeding to death, little Red, I suggest you hold still.”
Blondie’s knife waves in front of me, and I tremble as he slices through the button on my pants, then drags the blade down one leg. I’m cold. So cold. I can’t look away as he cuts through the other leg, then yanks the black material out from under me. My boots are next. Then socks.
“Stop, please,” I whisper when Blondie uses the flat of the blade to trac
e up my outer thigh. His sick laughter is too much, and now I’m sobbing uncontrollably. My blue shirt is next, the knife making quick work of the thin, insulating material. I start to shiver, my teeth chattering, and then the tip of the knife presses between my breasts.
“No, no, no,” I moan, but Blondie laughs as he jerks the blade through the black lace, and the bra falls away, sending my tracker tumbling onto the tile. “Der’mo,” he says, turning the small receiver over in his hand. “What is this, boss?”
Kolya snatches the device away and narrows his eyes at me. “Answer him, cyka.”
“Fuck you.”
With a snarl, the drug lord kicks me in the side, and I whimper as I struggle to breathe. Everything hurts. So much I hardly notice when my panties are cut off and yanked away. Naked, terrified, and with three huge men leering at me, I realize Kolya’s right. I’m ready to beg him to kill me.
Ryker. Please. I’m so scared. Where are you?
Crouching a few feet away, Kolya opens the bag. “Sit her up and keep her still.”
I can’t stand their hands on me, and I’m shaking all over—from fear, panic, cold, and then…from sheer terror as the Groper holds my arms and Blondie sits on my legs so he can palm my breast with lust in his eyes.
“This is how I train all of my new girls,” Kolya says as he dangles a rubber tube from his fat fingers. “You will do anything for me soon.” He wraps the rubber around my upper arm, tying it tightly, and the reality of what he’s about to do slams into me, stealing my breath.
He lights a thick, squat candle, and sulfur burns my nose. I whimper when he withdraws a vial of brown powder and pours some into a spoon. As the heroin starts to bubble, I beg, “Please. Just kill me. I can’t…I can’t do this…”
“You would be surprised how easy it is, cyka. Your brother was hooked with his first taste. After a few days…you will do anything I ask. Willingly.”
On His Six Page 14
