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Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for those you love—even if that means letting them go to save them from a vile, abusive man or putting your life into the enemy’s hands. As long as Willow is safe, that’s all that matters.
What I wouldn’t give to have her in my arms right now, to keep me company as I fall asleep.
Rattling bars jar me awake, and my head bolts upright from the wall. Two guards, who may or may not be my captors from earlier, open the cell door.
“Come on,” one says in German. “The boss wants to speak to you.”
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to get off your ass and come with us.”
A cold sweat clings to my forehead. I must have been out for hours, because my stomach feels empty and my mouth bone dry.
Standing up, I let them lead me down the corridor. Every cell we pass is vacant.
I follow them up the stairs, which spit us out into a living room. It looks like an old cottage, but it’s sparsely decorated. Outside the window, pitch black night has fallen, and there are no signs of neighboring structures or city lights.
We really are in the middle of nowhere.
The two men lead me down a narrow hallway through an open door. Inside, bookshelves cover the walls from floor to ceiling, and old books are shoved wherever they can fit into every nook and cranny.
In the middle of the room is a circular table with mismatched chairs surrounding it.
“Sit down.”
One of them shoves me into a chair, but with my arms still bound behind me, I have to sit on the edge of the seat. The men file out of the room and shut the door. A moment passes in silence before a key clicks in the lock.
It seems odd to lock a hostage in a room with a window—not that I’m capable of opening it with my wrists tied. And even if I managed to escape, I wouldn’t get far on this dark night.
Again, I’m made to wait for an excruciating period of time, though I’m certain they’re doing it on purpose to assert their power over me. Whether that’s true or not, I’m bored with their antics.
Another hour goes by, if I had to guess, before the lock clicks in the door. I turn my head as a figure walks in, and though we’ve only met in passing at events, I recognize him instantly.
“Hans Müller.” With a low chuckle, I shake my head. “I must be special if the head of the Labor Party has come all this way to pay me a personal visit.”
Hans takes a seat across from me, leaning back in his chair while reaching inside his jacket. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and takes his time lighting the end. Bringing it to his mouth, he inhales, though his eyes are on me. Studying me.
Despite being twice my age, he’s still one of the youngest politicians in Andarusia. He’s not yet forty, but he has the hardened look of a much older man who’s witnessed too much injustice in the world.
But he has a handsome face and makes impassioned speeches, which is all you need to succeed in politics.
“Cigarette?” he asks.
“I would, but I’m a little tied up.”
Hans glances at the door. “Guard! Cut his ropes.”
One of the men walks in and pulls a knife from his pocket. I tense up when he steps behind me, but when he slices through the bindings, my arms fall to my sides, and I sigh in relief.
“Ah, much better.”
Hans sets the pack of cigarettes on the table and slides them toward me. I pull one out and stick it in my mouth as I light the end, and when I inhale the smoke, I hold it in my lungs before blowing it out.
I start to relax, though I remain vigilant.
“Shall we get into it?” I ask.
“I suppose we should. I come bearing news.”
