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“It’s Robin. Robin Freeman.”
“Freeman, you say?” I try to rack my brain, thinking about whether we have any Freeman on our red list. The name doesn’t ring a bell. I need to know more.
With my grip still on her, I drag her through the room and toward the exit. Panic flashes in her eyes, but I can't let that sway me. This is for her safety as much as it is for mine.
"Please, Boris, you're hurting me," she whispers, genuine fear lacing her voice. But being gentle is the last thing on my mind right now. There's too much at stake, and she could be a spy.
"Trust me, this is necessary," I reply tersely, my grip unyielding on her arm as I stop by a group of my guys who are now rounding up the Abatos scum. “Deal with them. Let them live, but make sure they know we aren’t weak. I’ll meet you at the compound.”
We make our way to my car. She’s reluctant, fighting against me, but I have a firm grip. I open the door and push her inside, securing her seatbelt and putting the child lock on her side of the door before sliding into the driver's seat.
“Where are you taking me?” she almost cries. “Please, I swear I’m innocent. You don’t understand, Boris.”
I can feel her fear and desperation seeping through every word she utters. But I can’t afford to let my guard down, not when everything is at stake. Without a word, I start the car and pull out of the alley, the tires screeching against the asphalt as we speed away from the chaos behind us.
***
The moment we pull into the driveway, my guards come running. I walk over to the passenger side and pull Robin out.
“Make sure no one disturbs me,” I tell the head guard and head inside my home, renewing my grip tight on Robin’s arm. I slam the door shut behind us, and the echo reverberates through the empty house. My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline coursing through me as I face the girl who may hold the key to unraveling the Abatos's plans.
"Start talking," I demand, my voice low and menacing. "How do you know the Abatos group? What are they planning?"
"Wh—what?" She stammers, her eyes wide with confusion.
Her eyes are fixed on me, pleading for understanding, for mercy. But my mind is too clouded with doubts and suspicions to grant her any reprieve. I need answers, and she's the only lead I have.
"Answer me!" I bark, shaking her slightly. "How did you get involved with them?"
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," she cries, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her trembling hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white under the pressure.
"Stop playing games, Robin! Who are you working for?" My patience wears thin, and my frustration mounts with each evasive answer.
"Nobody!" she protests, her voice a mix of desperation and terror. "I don't know anything about any Abatos! I’ve never even heard the name!"
"Then why were you at that warehouse?" I hiss, leaning in closer to her face. "You must know something."
"Please, Boris," she whispers, her bottom lip quivering as she looks up at me with pleading eyes, begging for understanding. "I don't know anything. I was just there todeliver a package. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I tried to run before you came.”
“Tried to run?” I ask.
“They took my phone,” she sobs, wiping her tears away from the back of her hand. “I went in, and they took my phone. I wasn’t even going to give it to them, but one of the guys had a gun, and I had to. I got scared. He had a gun. I’ve never even seen a gun in real life… It was a small thing, on the side of his belt, like in one of those movies—”
She’s rambling. She’s confused and rambling. I try to make sense of it all.
“Why did you try to run?” I ask.
“Because, as I’ve been trying to tell you the whole time,” she almost screams at me, and I’m taken aback, “I didn’t know what I was getting into. I was only supposed to pick up and deliver something, like a job. And then I saw the guns, and I tried to leave. I said I needed to use the bathroom. I hoped that I could find a window or something and escape.”
“Escape from a window?” I inquire, slightly amused. “You do know they have men stationed everywhere, don’t you?”
“No!” she screeches. “No, I don’t know that, Boris, because I’ve never set foot in a place like that before.”
“What kind of delivery did you think it would be?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she clutches her head in her hands, looking utterly defeated. “Food, jewelry. Anything but guns.”
Her vulnerability is palpable, and my heart clenches in my chest as I watch her tremble beneath my glare. Despite the growing sense that she's telling the truth, I can't let my guard down. Not yet. "And you expect me to believe you?"
