We were halfway across the terminal when I spotted the third man. He was positioned near the bathroom exit, blocking the most obvious escape route.
My hand went for a weapon that wasn't there.
The doors burst open.
Men in black tactical gear flooded in from every entrance. Four, six, eight of them. Cerberus. The tactical gear alone probably weighed forty pounds each, total overkill for kidnapping two exhausted men.
Rafael drew a knife from his sleeve and moved in front of me.
"Put your weapons down! Get on the ground!" The command came from everywhere at once, multiple voices shouting over each other.
One of them raised something. A hood. Black fabric.
"No,” I started. "No, wait—"
The hood came down over my head, cutting off light, cutting off air, cutting off everything. Hands grabbed my arms, wrenching them behind my back. Zip ties bit into my wrists.
"RAFAEL!" I twisted toward where he'd been standing, but hands shoved me forward hard enough that I stumbled.
"Lorenzo!" His voice was somewhere to my left, muffled through the hood. "Don't hurt him! Whatever you want, just don't—"
There was the sound of an impact. Rafael's voice cut off mid-sentence.
Terror clawed up my throat. "Rafael? RAFAEL!"
"Shut up." Something hard jabbed into my ribs. A gun barrel. "Move."
They dragged me forward.
My breath came too fast, too shallow. The hood pressed against my mouth with each exhale, fabric sucking in, making it impossible to get enough air. Every kidnapping movie I'd ever dismissed as unrealistic suddenly felt prophetic.
Hands shoved me into a vehicle. I hit hard, the impact sending fresh pain through my already damaged body.
More weight landed beside me with a familiar grunt of pain.
"Rafael?" I tried to move toward the sound, but my hands were bound, my body hurt too much, and the hood made everything darkness.
"I'm here," he said. “I’m right here.”
The van doors slammed shut as the engine roared to life. We were moving.
They’re going to kill us. They’re going to separate us and kill us, and I’ll die without seeing his face one more time.
I don’t know how long we drove before the van stopped. I tried to count, tried to keep track of turns and stops, but it was too much, and I was too terrified. Someone dragged me out onto rough concrete. The air was different here. Colder. The echo suggested a large space. A warehouse, maybe?
They threw me into a chair. The hard plastic bit into my ass, making every bruise and bite mark scream. Hands wrapped more zip ties around my ankles, securing me to the chair legs.
"Where is he?" My voice came out hoarse through the hood. "Where's Rafael?"
No answer. The footsteps retreated.
Minutes passed before another door opened and footsteps approached.
"Whatever you’re planning to do to me, you’d better make it count," I spat. “Because if I get free and find out you laid one finger on hishead—”
Someone ripped the hood off, and suddenly I was blinking into the darkness.
“Luka?”
