My car is right there. I reach for the handle. And I’m spun around. Hard. My back hits the door, the impact sharp enough to knock the breath from my lungs.
Two men. Both of them big and rough, their presence heavy with something unmistakable. Menace.
One of them speaks, his accent thick, unmistakably Russian.
Damn it. I’m screwed.
“You come with us, pretty girl.”
I don’t respond immediately, already calculating. It’s just two men. If I move fast enough…
I shift my weight slightly, testing the distance, the angle of his stance, the way the other one is stationed just behind him. I could take the first one out. One well-angled punch and a kick in the balls. But then there’s his partner.
My odds aren’t great. Then the second man moves, pulling a gun from beneath his jacket. Everything stills. My eyes lock on it and I recalculate. Adrenaline continues to spike beneath my skin, sharp and electric. I meet his gaze, steady.
“You’re coming with us,” the first one repeats.
My jaw tightens. “Well, you’re going to have to kill me,” I say evenly. “Because I’m not.”
One of the first rules I learned in my self-defense classes is to fight like hell to ensure you’re not taken to a second location. Because if you are, you’ll be in an even worse position than if you’d died at the first.
The one standing in front of me, studies me, something almost like consideration crossing his face. The other one with the gun doesn’t bother. He exhales, irritated.
“Enough,” he mutters, shifting forward.
I see the movement. Too fast. The gun comes up, not aimed, swung. I try to shift, to move, but then pain explodes at the side of my head, sharp and blinding. The world tilts violently as my balance gives out beneath me.
The ground rushes up and sound distorts. The last thought that cuts through the haze is clear. Annoyingly so.
I should have listened to Matteo Vitale.
Darkness takes me before I can hate myself for it.
CHAPTER 9
Matteo
Iwatch it all from my car.
See them close in behind her.
The second Lindsay senses them, her posture shifts. Controlled. Alert. No panic. No wasted movement. Smart girl.
But not fast enough.
My jaw locks when she reaches her car and one of them grabs her from behind. The other moves instantly after. Efficient. Coordinated. Whoever sent them paid for professionals.
Big mistake.
The gun comes out, and everything inside me goes cold.
The hit lands hard against the side of her head and she drops before she can fight back. My hand tightens around the steering wheel hard enough for the leather to groan beneath my grip.
One thought moves through my head with terrifying clarity.
Touch her again and I’ll bury every last one of you myself.
They drag her unconscious body toward a dark sedan parked down the street. One man checks the area before shoving her into the backseat like she’s cargo.
