“That was taken several weeks ago at an art gallery in Miami. That’s Victor Kane getting into a car with your uncle, Nikolai. The following day, a man attempted to abduct Victor’s wife, Ariana, from their home while Victor was conveniently away on business. I confiscated this man’s burner phone and, based on what I uncovered, Victor Kane had hired him, seemingly through your uncle, to abduct her.”
Mikhail didn’t speak.
Didn’t blink.
Then he pressed the gun against my forehead, cold metal kissing my skin.
For a moment, the wind died completely, and I fully braced myself for Mikhail to pull the trigger. The only thing I had going for me was that I’d given him proof of what really happened the night of his father’s death. I just hoped it was enough.
“If you’re trying to manipulate me,” he finally said, his voice a low growl, “I will kill you. And I will make it slow.”
“I’m not trying to manipulate you. All these photos are real.”
His gaze searched mine for any sort of deception. When he didn’t find any, he stepped back, but still kept his gun aimed at me.
“What does this have to do with you? What do you get out of it?”
“I believe the same man who tried to take Ariana Kane also took my daughter several months ago. I’d been led to believe she’d killed herself at one of Victor Kane’s hotels, but information has recently come to light that she may still be alive. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re my last hope in trying to find her. Or your uncle is. I just need to know about the nature of his business with Victor. And I’m hoping you’ll help me.”
“Like I said… My association with Victor Kane ended when my father passed,” he reiterated. “I’d made sure of it.”
“Yours may have. But it appears your uncle didn’t get the memo.”
His jaw ticked, his turmoil clear in his expression.
“If you’re wrong about this,” he hissed, pointing his weapon back at my forehead, “I will put a bullet in you.”
“I’m not wrong,” I said with all the confidence I could muster.
“We’ll see about that.” He gestured toward the pathway. “Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“You didn’t think you could come at me with this and expect me to let you walk away. Until I get some answers, I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Mr. Fontaine. So start walking.”
I hesitated for a beat, a voice in my head warning me this was a bad idea. But I needed answers.
And Mikhail Volkov was my only hope of getting them.
So I did as he said and started walking, praying this wasn’t the last time I’d ever feel the sun on my face.
Chapter Fourteen
Henry
The hood was ripped from my head so violently my neck snapped back, light exploding behind my eyes.
After an hour of being driven around in suffocating darkness, the fluorescent glare was blinding. My pupils burned. My stomach rolled. My wrists ached where plastic restraints bit into my skin, my fingers beginning to tingle from how tight they’d bound them behind my back. My ankles were secured to the legs of a chair, making it impossible to move.
As much as I loathed my father, I couldn’t deny I currently found some of the survival lessons he’d taught me extremely useful.
So I did as he’d instructed me all those years ago.
I stopped fighting the disorientation and focused on what I could.
The air was thick and wet, clinging to my skin like a film. It smelled of rusted metal and piss, layered over something else. Something that had seeped into the concrete floor and never quite left. Beneath it all lingered a hint of bleach, as if someone had tried to scrub away whatever this room had seen.
A fluorescent bulb buzzed unevenly overhead, threatening to die but refusing to. Somewhere off to my left, water dripped in slow, maddening intervals.
