Page 44

“Markovic wants a video.”

“No,” Dad says as he jerks around.

The man raises the pistol and presses its barrel against Dad’s temple. My father goes silent.

Viktor takes a phone from his pocket and positions it on a rusted workbench, aiming the camera toward both chairs. He presses a button. A red light appears.

“No,” Dad repeats, but there’s desperation in his voice now. “Take me. Let her go.”

“You had your chance to protect her,” Viktor says. “You wasted it.”

He punches Dad once more. Blood sprays across the floor.

“What do you want from us?” I scream.

My voice cracks through the workshop.

Viktor turns. “We want you both to suffer.”

He nods to the man with the gun. The man holsters his pistol and takes a knife from inside his jacket. The blade flashes beneath the hanging light. My heart stops.

Dad begins fighting the ropes so violently that his chair jumps across the floor. “Don’t touch her!”

The man approaches me. I shove my feet against the concrete, but the chair is too heavy. There’s nowhere to go.

“Please,” I gasp.

He catches the thin strap of my shirt with the point of his knife. I hold perfectly still, terrified any movement will drive the blade into my skin.

“Look at your father,” he says.

I close my eyes. The knife pulls. Fabric snaps against my shoulder.

Then two gunshots split the air.

I flinch so hard the chair nearly tips. The man in front of me jerks backward. His knife clatters onto the concrete, and he collapses beside it.

For one second, no one moves. Then Viktor dives behind the workbench. He comes up with his gun and fires toward the door.

Three shots. Then four. Maybe five. Each explosion hammers against my skull. Wood splinters from the doorframe. Metal screams as bullets strike the wall.

Dad shouts my name. I curl forward as much as the ropes allow.

Then silence drops over the room. Thick. Terrible.

Viktor crouches behind the workbench, breathing hard. His gun remains aimed toward the doorway. Nothing moves out there.

A cruel smile slowly returns to his face. “Your rescuer is dead.”

My rescuer. Hope crashes through me so fiercely it hurts.

Samuel. It has to be Samuel. Viktor rises cautiously. He fires once more through the doorway. No one fires back.

My hope begins to die. Then two shots come from the shadows beyond the door. They’re close together. Precise. Both strike Viktor in the center of his chest. His body jerks with the impact. The gun slips from his hand, and he falls backward onto the concrete.

Silence returns. Smoke drifts beneath the hanging bulb. I stare at the doorway. A broad figure emerges from the darkness.

Samuel. My Samuel. My hero.