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“I’m not sure he’ll care,” I mutter, praying it doesn’t sound like I do. “From what the girl has told me, it’s more of a prisoner situation. Luca doesn’t seem to take much interest in her, as I’m getting the idea she’s just for show.”
Kristina scoffs, “I don’t doubt that much is true.” But still, she seems to consider it for a second, finger tapping just above her lips. “Gusev has never cared for much more than money and power. But either way,” she shrugs, and I know already the decision has been made.
She won’t go back on it now.
Kristina stands, holding out a manila packet for me to take. I know what’s inside—cash, along with my requested papers. My release forms, just like the ones Cillian showed me when he got out. A contract stating my time here with the Bratva has come to an end, all debts paid back.
I’m a free man.
“Thank you,” I utter, fingers tight on the packet.
In a rush, Kristina’s assistant steps into the picture, speaking Russian. With my focus now on what’s in hand, I don’t quite catch all of what’s said, but enough to know something’s going on with Kristina’s son. He’s been a handful as of late, I’ve heard.
Her look darkens, and she doesn’t bother to glance my way as she heads for the exit with her assistant at her side.
And now, I’m left in silence.
Well, except for the distant sound of traffic below. Taking a glance down the hallway, I wonder where they’ve taken Sara. It’s dark as fuck down there, and I’ve never been through the door at the end. I already know what I’ll find; holding cells, chains, weapons—you name it. And I’m betting the cell they’ve got my angel in is covered in tarp or plastic sheeting.
I’m flooded with emotions I haven’t felt in years.Where will they dump her body?
Does the girl have family? Siblings?
And just like that, with a surge, I start toward the hallway, preparing for the two men I’ll have to face to get my girl back.Shouldn’t be hard, considering I’ve been outnumbered far worse before.
I stretch my fingers, my knuckles cracking as the darkness envelopes me. I can spot a faint light outlining a single door ahead. Turning the handle, I’m pleased to find it’s unlocked. I suppose Kristina would never suspect dissent in her own house.
But yet here we are.
The first man expected is just inside the doorway, and I swing a right slugger, knocking the fucker out in an instant—watching his head smack right off the wall after a single punch.
Sara, tied to a wooden chair in the center of the room, gasps and straightens in her seat. She still has that hood over her face, her body rigid with fear.
The second man expected is standing further back; smaller than the first guy, but more agile. He moves forward, whipping a baton out as my brows raise.
That won’t do more than give me an itty bruise. He’ll need to try harder than that.
He dodges left, but I anticipate it, catching his fist and wrapping the fucker into a tight hold, crushing his torso. His ribs struggle to expand against my forearms as he fights, his noises frenzied. And over his shoulder, I catch wind of Sara panting in distress.
She must be terrified.
It doesn’t take long for the crook in my brace to move slow, his body going limp. I let go, and his weight drops to the ground. I didn’t hold him long enough to make this his last day—lucky bastard—but enough to knock him out for the time being.
In two long strides across the room, I’m at Sara’s side, untying her wrists. I sweep the hood off her face; her tired, frightened eyes flitting back and forth up on me.
“J-Jude,” she gasps, a slight question in her weak voice.
“Come,” I growl, pulling the angel up carefully to her feet. She stumbles, and I wrap an arm around her waist, leading her out into the hallway—our bodies silhouetted in the break of the light. “I know another way out.”
Taking a left turn, we meet an empty stairwell. Kristina prefers to keep her dirty business separate. Not a lot of us have access to the entrance, explaining why it’s deserted when I rush Sara out through the heavy metal door at the bottom.
We’re only a block away from my car. And the second we reach it, Sara slides into the passenger seat without complaint. Relief washes in as she looks to want to follow my lead.
I take my seat behind the wheel, shifting gears in a breath—we need to get a move on.
“We don’t have much time. I’ll need to grab cash, a few spare items, and we’ll need to get as far away from here as we can.”
The sound of a zipper comes from Sara’s direction, and I look over, finding her unzipping a hidden pocket in the massive coat she’s wearing; the one I picked up by her bag when I snatched her at Luca’s.
