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Hardly, I think.
I hurl my weight to the right and then bring my left hand around, my fist smashing into Rian’s nose.
It is a weak punch, but it is enough to knock her back for a second, freeing me up to crawl out from under her body. I only get a few feet away before she is on me again.
Her FBI training is outdoing my self-defense classes, and I can hear the driver moving around the back of the car. I won’t get away. There is no chance.
“You’ll want to stop fighting now. We have Milaya,” Rian growls in my ear.
My daughter’s name stops me in my tracks. It sends a chill down my spine, dousing the fire inside of me.
“We have Milaya,” she repeats. “And if you don’t do as you are told, we will make sure she suffers.”
I let my cheek fall against the dirt driveway. “Please don’t kill her. Please. She is only a baby.”
“Kill her?” Rian scoffs. “That isn’t suffering. That would be a gift compared to what I could do to her.”
My arms and legs are trembling from the unspent adrenaline in my body, but I hold still. I don’t kick or fight or yell. I just contain the rage and let Rian pin me to the ground.
No matter what happens to me, I can’t risk Milaya’s safety. I’ll do anything before I let them hurt her.
They’ve got me. There’s nothing I can do. So I go limp.
Rian and the driver drag me to my feet and lead me through the front doors of the Crooked Tree Inn.
6
Luka
I’ve only slept in thirty-minute dozes. And never lying down. Sleep only comes when I’m least expecting it. I’ve woken up with my head on my desk, cheeks pressed against my laptop keyboard. I jolted awake in the middle of eating dinner. Or, at least, what little dinner I can stomach.
Without knowing what is happening to Eve or where she is, any normal human activities feel impossible.
Instead of rest, I push my body to the limits. I spend an hour or more at a time in my home gym, running the adrenaline off on the treadmill and lifting weights, trying to find even a moment of reprieve.
But there is none.
When I’m not burning off energy, I’m doing what I can to find out anything about the Crooked Tree Inn and the LeClerc Cartel.
In this situation, knowledge is power. The more I can find out about the Cartel’s practices and the location of the auction, the better off I’ll be.
It isn’t enough to just walk into the inn and buy Eve. They might be expecting me or I might be outbid. I have no idea what kind of men to expect at this thing. Will they be wealthier than I am? Will I have to watch men test out my wife the way Rick suggested they might?
The thought alone makes me turn the speed of the treadmill up faster.
Sweat is pouring into my eyes, but I can’t stop yet. Not until my legs are shaking. Not until I collapse. That is the only way I can stay seated enough to do any valuable research. Otherwise, I pace, anxiously waiting for the time when I can leave and head to the inn, hoping Eve will be there.
When my legs feel like rubber, I take a quick shower and then move into my office.
* * *
My computer is still on, loaded to a page about the LeClerc Cartel. The only information I’ve been able to find is a few investigative journalism pieces from a few years prior and then a forum for at-home detectives who are trying to bring these men to justice.
One of the commenters laments that the Cartel went underground when a local magazine wrote the last article about them.
These journalists aren’t doing us any favors. LeClerc needs to be an undercover operation. That is the only way to find out where they hold their auctions. As soon as something ends up in the paper, they go deeper underground.
The only thing I’ve found out is what I already know. The LeClerc Cartel sell labor and sex slaves. They are known for serving an elite clientele with the best “merchandise” around.
