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I didn’t save myself or anyone else. It still happened. The women were sold. I was sold.
It is over.
I expect hopelessness to press in and wash everything else away, but instead, I’m just angry.
Angry that these people think they have the right to pluck people from their lives and make a profit from them.
Angry that my family was broken apart and separated because of an embittered feud.
Angry that Edgar looks at me like I’m no more than a dog who should learn to behave.
“You will go with him without fighting,” Edgar says. “If you do fight, it will only bring more heartache for you. The Cartel does not offer returns, but Arnold has been instructed that should he wish to be done with you, you cannot be freed.”
The front door is still open, and a gentle breeze rolls in over the grass.
It seems unfair that such horrible things could be happening on an otherwise beautiful day. I look past him to the rolling grass behind him and the tree line beyond that.
I wonder when I will see the sky again or feel a breeze. Will Arnold be a kind master? Will I be allowed to go outside and see the world? Or will I be trapped in a basement and left to waste away?
How long will it take before I lose my hold on sanity?
As Edgar continues outlining the many different ways I could be disposed of to ensure I do not run and tell the police of my experience in their custody, I see a shadow separate from the tree line behind him.
Like a large bird, the black figure pulls away from the trees and it takes me several seconds to recognize the creature is not a creature at all, but a vehicle. A black SUV.
And behind it is a similar vehicle. And another.
A line of SUVs drives through the trees and up the dirt road that leads to the inn.
And they are driving fast.
Edgar’s brow furrows. He hears the sound of the tires crunching across the gravel, but he wasn’t expecting anyone. Certainly not this many people.
He turns around and curses under his breath, and I realize all at once who it is.
Luka told the Bratva we would be at the inn for five days. It has been just over the one hundred and twenty hours he told them to wait, and he still hasn’t been in touch.
So, here they are to save us.
While Edgar is staring at the cars, Arnold McGowan moves from the lounge into the entryway. “Who is that?”
“Guards!” Edgar yells over his shoulder.
While he is distracted, I reach down and run my finger along the hem of my robe. When I feel the touch of cool metal against my fingertips, I wrap my fingers around the blade and tug. The suture thread Kari used to sew the blade into my robe tears easily.
Edgar turns back to yell down the hallway again—the sound of the women crying in the back room is loud enough that the guards must not be able to hear him—but before any sound can come out, I take a deep breath, lean forward …
And plunge the scalpel into his neck exactly where Luka taught me to.
His flesh gives way easily beneath the sharpened edge. Blood pumps from the wound in rhythmic pulses, drenching me up to the elbow.
Edgar’s mouth opens and closes like a fish desperate for air, and then he drops to his knees. His hand comes up to his neck, but it is far too late to stop the bleeding. Even if an entire surgical staff was standing in the room, they wouldn’t be able to help him.
In a few more pumps, he will have lost most of the blood in his body.
A few weak pumps after that, and he’ll be dead.
I feel a sick pride. Even if they kill me now, at least I’ll have fulfilled my promise.
