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“It looks like a trainyard,” I mutter. “Plenty of fucking places to hide.” I point at the edge of the yard on the map. “Stop here.”
“Like I needed the fucking exercise,” Alek mutters. “How many fucking carriages are there? And there are the outer buildings as well. It’s like looking for a specific straw in a haystack.”
“I’m sure there will be men stationed outside wherever they’re holding Aurora,” Armani says as he swerves through the other cars on the road.
“I fucking hope so.” I glance at my friends. “We’re about five minutes out. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, let’s kill the motherfuckers,” Alek replies, sounding bored as fuck.
I hope we’ll be in time.
The live location cuts out, telling me they found her phone.
“Fuck, hurry,” I snap, and it has Armani flooring the gas.
A wave of intense fear hits. If the fuckers kill the love of my life, I’ll lose my mind. There’s no living without her.
She’s strong. They’re going to make her suffer, so focus on the job. Every second you take to find her is a second where they’re hurting her.
Focus.
I’m coming, moy malen'kiy olen'.
Aurora
Another man climbs into the container, and this time I recognize him.
Kazuo Jirocho.
The fucker. I should’ve known. He’s been looking for trouble with Misha every chance he could get.
Shit. I kneed him in the groin.
My eyes narrow on the man as he walks toward me. A cruel sneer tugs at his lips. “Are you comfortable?”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
Even though I know it’s no use, I struggle against my restraints.
“I have news,” he says as he changes direction toward the workbench. He picks up a case I didn’t notice and sets it down on the worn wood. “I called your father, and you can imagine his surprise when I told him you’re fucking Petrov.” Kazuo chuckles. “He didn’t take it too well.”
Jesus. No.
Kazuo grabs pliers from the case before he turns to face me. “Your father is on his way, so we don’t have a lot of time.”
Intense terror tightens my muscles, and my mouth grows horribly dry.
What would Misha do?
Kazuo walks toward me, and with every step he takes, my heartbeat speeds up until I’m dizzy from the blood rushing to my head.
“So while your father and Petrov fight…” He checks the time on his watch, “which should give me roughly ten minutes, we’re going to have some fun.”
“Go to hell,” I growl. I hate when my fear bleeds through my voice.
The man who told me he killed Abbie leaves the room, and the one by the camera presses a button.
They’re recording my death. Jesus.
