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I pry my lids open. It’s painful. A feeling I wish I didn’t remember. I’m in some sort of cement room, a basement? Basically the freaky interrogation room of everyone’s worst nightmares. My pulse takes off at the sight. I can’t breathe.
“Breathe. You’re alright. We’re alright.”
I turn to him. We’re both strapped in metal chairs. He is close enough to me that the ends of his fingers are linked with mine. His white shirt is red.
“You’re, you were shot!”
He doesn’t even look like he’s in pain. Just worried. “I’m fine. It went straight through, they put a bandage on it.”
“Who…who did?”
“Shhh, breathe. You’re going to pass out again.”
“Wait, was I shot? I was shot.”
He rubs his fingers along mine. “No, sweetheart, they just hit your head really hard with one of their guns.”
“They? Who?”
His face changes from concern to anger. His voice is grainy and low, restrained. “The fuckers that took us.”
I close my eyes and think. It’s only my head that hurts. Okay. I wasn’t shot. But I heard him.
“You, you told them to shoot me.”
His brows shoot up. “What?”
“I, I heard you. You said ‘shoot her.’”
He cocks his head. “Why would I want them to shoot you? I told them to spare you. You’re my wife, Ellie, and I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. They knocked you unconscious, you’re just confused.”
I close my eyes and try to calm myself. The harder my heart pounds, the worse my head aches. But I know what I heard. Don’t I? It’s all a bit fuzzy. And it was Russian.
He huffs, “I mean, you do make me crazy. Sometimes I very much want to shoot someone, but not you.”
I look back at him. He’s smirking. Which is deeply comforting, which makes me start to cry.
“Shhhh, I’ll get us out of this.”
“But what,” I sniff, trying not to break out into sobs, “What do they want?”
“They wanted me.” He looks at the wall breathing deep. “There are a few options. Could be blackmail, ransom, or just a failed assassination attempt.”
“Assassination! Who would want to assassinate you? Why?” He doesn’t answer. “Mark?”
“You’re not going to like the answer to that question.” He says before turning to lock eyes with me. I have no idea what he is trying to say. “There’s only one person who benefits from me dying. And that’s your uncle.”
I jerk backwards in my chair, causing the shooting pains to resurface everywhere. I shake my head. He can’t be serious.
“Your uncle has his solution at the border, it’s done. He’s done with me. If I die, he takes you back into his care, along with the millions he paid me and the millions more we agreed upon for the future.”
“He…he wouldn’t.” I say, but it sounds like a question.
“You know that’s not true. You know who he is. What he does. It makes sense.” His voice is calm, soothing, but I am not soothed. Because it doesn’t make sense.
“Were those Tío’s men? Who took us?”
“I don’t know, they were in black bloc gear, could’ve been anyone, hired thugs, another syndicate.”
