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“I know he killed the governor’s brother,” Martin states, brow bopping as though he can’t believe the news. “Case won’t go to trial unless the feds can get a hold of a key witness.”
My gut tightens.
“You wouldn’t happen to know her name, would you?”
“Her?” Minion bluffs, always sharp on the details. “You know it’s a woman?”
The smile on Martin’s face when we reach the door inside has me second-guess stepping a single foot over the threshold. “I know some things. Yes.” He extends his hand, gesturing for us to go first.
The stench of piss hits me—hard.
Printing presses sit rowed up across the right-hand side of the warehouse, packaging stations on the left. Paper rolls, ink barrels, and supplies fill the back wall. All of it ready to be stripped and relocated within an hour if the call were made. But it’s not the intricacy of the operation that has rocks in my gut, anchoring me to the spot. It’s the woman, cradled in the center of a tarpaulin laid out across the concrete floor, hands bound behind her back.
My teeth press together so damn hard my fucking eye aches.
“Didn’t realize you already had company.” Minion doesn’t miss a beat, widening his stance as he stares down at the hostage with nothing short of boredom.
He’ll be nursing a bottle at the bar later, washing the images from his memory.
The woman whimpers, bruised eye peering up at us from beneath a dirty mess of brown hair. I want to say she’s familiar, but I can’t place how or where.
“You need our help with this?” I continue with the ignorance, shoving Volkov’s audacity straight back in his scarred fucking face.
He’s made us accomplices to this, whether we agree to it or not. In the eyes of the law, we’re now judge, jury, and executioner based on what our next decision is.
He knows we won’t call the authorities, which makes us no better than him.
“She’s tough,” Martin muses, crossing to the woman.
The tarp crinkles beneath his boots.
The woman scoots backward, knees slipping through what appears to be a pool of her piss and blood.
“I fucking admire Terry’s recruitment process, you know?”
Fuck.Her barely recognizable face clicks. I look away from Terry’s housekeeper and study the apathetic faces of the cash workers, going about their business printing fake money like their lives depend on it.
The reminder it does lies injured on the floor between them all.
“She didn’t mean to tell me the witness was a woman. But it hurts after a while, doesn’t it,krasivayadevushka?”
I glance to Minion for a translation, curious what the fuck Volkov just called her.
He sighs silently, shoulders dropping, before he mutters toward me, “Beautiful girl.”
“She is, don’t you think?” Martin brushes the knotted hair from her face. “Such big, sad eyes.” He wets his thumb and gently wipes away smeared makeup from her cheek.
Her jaw quivers, eyes scrunched closed at his touch.
“She doesn’t fear death,” Volkov states as he stands. “It seems such a waste to kill her without getting what I need.”
But he will. She’s seen too much, been hurt too much. Leaving her on the run is a liability. If Volkov doesn’t kill her to tie up the loose end, Terry will.
Rae’s never going to be safe with men like this in the world.
“I’m happy to share if you two would like to try.”
Minion frowns at Volkov’s offer. “No advantage to us, so why would we bother?”
