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Instead, Martinez was very average. Average height, maybe a little overweight. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back and his dark eyes darted all over the hangar as if searching for enemies. I imagine in his line of work, it was second nature to be hypervigilant. He frequently rubbed his hand across his bushy mustache, as if it was some type of nervous gesture.
I was sickened to notice five men flanking each side of him. Between him and Armstrong, there were a hell of a lot of guys with guns in here. My palms started to sweat as I tried to imagine how Ivan would save us in light of the significant fire power they’d be confronting.
“Ahh, Thomas. Cómo estás?” Martinez asked, reaching out a hand to Armstrong.
“Good, Eduardo, good. And you?”
“Wonderful. It’s a great thing when two great families come together in matrimony.” Martinez’s dark gaze raked over me, a malevolent grin plastered on his face. “Ah, there she is.”
“Yes, this is my daughter, Emmy.” Armstrong came to stand by me, as if he was some proud, doting parent presenting a high-achieving child. If I hadn’t been thrown into a state of abject terror, I would have snorted at the theater of it all.
Martinez unfortunately saw that as a signal to walk closer and my stomach heaved. Lust and excitement danced in his gaze. “She’s quite a beauty. My son is only sixteen, so I’ll be happy to spend time with her until he is prepared to marry her in a couple of years.”
My vision dimmed, my head swimming at the thought.
Armstrong chuckled indulgently, as if what he was saying was normal in some way and not horrifying and grotesque in every way.
“Well, after today, she’s your property. She is grateful to have the attention of the man who runs every major drug operation in South America, Central America and the Caribbean, aren’t you, darling?” he asked, glancing at me meaningfully. I nodded dumbly. “This agreement should be very profitable for both of us.”
Nausea climbed up my throat and sweat trickled down my back at every sickening word out of Armstrong’s—my father’s—mouth. My instinct was to run, to scream, to hide, to do something—anything—to get me out of here. The only thing stopping me was my mother whimpering beside me, obviously tortured at what these two disgusting and terrifying men were saying.
“Now, having your daughter join my family is a bond between us, right, Armstrong? If we unite our families, we must honor that contract.” Martinez now had those black, deadened eyes trained on my father, his words containing an obvious threat.
“Yes, yes, of course, Eduardo. I’m trusting you with my beloved daughter. I’d never do anything to jeopardize her wellbeing,” he replied silkily, as if hearing a man refer to the imminent sexual exploitation of his daughter shouldn’t be an immediate red flag if you cared about her wellbeing.
Of course, Martinez was just as depraved and unfeeling as my father because instead of pointing that out, he just nodded his head as if whatever he’d just heard reassured him of my father’s sincerity. I hoped this man didn’t have a daughter.
Martinez took a step closer to me, an oily smile covering his mustachioed face, and gripped my jaw in his meaty hand. The aggressive scent of his cologne mixed with the sour smell of cigar smoke nearly had me gagging. “I’m looking forward to us getting to know each other much better on the plane ride back to Bogatá.”
Shivers of revulsion coursed through my body at both his touch and his implication. It took every bit of my ability not to tear myself away from him and run screaming out of the hangar. I cast a longing glance at where the large doors of the hangar were still slightly ajar.
The longer this encounter continued, the more despair started to claw at me. I had believed that at any moment Drago’s men would emerge and start shooting and I’d be free of this horror show, but as Armstrong and Martinez were hashing out the rest of this mortifying agreement, my hopes were starting to plummet.
Where was Ivan?
Chapter 53
Ivan
Staring through the window at Emmy, rage and helplessness pounded against my skull like a hammer striking an anvil.
Because were tapped in with listening devices, I could not only see but hear what was happening in the hangar. Every single infuriating word that Armstrong and Martinez were saying about my girl consumed me with the need to annihilate.
When Martinez put his hands on her, it took Drago and Maxim to stop me from racing in and crushing his fucking windpipe with my bare hands.
Seeing her in such jeopardy felt like someone was pulverizing my internal organs. I was repeatedly crushed with the understanding that there was no life without her. She was everything that was light in my dark, austere world. I’d been in a self-imposed prison, choking on my rage for nearly a decade and she had set me free.
I couldn’t lose her. I wouldn’t survive it.
“Ivan, you need to calm the fuck down so we can do this,” growled Drago next to me. He was right, I was losing my shit. I needed to pull it the fuck together if I was going to get Emmy back.
“I’m fine,” I gritted out.
Maxim shot me a thoroughly disbelieving look and Will shook his head. “You’re fucked, Petrov.”
He was right. I was fucked, but I couldn’t dwell on that now. “Drago, are Mikhail’s men in place.”
Drago nodded. “Yeah, but Mikhail has a plan to create a distraction.”
