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After retrieving a spare gun from the glove box, Justin loaded the chamber, then slipped out the back door.
Pop, pop!
Both guards crumpled like a deck of cards.
My door swung open.
“Okay, out,” Justin said, reloading. “The clock is ticking now.”
After using the thumbprint of one of the guards to unlock the front door, we stepped inside.
The instant I crossed the threshold, my blood turned ice cold. I couldfeelhis presence. I could feel the evil in the home. Adding to the creepiness factor, the low melody of haunting instrumental music was playing from somewhere inside.
We’d gagged Ron with a bandanna to ensure his compliance.
“Stay at my hip,” Justin ordered in a low growl.
No problem.
Gun up, Justin led us through the foyer, pushing Ron ahead of him, his gun pressed into Ron’s kidney.
The music grew louder, the low, eerie moan of the cello sending goose bumps rippling over my arms.
We followed the light to a living area adjacent to the kitchen that opened to a large patio. A sitting area centered the room, with plush leather couches, stained-glass floor lamps, and a rolling wet bar filled with crystal decanters of whiskey. Bookshelves lined most of the walls. Next to the entry was a concrete fireplace, large enough to burn a body.
A fire roared inside it, popping and hissing.
A man wearing a black sweater and black slacks was standing with his back to us, the firelight dancing against his shiny bald head.
My entire world stopped. My heart, my breath, my legs. I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning.
I knew who he was before he even turned from the window.
Viktor Lukin.
Myhusband.
Justin was watching me closely, noticing my abrupt stop. I was rooted to the spot like a statue.
Taking no time to figure it out, he narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenched as he reset his sights on the man I was forced to marry, the man who had raped and abused me just like my father had.
It was then that it hit me—Viktor was the one who’d kidnapped me. He was wearing the same black sweater, and underneath the beanie was nothing but skin.
Martini in hand, gun tucked into the waistband of his slacks, Viktor turned and studied Ron, his gagged, bloodied, beaten colleague. Instead of rushing to his aid, Victor chuckled and shook his head, disgusted by Ron’s lack of physical fortitude. Then he focused on us, smiling politely as if we’d been invited to Sunday brunch.
He’d been expecting us.
We stopped in front of the fireplace in a line of three. Me, Ron, and Justin. The heat from the fire was suffocating, sending beads of sweat forming over my skin.
My heart hammered.
“Took you guys long enough to get here,” he said.
My stomach dropped. God, thatvoice. It had been so long ...
“You could’ve just had Leo drive straight here. Would’ve saved everyone some time,” Justin said.
Viktor shrugged flippantly.
