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Already on the ground, I roll under the pool table and crawl out the other side.
This is my best chance to leave. Sneak out without getting hurt. But I need a lead. I need something, someone, to chase next.
I climb to my feet and dodge bodies until I spot one of the other three guys who came over to intimidate me.
I cut the distance and slam into his back, circling my arm around his throat. “How do I find Marcoux?” I shout into his ear over the roar of the crowd.
He tries to headbutt me, but I’ve seen enough movies to tuck my head in by his neck, so he doesn’t have the range to hit me hard enough to dislodge me.
I tighten my hold on his neck. “Tell me.”
We crash into other bodies, tables, stumbling together.
“You can talk, or I can strangle you.” I squeeze harder, even as I grunt when one of his elbows gets me.
One of his hands taps against my forearm. Not trying to claw me off like before, but like he’s ready to speak.
I loosen my arm enough for him to suck in a breath but not enough to let him go.
“Where is he?”
“He—” The man coughs. “He’s the money. Ground guys would’ve grabbed her.”
I don’t know how much of what he says I can trust, but it makes sense.
“Where do I find them?” Acid rolls in my stomach. “Where do they keep the girls?”
He’s not denying that they’re human trafficking.
“Fuck you!” His outburst comes a heartbeat before a sharp pain in my side.
I jump back, releasing my arms from his neck, and see the knife held in his hand.
He turns toward me, his face still red from lack of oxygen. “You’re gonna pay for this.” He holds his knife up, the tip of it already red with my blood. “And you’ll never find your fucking sister.” He takes another step, and I bump into a table behind me. “If she’s not dead yet, she’ll wish she was.”
He pulls his arm back.
And I spring forward.
The switchblade in my hand sinks into the soft flesh of his stomach.
He was so focused on my face, waiting for pain to fill my features, that he forgot to watch my hands.
He drops his knife, his hands grabbing at the hilt over my own. But I keep walking forward, keep walking him back, until he hits the bar.
“My name is Hans. And I’m coming for Freya.”
Releasing my grip, I take a quick step back, then melt into the frenzy and find my way to the door.
I’ll find her.
I have to find her.
* * *
Another week.
Another dead end.
