Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
But if my enemies have her, they’ll know how to make her wish for death.
I struggle to rein in my mind-numbing panic.
As long as she’s alive, I can fix her. She’s a survivor. She’ll fight for her life.
Right now, I have to save Logan.
I rush to the empty safe room and grab the emergency supplies I need. I’m no medical expert, but I’ve treated enough of my own wounds in the past to know what to do. I can slow Logan’s blood loss, but it’ll be up to him to pull through.
When he’s bandaged up, I lightly slap his face.
“I need you to wake up. Please…”
I slap him harder.
He groans, and his eyes flutter open.
“I failed you,” he rasps. “I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry.”
I hold up a hand to cut off his apology. “I need you to help me find her. Can you stand?”
He tries to push up onto his elbows but drops back down almost immediately.
“Bring me a laptop,” he commands, voice too faint. “I’ll find your girl.”
I don’t want to leave him, but I tear myself from his side so I can rush to the study. I grab his laptop and run back to him.
When I return to the bloody corridor, he’s managed to prop himself upright against the wall. His cheeks are chalky with the effort, but he’s still conscious.
I set the laptop on his knees, and his fingers clatter over the keyboard.
“What happened with Costa?” he asks.
“He’s dead. I didn’t make him talk first.” Regret sours my stomach. “I lost control.”
Logan nods, then winces in pain. “I got more intel while you were out,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’ll keep pulling those threads.”
“What did you find?”
“It’s not just Costa and Ivanov. It’s Sokolov. He’s finally going to make you pay for making him look weak when you went freelance. There’s chatter on the dark web. He’s been reaching out to the families of the men you killed. He’s planning something big.”
“What is he planning?” I demand.
Logan’s eyes widen when he finds the information he’s looking for. “An auction.”
“What does that have to do with Karolina?”
He looks at me with something like pity.
“The highest bidder gets to have her,” he says carefully. “They know it’ll kill you. They don’t need to torture you to make you suffer for what you did to them.”
My fist punches through the wood-paneled wall, but I don’t feel the splinters cutting into my knuckles.
“Where?” I roar. “Where did they take her?”
More clattering of his fingers over the keyboard. “A warehouse outside London. The auction starts in less than an hour.”
I won’t be able to get to her in time to stop it.
“Send the coordinates to my phone.”
My muscles bunch with impending violence as I get to my feet.
“You can’t go alone,” he insists.
But he can’t manage to rise. He’s far too pale, and his features are taut with pain.
“Goodbye, Logan.”
I won’t be seeing him again.
I’ll give anything to save Karolina, even my life. It means nothing without her.
18
KAROLINA
My head is full of cotton wool, and my wrists ache.
“She’s pretty.” A man’s voice floats through my hazy mind. “You’ll get a lot of money for her, Sokolov.”
“I don’t care about the money.” This voice is deeper, with a light Russian accent. “This is about revenge. Ragnarök thought he could humiliate me and then slip into the shadows. He’ll regret ever meeting me. I gave him everything. I made him what he is, the ungrateful little shit.”
I shake my head, struggling to clear it. My eyelids are sandpaper when I force them open.
Fluorescent light sears my eyes, and I squint, willing the unfamiliar room to coalesce around me.
The space is grey: concrete walls and floor. The ceiling must be at least twenty feet high, and there’s a balcony to a second floor that surrounds this room. Armed guards lean on the railing, looking down at me.
I jerk back to full awareness as terror suffuses my senses.
Brandon’s enemies came for me. They shot Logan. They captured me.
My wrists hurt because I’m suspended from the ceiling by a chain. The cuffs are supple leather, but my hands are going numb from lack of circulation; my full weight has been resting on my wrists while I was out.
I struggle to find my balance, and my feet barely move an inch. Shackles encircle my ankles, keeping my legs spread and mostly immobile.
I can’t kick out. I can’t punch my captors.
There’s nothing I can do to fight them off.
My chest caves in.
Brandon isn’t coming to save me. They cut the tracker out of me. My shoulder stings where they sliced it open.
“What do you want from me?” I try to issue a demand, but my voice is raspy from the lingering drugs. I swallow and try again. “If you think you can use me to lure Brandon here, you’re wrong.”