Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Ironic, since the pakhan is the part of me she hates. I sit back and stare at the ceiling, considering her words.
“If I move too fast, I put her life at risk. If I move too slow, I lose her and the baby.”
Davýd sighs again. “It’s a tough call, but it’s yours to make.”
I turn my head. “Then I’ll make the calls,” I say slowly, an idea forming. “But I need you to handle the logistics. I need you to coordinate everything.”
“Of course, brat,” he says, sounding more confident in me than I feel. “We’re going to get her back.”
A long breath escapes me. It’s the first one that actually eases anything since I watched that footage.
“I need you to get me a list of all of Lebedev’s safe houses and warehouses. We need to send our men to each one and find out where they’re holding her.”
I stand suddenly and go to my office. When I get there, I spread out the map of our territory, and Davýd marks all the spots we know of. He doesn’t need instructions. He anticipates my thoughts as if he’s in my head. He takes notes, coordinates, and is on the phone with several of my soldiers within half an hour.
“This one,” I say, pointing to a warehouse on the river. “Lebedev used it for trafficking years ago. They never fully shut it down.”
Davýd nods. “And it’s isolated. It’s good for holding someone.”
“Bring the men,” I tell him. “Only the best. Keep them quiet until I give the order.”
He nods, typing instructions into his phone.
“I just need you to promise me one thing, brat,” he says earnestly. “When you find her, don’t let her out of your sight. Do whatever you have to do to keep her safe.”
We share a look, and I know he’s giving me the advice he wishes someone had given him. I have the second chance he didn’t get when Lena was killed. I have an opportunity to make different decisions.
24
MOLLY
I’m in total darkness. It’s strange, because I know my eyes are open, but I can’t see anything. I try to blink, to move my eyes around, but it doesn’t help. It’s disorienting as hell. I try to remember where I am, what happened, to come up with any explanation for all of this.
I move whatever parts of my body I can, just to see if I can. I flex my wrists and feel something cold against them. They’re at an odd angle, held behind my back. Panic spikes as I try to get them free, to bring them to my face, but they’re stuck and my arms are sore from being in this position.
I try to move my feet and realize that they’re also bound. None of this makes sense. How did I get here? Why am I tied up? My head throbs as I try to put the pieces together.
Suddenly everything comes back at once. I went for a walk. I stopped to give money to a homeless man. Someone grabbed me from behind. And then? Nothing.
I don’t know who grabbed me or why. I don’t know where I am or how long it’s been since I was knocked out. I clear my throat, and it feels mostly fine. It’s a little dry, but not hoarse.
“Hello?” I ask before I can stop myself. It’s a risky move, but what other choice do I have? “Is someone there?”
I hear the scrape of a chair and footsteps. A tremor runs through me so hard it shakes my teeth. My stomach churns with nausea and terror. It’s fear of the unknown, mostly, and fear for my baby. Whoever took me, whoever has me tied up, doesn’t know I’m pregnant, and that might be my only hope. But I have to keep myself safe for their sake.
“Glad to see you’ve finally joined us,” a voice says, and then something is pulled off my head and the world goes a little too bright.
I have one physical advantage back. I take a slow breath. Then another. I force myself to look around slowly, to take in my surroundings before I look at the man who removed the bag.
We’re in some kind of warehouse. It’s nothing special to look at, really. There are exposed beams overhead, a single bulb hanging on a long cord, flickering like it’s due to be changed. The air smells like rot and rust and something sour. Every muscle in my body locks as I brace myself to look at the man in front of me.
He stands there smiling, eyeing me with a hyena grin. I know that grin. And I know those cold, dead eyes. I remember his fingers digging into my skin, the weight of him pinning me down, the panic that turned my vision white. It’s the man from the alley. The man who would have killed me if Samuil hadn’t intervened.