“So,” Cezar began in Romanian. “You've managed to royally piss off Anton.”
Dorin turned around in his seat to face Brooke. “We're going to speak in Romanian for a few minutes, okay? Work stuff.” Good manners dictated that you explain why you were switching languages. Some things Brooke simply didn't need to know.
Brooke nodded in understanding, and went back to her quiet admiration of the passing scenery.
“How bad is it? Truthfully?”
“There's a bounty on your head: two million U.S. dollars. It's the most he has ever offered on anyone,” Cezar replied solemnly.
Dorin swallowed hard. Fuck. All the more reason to get the hell out of Europe; there was possibly another stay in a safe house once they reached U.S. soil in their future. If Anton was going balls-to-the-wall to find him, he could only imagine what he was offering for Brooke. The thought turned his stomach. This had gone from Brooke's bastard of a father trying to pay back a gambling debt to potentially a threat to national security in the blink of an eye. Anton had a nasty habit of forging a path of destruction just to bring retaliation on a single person. He couldn't have been thrilled to find out that Brooke had been paid for in U.S. government money, as well as losing future profits.
This truly was a very bad situation—he had managed to infuriate one of the highest-profile, and most dangerous marks he had ever gone after.
“What concerns me is how vast and far-reaching his network is. Let's hope he doesn't have people in the Bulgarian Air Force or we're screwed.”
Cezar murmured in agreement. “And what about when you get home? Has any kind of protection for you two been arranged yet? I'm sure you've already considered the possibility that he has people in the States too, and that he could be buying off people within your agency.”
Dorin shrugged. “Not sure, but knowing Tanner, he's probably already on it.” He took a deep breath and tried to will the churning in his gut away. Christ, he needed antacids. “And yes, I have already thought of that.”
“Just—” Cezar sighed and scratched his chin, the sound of his fingers against his scruff echoing in the car. “Just be careful, okay? I don't want to see you get in over your head trying to protect that girl. A blind man can see that she means something to you.”
“Yes, she does.” More than he was willing to admit to his friend. But he knew there was no way in hell that Cezar had missed Dorin holding Brooke's hand in the café.
They drove for another hour. The scenery had not changed much, other than passing through a couple more small villages like the one they had stopped in before.
“So, Brooke.” Cezar began, trying to strike up a conversation with her. “What do you do back home?”
“I'm in medical school. Johns Hopkins in Baltimore,” she replied.
“I've been to Baltimore, beautiful city. Are you from there originally?”
Brooke shook her head. “I'm from Savannah, Georgia.”
“Haven't been there, heard it's nice though.” He shifted in his seat. “So, did you—” He stopped talking, his attention suddenly and sharply focused on something in the road.
Dorin saw it too; a black Land Rover was parked in the middle of the road, and several men were getting out of it. But what struck a cold, ominous knot in his gut was the second Land Rover he saw coming up behind them.
“Shit...” Dorin breathed. They were being surrounded. He recognized those vehicles; Anton and his men favored them. “Brooke.” He turned around in his seat and saw the stark, pale expression on her face. She knew it too—they were about to be ambushed. Before he had a chance to instruct her, she ducked down in the backseat, ready to shield herself. Good girl.
“How much firepower you got on you?” Dorin asked.
“Just the one pistol and magazine. You?”
“The same.” He watched the second vehicle come to a stop behind them, and more men got out. This made eight total to their three—and only two of them were armed. The odds were stacked so far against them that, short of a miracle, there was no way they could fend off eight armed men with only two guns.
A plan hatched in Dorin's head at lightning speed, one that had worked for him in the past. He was going to let them be taken. If he knew Anton's MO as well as he thought he did, he would want them both taken alive. Dorin would then have time to further construct an escape plan or eke out an SOS to Tanner.
He turned in his seat, hoping to communicate his plan before the men reached the car. “Brooke, listen to me.” She looked up at him with pure fear and dread in her big, brown eyes. “These men are going to take us rather than kill us here. And we're going willingly, okay?”
She opened her mouth to protest, but a squeak of terror came out as her face paled even further.
“I know, iubita, but trust me, okay? If we try to fight them, we'll all end up dead. Our best chance is to let ourselves be taken and go from there.”
He could almost see both scenarios filtering through Brooke's head, and she nodded. Just trust me, baby. He looked over at Cezar, whose hands were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. Would they take him too? Or was he just a liability they couldn't afford to hang onto? If there was even a shred of possibility that Cezar could survive too, he'd seize it.
“What about you?” Dorin asked Cezar.
“Don't worry about me. You two just focus on staying alive.” Dorin had seen that look in a person's eyes before. It was the look of resignation and acceptance of his fate.
The men surrounded the car, every possible escape blocked. All four doors were pulled open, and he, Brooke, and Cezar were yanked from the vehicle. Brooke's scream and sobs were a knife to Dorin's heart. He wanted to grab onto her, hold her tight, and promise her that everything would be okay. He needed to promise her that they would make it at their date to the nicest Italian restaurant he could find in Baltimore. Hell, he'd take her to Italy if that's what she wanted.
Two men were holding each of them, binding their wrists behind their backs with zip ties. Dorin was able to face Brooke for only a brief moment once they were pulled from the car. Her eyes were wide with undiluted fear, and she had already begun to shake violently as tears ran down her cheeks.
He wanted to hold her stare as long as he could, to comfort her as much as possible. As long as they were alive and looking at each other, it wasn't hopeless. He briefly turned his head to look at Cezar, who had been dragged to the front of their car and forced to his knees.
The last thing he saw before a black hood was shoved over his head was a gun being pressed to the back of his friend's skull, the fabric of the hood dulling the sound of the gunshot that ended Cezar's life.
They were thrown into the backseat of one of the vehicles; the impact of hitting the seat gnashed his teeth together. Dorin found some small measure of relief in the ability to still hear Brooke's anxious breathing. Good, they hadn't been separated. He said a silent prayer that Brooke still had her pendant on and that the tracker was working. He had no way of alerting Tanner that they had been captured; all he could do was hope that his friend would send out the cavalry if he failed to check in. Best-case scenario, they would only have to wait a few hours, maybe a day, to be rescued. With Brooke's kidnapping being high profile, the State Department would be breathing down the Agency's neck until she was located.
The hood was too thick to see light through the fabric, and God, it smelled horrible. Sweat, vomit, and blood had saturated the fabric to create a gut-churning stench. He felt suffocated, hot, and disoriented. His mild claustrophobia threatened to rear its ugly head, and there was no room for that.
“Where are you taking us?” He asked in English, hoping that being able to understand what was happening around her would ease Brooke's anxiety, even a fraction.
Dorin felt a sharp kick to his shin. He gritted his teeth to muffle the groan of pain that he couldn't stop. Brooke whimpered at the sound, and he knew he'd have an ugly bruise there tomorrow.
“Linişte, nenorocit!” Quiet, fu
cker.
Dorin was having a hard time judging the distance and location of everyone in the vehicle with them; the hood was disorienting him and throwing off his ability to gauge and catalog sounds. He couldn't tell how close Brooke was to him. He couldn't feel anyone touching him, but he knew she was next to him. He could tell they were in a custom-built vehicle, with rear seating that faced each other. He was facing the front of the vehicle, as the acceleration had pressed him back into the seat rather than forward.
Dorin had nothing sharp within reach to cut the zip tie; the knife that he normally carried in his pants pocket had already been found and removed. He was completely unarmed. His first priority was to get the zip tie off, and then get his hands on a weapon. Knife, gun, ice pick, whatever. He could make anything work.
He knew from previous experience that hoods were usually a good sign that they planned to keep you alive, for a little while at least. Anton would want to deal with them personally, which meant they were likely headed back to Romania. If his navigation was correct, where they had been taken wasn't far from the Bulgaria-Romania border, which put them only two or three hours from Bucharest. Either way, it was a long fucking time to sit in the back seat of a car with a hood over your head and your hands bound behind your back. He could do a lot of damage with only his legs, but the inability to see and being substantially outnumbered wouldn't get him far, and would likely result in one or both of them being killed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Deep, centering breaths were nearly impossible under the hood. Brooke was blind, the wool was thick and hot, and it smelled terrible. Her fingers were numb from the lack of blood flow under the zip tie, and a full-blown panic attack was scratching at her mind with annoying persistence. She wanted to yell and scream, to curse these men and thrash and kick. But the shred of common sense that managed to hang on to the frazzled corners of her mind locked her down, and kept her quiet and obedient. She drew strength and serenity from having Dorin next to her, even though he was bound and hooded too.
Her mind kept flipping back to the sound of the gunshot that killed Dorin's friend. She was grateful not to have seen the poor man's head being blown off. But after the deafening pop of the gun, she’d heard the cracking sound of his skull exploding. The memory of the sound turned her stomach, only exacerbated by the horrific stench inside the hood. If terror had a scent, this would be it.
Where were they going? How long until they saw light again? Feeling antsy was doing her no favors when all she wanted to do was see what was happening. She tried desperately to transport her mind to a much more pleasant place. That morning in the shower was such a wonderful alternative. Watching Dorin lather and scrub himself; his big, masculine hands smoothing over the defined, but not bulky muscles of his lean physique turned her rabid with lust. Every other thought in her mind at the time blacked out completely, and nothing else existed or mattered but relieving the sharp ache of arousal that slammed into her like a freight train. She barely remembered pressing him up against the wall, only that by the time she had blinked, she was trying to devour him. She had no idea sex could feel like that, and she wanted nothing more than to feel that way again.
And he had promised her a date. She got the feeling that Dorin never broke a promise. That was just the kind of man he was.
Brooke had long since lost track of time; her best guess was that they had been driving for two, maybe three hours. She and Dorin had been completely silent the entire time, the sound of their echoed breathing the only thing keeping each other company.
The Land Rover finally slowed, and she could hear traffic and city noises. Where were they?
“Bine aţi venit înapoi la Bucureşti, printesa.” Oh, God. That dreaded word again. Princess. And maybe Bucharest was somewhere in there, too. Were they back in Romania?
“We're back in Bucharest.” Dorin whispered next to her.
Shit. Back to where this whole mess started. If there was ever a city she wanted to see removed from the map, it was Bucharest. She hated that such a beautiful city had carved a horrific scar in her memory.
Then, she remembered the pendant around her neck. Perhaps they were being tracked at that very moment, and help was on the way. But, how would someone know if they needed help? Would that Tanner guy send people if Dorin didn't call after so long? She had visions of a SWAT team storming the place with guns blazing and grenades flying. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
After several more minutes of driving, the car slowed again, and the chilling sound of the car driving into a garage made her stiffen in her seat, and bite the inside of her cheek to stop the sob working its way up her throat. Her mouth filled with the metallic tang of blood from biting so hard, and a wave of panic sent her stomach into a nauseating swoop. Oh, God. I'm going to be sick.
The car drove forward a few feet, and came to a stop. She heard the second car pull up next to them and stop as well. Several doors opened, and someone grabbed onto her arm to pull her out of the car. She couldn't stop a yelp of pain when it felt as if her shoulder was pulled from the socket. She heard Dorin grunt as he was pulled out from the other side.
The hood was suddenly yanked from her head, the static making a few strands of hair stick to her face. She slammed her eyes shut to block the painful blast of fluorescent lights, but was simultaneously grateful for cool, fresh air. She forced her eyes open, and risked a look around.
She was back in the same garage that she had been taken to right after she was kidnapped. She looked over at Dorin; his hood had been removed too, and his face and hair were damp with sweat.
“Welcome back, Miss Kennedy.” A voice came from the other side of the garage and grew closer. Brooke turned her head and saw him.
The fancy guy—Anton Vasile.
She wanted to shrink away, to disappear. Never had a single person instilled such sudden and acute fear in her. It was the worst possible case of deja vu, complete with her wrists bound. He walked up to her, completely ignoring Dorin for the moment, and stopped just inches away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dorin lock his muscles, forcing himself to stand still. Whatever his plan was, she prayed it would work, and that they would get out before anyone harmed either of them.
Anton studied her for a moment, and Brooke fought the urge to avert her eyes. Instead, she stared back, communicating the pure hatred she felt for him with her eyes alone.
“This is quite a unique situation that we've found ourselves in, isn't it?” he purred.
Brooke's lips quivered and her eyebrows tucked.
Anton cocked his head. “Nothing to say, my dear? That's funny, you were so vocal the last time you were here.” He pinched her chin, and Brooke jerked her head away. “Hopefully, you're better behaved this time.”
“Get your hands off her, Vasile!” Dorin growled.
He turned away from Brooke and approached Dorin. “I don't think you're in a position to tell me what I can and cannot do with my property. If I want to strip her and fuck her right here in front of you, I will.”
Dorin's face flashed red, his eyes glazed with rage as he tried to lurch forward at Anton. But before he could get very far, Anton balled up his fist, and punched Dorin hard in the gut. He let out a deep, gasping groan, and doubled over.
“No!” Brooke couldn't stop herself.
Anton looked at Brooke, and then back at Dorin, who was trying to regain his bearings and catch his breath. He looked intrigued, curious, and a little amused.
“I see.” He patted Dorin on his cheek. “Looks like you've gotten your money's worth.” He cocked his head. “Tell me, Cuza, was she worth it? Was—how you say—popping her cherry worth twenty grand?”
“Fuck... you...” Dorin ground out between gasping breaths.
Anton snapped his fingers. “Get him out of here, I'll deal with him in a minute. And don't rough him up too much, I still need to have a chat with him.”
No, no, no! They were being separated. She had been sure it was going to happen, but h
ad hoped it wouldn't. She watched through the watery glaze of fresh tears as Dorin was dragged from the garage, and down the stairs into the basement. Before they descended the stairs with him, Dorin managed to cast one final glance at her.
She prayed it wasn't the last time she would see him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It had been nearly four hours since they were taken in Bulgaria, and Dorin had missed his last check-in with Tanner by three hours. Surely he knew by now that something was wrong. How long had he been sitting here? An hour? Two? His hands were still bound behind his back, and he had long since lost feeling in his fingers. He was sitting in a hard, uncomfortable chair; his ass had fallen asleep, and a painful cramp was working its way into the middle of his back. The room was cold, damp, and smelled like stale cigarette smoke and urine.
Cigarette smoke...It just occurred to him that he hadn't had a cigarette in almost three days. And what surprised him the most was that he didn't feel the need for one. Not the most conventional way to kick his smoking habit, but he'd take it.
His stomach twisted when he thought of what could be happening to Brooke. He doubted Anton would physically harm her, and it was even less likely that he would kill her since he could turn right around and sell her to someone else. Oh, God. That thought was almost worse. Rage fizzed in his blood when he thought of another man touching her. Of her being drugged, sold, raped, and abused. If Anton so much as laid a finger on her, or harmed a single hair on her head, he would rip him to shreds.
His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened. He expected one of Anton's thugs to walk in, but Anton himself decided to grace him with his presence.
“Alexandru Cuza,” Anton began, crossing his arms. He stood in front of Dorin, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Or do you prefer Dorin Milosovici?”
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