by Rosie Somers
That’s it. That’s where they have Will. Logically, I know I should check out the rest of the house first, get a feel for the layout, find out how many others are in the building with us. But I can’t force myself to step away from the doorway, to leave Will for even a second. He’s right here, so close. I have to get him out.
But I need a plan.
Chapter Eighteen
I sneak away from the open doorway as quietly as I tiptoed up to it and aim for the stairs. I can go down a flight to the first floor, where I know there are other goons, or I can take my chances on the floor above. Up seems like the logical choice, so I ascend the stairs swiftly and stealthily. At the landing, I press myself tight to the wall and take stock. This floor is dark and quiet in all directions, and I waste no time darting into the nearest room to scope out my options for a diversion.
Enough moonlight streams in through a large window at one end of the room to softly illuminate bedroom furnishings, nice ones. A canopy bed made from dark, heavily polished wood matches the oversize dresser and armoire on the opposite wall. Personal possessions are sparse in here, and I’m coming up empty on destruction ideas.
Until a green light flashes on the far corner of the ceiling. The smoke detector. I mentally kick myself for not thinking of this sooner. Setting a fire as a distraction is one of the oldest tricks in the book. I lurch into motion, checking all surfaces, the drawers, everywhere I can think of for something that will create fire or smoke. Nothing.
An open doorway along the side wall leads into a bathroom, and I check there next. I open the top drawer in the long vanity, and score! A book of matches sits neatly atop a small soap dish filled with pocket change. Now, I just need kindling.
I find that easily in the other room, in the form of a notepad inside the top drawer of the bedside table. I tear quickly at the pages, ripping them from the binding and crumpling them on the tabletop, which I then shove into the corner directly under the smoke detector. An image of the fire spreading wildly and the whole building going up in flames flashes through my mind, but I shove it away. One, it’s not at all likely that this little notebook-paper fire will get that out of control, and two, Petrov and his men deserve to lose their hideout anyway.
I light a match, then another when the first one sputters out almost immediately. My hand is steady as I touch the match to the corner of a crumpled piece of paper. The flame catches right away and spreads out from the corner like a wave washing over the paper.
I wait just long enough to ensure that the fire will create enough smoke to set off the alarm, then I book it back down the stairs to the card room. Will’s two guards are still there, and still oblivious to my presence.
The shurikens strapped to each thigh comfort me, cold steel against my skin reminding me that I hold power, even if my enemy doesn’t know it. My fingertips itch to grip them, but I’m careful to keep my hands out of the slits in my skirt. Don’t want to tip my hand too early. Instead, I back myself into the shadows and hope they’re deep enough to hide my presence. If so, these guys will never know what hit them.
I wait a few seconds more for the fire to reach peak status and set off the alarm. A second’s distraction could mean the difference between success and failure. Could mean the difference between Will’s life and his death.
The telltale ear-splitting beeping of the smoke detector is music to my ears when it starts, and every muscle in my body tenses in preparation. A thud in the next room and arguing voices precede heavy footsteps coming my way. The giant lumbers out of the room without bothering to look around him and climbs the stairs without even so much as a glance in my direction. That just leaves Vasili. I breathe a silent thanks to the powers that be that it’s the smaller guy who stayed behind, and I step into the room. Vasili is at the window across the room with his back to me and doesn’t initially notice I’ve entered the room. I’m halfway to the door to the next room when he turns around. His gaze lands on me, and his eyes widen, then narrow. He looks me over from hair to heel and back again. Then his expression relaxes just slightly. He must not consider me a threat to be letting his guard down.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Vasili’s wording sounds wary, but his tone belies his curiosity.
I’m suddenly at a loss. My plan didn’t include coming face-to-face with one of Will’s guards and having to identify myself, leaping in with both feet before I’ve fully stopped to consider all the details. “Petrov sent me.” I pause long enough to work up my nerve. “I’m supposed to find out what the boy knows.”
Vasili’s eyes narrow again. He isn’t so easily fooled. “Petrov sent you?”
Suddenly my half-baked plan doesn’t seem like such a good idea. I swallow hard against a lump forming in my throat and nod, hoping I look more confident in my story than I feel, and inch toward the next room.
“Where did he find you?” Vasili takes one slow step toward me, then another, and one more, until he’s standing almost within arm’s reach. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and gives me the once-over for the second time.
Bang! The sound of wood hitting wood and cracking comes from the next room and is so loud, the wall between the two rooms rattles. Something on the other side of the wall has banged into it so hard that even the sconces shook from the impact, making the lights flicker. No longer is Vasili solely focused on me. He’s now looking toward the darkness beyond the open doorway between this room and the next. He places a hand on his gun holster in a way that is strongly reminiscent of a police officer. For a brief moment, I envision him in a cop’s uniform, and the image fits so well, I’d bet good money he has a background in law enforcement.
Vasili looks from the doorway to me to the doorway, then back to me. Then the bang from the next room sounds again. This time, a gold-gilt picture frame slips from the wall and crashes against the wood floor. The frame parts at the bottom corner and a crack slices on the diagonal through the center of the glass, before the whole thing comes to rest facedown. Vasili squares his shoulders, raises an eyebrow, and makes a show of cracking his knuckles. Then to me, “Walk.” He nods his head toward the next room.
I mentally run through the logistics of getting a hand inside a boot to grasp the hilt of one of my daggers. But there’s no scenario I can come up with that doesn’t end in him getting the upper hand before I’ve even got my weapon out. He’s too close. I need to put some space between us.
I reach instead for a shuriken. They aren’t as good for up-close uses; I don’t have enough space to aim or build momentum. And I’m just as likely to cut myself on the sharp edges as I am to cut him if I’m using it for anything other than throwing, but a weapon is a weapon. I walk my fingers into the slit in my skirt and slowly slide the shuriken from the strap keeping it tight to my leg.
As soon as I slip the star free, I flick my wrist and send it spinning in his direction. It slices through the skin of his biceps with a sickening sound and falls to the floor with a tinny thud. With lightning quickness, I reach into my boot for my dagger, and while he’s still just reaching for his injured arm, I bring my other hand up and place the dagger against his throat. I press it into his skin, stopping just short of drawing blood. “Take me to my friend.”
Chapter Nineteen
Vasili is smart. His jaw clamps shut the minute he realizes I have a knife pressed against his carotid. His muscles are tense but not stretched taut like he’s preparing to fight me off.
“I assume that is in fact my friend you have in the next room.” While I’m speaking, I remove his gun from its holster. Guns have never been my first choice of weapon; I usually gravitate toward the sharper, shinier implements, but I know enough about them to disengage the safety before trading my dagger to his throat for his gun to his head.
Vasili’s shoulders slacken on a hard exhale, and I imagine his eyes rolling in disappointed realization. “You’re the girl. The one with the book.” It’s not a question.
I don’t answer.
“H
ow did you get in here?”
I ignore this, too, and press the gun just a hair harder against his skull. “My friend is in there. Yes?”
“Yes.” He grunts the word, and his head bobs ever so slightly as he swallows nervously.
“Take off your belt.”
“My belt?” he asks, even as he moves to obey. In record time, he holds the braided brown leather belt up for me to grab.
“Hands behind your back,” I command. When he doesn’t move, I nuzzle the gun barrel against his temple and add, “Now.”
As soon as he joins his hands behind his back, I lower the gun to press the muzzle against his back and use my free hand to wrap the belt around his forearms, near his elbows. I slip the end through the buckle, but I have to put the end of the belt between my teeth to pull it taut and fasten it without losing the advantage of the gun at his spine. Finally, he’s secure—secure as I can accomplish with one hand anyway.
“There we are. Now, let’s get in there,” I whisper into his ear for effect. The goal is to creep him out, make him think I’m cold-blooded. Really, it’s the idea that they may have seriously hurt Will that makes my blood run cold.
Vasili takes a shuffling step toward the next room, and I close the distance between our two bodies as soon as it appears. We round the corner into the adjoining room in perfect tandem. The area is empty except for Will, bound to a metal folding chair, all but hidden under looming shadows in the corner. The chair is braced against the outer wall, and fragments of plaster dust the hardwood floors surrounding it. Will must have been slamming the chair into the wall. But why would he want to draw his guards’ attention to him and risk making them angry? It couldn’t have been an escape attempt; it would have been the world’s worst, considering no one’s ever untied themselves from a chair by banging it into a wall.
I can’t see Will’s features clearly, but I’m worried over how he’s holding up. Even if they haven’t harmed him physically, they could still be damaging him. I grew up with hardened criminals, the kind who joke about weapons around the Thanksgiving dinner table or spend a lazy Sunday afternoon discussing the details of their dream heist.
But Will is different. He’s a good kid, likely from a good family. He’s probably never even stolen so much as a pack of gum. He’s definitely never encountered the likes of Vasili and The Suit. And now, his life is being threatened. Because of me.
I dig my gun deeper into Vasili’s spine. “Where’s the light?” I ask around gritted teeth. My voice echoes off the walls of the empty space. Vasili motions with a slight nod to a switch on the wall next to us. I reach with my free hand to flip it.
And I get my first view of Will, tied to the chair with what looks like thin nylon cord. He’s not even surprised to see me. Did he know I was here before I came into the room? Does he know I’m the reason he’s been kidnapped? I push my relationship worries aside and visually inspect him.
His left eye is a swollen purplish-red color, and his left cheek is split open, dried blood crusting the wound and a dark bruise surrounding it. It must have happened when they first took him. Will’s lip is swollen and busted open, and the wound looks much fresher, with bright-red blood dripping down his chin. That must have happened more recently.
Anger boils somewhere deep inside me, and I have to hold myself back from trying to inflict the same violence on Vasili. Instead I nudge him forward, away from me. I point over his shoulder to the far corner. “Go sit.”
He doesn’t move right away, so I dig the gun deeper into his flesh. “I will shoot you. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed someone.” It’s a lie; I’ve never shot anything except a man-shaped paper target at the range. But I keep my voice cold and whispery. I’m not in the business of hurting or threatening to hurt people, but apparently, I’m a quick study.
Something in my tone must convince Vasili that I’m not bluffing, because he wastes no time shuffling across the room to the corner.
“Sit,” I instruct, and he obeys immediately.
Without letting go of the gun, I set to work on Will’s bindings. Once he’s free, he’s careful getting up and favors his right side heavily. Clearly, the bruises on his face aren’t the only wounds he received at their hands. My skin itches with the desire to repay their kindness, but I restrain myself. My number one priority is getting Will out of there safely, and I can’t do that if I get caught up in my own need for vengeance.
“Can you tie him up, Will?”
He nods and retrieves the discarded cord from the floor. In no time flat, Vasili is bound in the chair with his hands still belted behind his back and his legs tied to the chair legs, and Will is standing in the center of the room waiting for direction.
Though, where we’ll go when we get away from here, I’m not sure. Petrov knows where I am. He knows who Will is. There’s no escaping him.
But I can’t worry about that at the moment. Right now, I’ve got to get Will to safety before someone else realizes we’re here. “Are you okay to walk?” I take a step toward him, but his eyes widen and he takes a step back. My soul deflates a little at his unspoken rejection, and I search his eyes for signs of anger, or disgust, or hatred.
But he’s not looking at me; he’s looking past me, toward the door. Something hard presses between my shoulder blades.
“Drop it,” a masculine voice pseudo-whispers just behind my right ear. “Did you really think we would give you directions right to us and not be waiting for you?”
I am a complete fool! I forgot the first rule of any criminal undertaking: always watch your six. While we were busy worrying about Vasili, someone else was getting the drop on me. I lower the gun to my side, and whoever is behind me snakes out a hand to relieve me of it.
“Now go stand next to your boyfriend.”
I do as I’m told, joining Will in the center of the room. I expect him to shift away from me, but instead he slowly moves his body in front of mine. He’s protecting me—even after everything I’ve put him through.
I have to peer around his shoulder to see who it is who managed to sneak up on me. The man standing in the doorway with a gun trained on us is younger than I expected, maybe in his late twenties. His hair is pitch-black, and his eyes are even darker, but his skin is pale and creamy white, like he’s never seen daylight. His expression is neutral, but something in his eyes is menacing, cold, and heartless.
Samuel steps into view behind him, and for the briefest of moments, hope blooms. Maybe he’s here to help us.
“Uncle Samuel?” My voice is small, but I can tell it carries to the other side of the room by the way my uncle’s gaze drops to his feet. He’s not here to help.
“Uncle Samuel?” I try again in a voice even smaller and more full of questions than the first time. Logically, I realize he’s there to betray me, but I can’t seem to wrap my head around the idea. He’s blood. Blood means everything to our family.
Well, apparently not the whole family. I want to rail at him, demand to know why he double-crossed us, but what good will it do? The damage is done. Our lives are still in Petrov’s hands.
“Aw, isn’t this family reunion sweet.” The dark-haired man levels his gun at Will’s chest, and every breath I would have taken is suddenly penned inside my chest, trapped in my lungs, making them burn from the pressure. Just when my vision begins to blacken at the periphery, I remember how to work my lungs and release my pent-up breath in a rush. My lungs might be under my command again, but my heart is racing into oblivion and there’s nothing I can do to control it.
“Petrov.” Will’s voice is flat and hollow.
“This is Petrov?” My brain hitches at hearing the man’s identity. He’s barely old enough to drink. How could he be the leader of a crime syndicate stretching across most of Europe? Then I realize I’ve skipped over something really important. “Wait,” I whisper to Will, “how do you know Petrov?”
My whisper must have been louder than I realized because Petrov barks a harsh laugh. “She doesn
’t know? Oh, this is rich.” His expression is all dark amusement. We’re entertaining him.
“I don’t know what?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“Please, flower, I’ll explain everything. Later. But right now, you just have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” Well, he is standing between the business end of a Glock and me, so there’s that.
“Isn’t this sweet. Do you two lovebirds need a few minutes to talk things out?” Petrov is patronizing us. While holding us at gunpoint. Talk about adding insult to injury.
“If you wouldn’t mind.” And Will is taunting him? They’re both insane.
And my entire world is suddenly upside down. My boyfriend—or whatever Will is—knows a whole lot more than he’s been letting on all this time, and my own uncle has betrayed me to the man who has been after my mother and me for months. He’s supposed to be with my mother. With that realization, a deeper, darker doubt creeps up on me.
“Where’s my mother?” I direct the question to my uncle, who’s still shamefacedly filling the void of space behind Petrov, but he doesn’t answer.
Petrov speaks up for him. “I have her.”
And just like that, my upside-down world collapses in on itself.
“I don’t believe that,” Will challenges. “If that were true, she’d be here, where you could keep an eye on her.” My heart surges at his words; I want so badly to believe they’re true.
But what if they’re not?
“What do you want?” It’s my best attempt at negotiating, but my words are weak. Besides, I already know what he wants. The journal my father gave me.
“See, now you’re just being intentionally obtuse,” Petrov says calmly, but his demeanor is back to menacing, all signs of amusement gone. “You know exactly what I want.”
“The book,” I reply.
Petrov nods. “Mm-hmm, and if you give it to me now, I’ll let all of you go. Including your mother.”
“Don’t believe him, Marisol. He has no reason to let us go if you give him what he wants.” Will’s tone is as earnest as I’ve ever heard it, and he used my real name.