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.

“How 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.

I’m struggling between a rock and a hard place, torn between two decisions, and they both suck. I still don’t know why the journal is so important to Petrov. But I can’t risk my mother’s life or even potentially risk it just to keep the book in my possession.

“It’s downstairs, in the courtyard,” I finally tell him.

“Good, now be a good girl and untie Vasil for me.”

I try to work on Vasili’s bonds quickly, but my fingers are clumsy and Will has tied a gazillion knots in the cord. By the time I finally release the last knot, Petrov’s impatience is so strong, I feel like I could reach up and pluck it out of the air.

“Vasil, go check downstairs for the book. Niko, you guard the door—and this time, don’t let these kids get the better of you, yes?” The Suit looks suitably ashamed, gaze to the floor and shoulders slumped as Vasili marches out of the room without making eye contact with anyone. Niko follows close behind. I’ve thought of him only as The Suit all this time, and now his real name seems foreign to me. As soon as he’s gone, Petrov holds his hand out, palm up like he’s expecting me to place something in it.

“What?” I already told him where the book was. He doesn’t think I actually have it on me, does he?

“Come now, pet, you can’t be that stupid, can you?” My expression must be as blank as my mind because he follows that up with, “Of course you can. Your phone, pet. I’m going to need your phone. Can’t have you calling for help, now can I?”

Not that I have anyone left to call. I pull my phone out of my boot and toss it across the floor. I’m not going any closer to him than I absolutely have to.

Petrov doesn’t bat an eyelash and just kicks the phone through the open doorway into the next room.

“Now check her for weapons,” he instructs Uncle Samuel.

My uncle looks apologetic but approaches me anyway. Will steps fully in front of me, and for a moment, I think my uncle might actually back down. Until Petrov clears his throat loudly. That one simple gesture spurs my uncle into motion and gets Will to move out of the way. Uncle Samuel makes short work of relieving me of every single one of my weapons—and I’m not surprised. He’s the one who taught me how to conceal weapons on my person when I was twelve.

When he’s certain I’m disarmed, he returns to Petrov’s side, and Will immediately steps back in front of me.

Petrov smirks at Will but doesn’t comment. Then he turns on his heel and leaves the room. Uncle Samuel is slower in leaving and throws an unreadable, but loaded, look in my direction as he shuts the door.

I relax, but only slightly, because now Will and I are alone, and the tension between us is taking on a life of its own.