Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
As soon as the doors opened, I would know that she was safe, that I had not failed her so completely.
Finally, a high-pitched ping announced the elevator’s arrival.
Gun aimed, I was ready to take action.
The doors opened to a family all wearing “I Heart New York” T-shirts, staring in horror at me.
The man, his eyes wide, didn’t move, but the woman was the one who acted. She grabbed her kids and yanked them behind her.
Fuck.
Without saying a word, I tucked my gun in my waistband and turned to the other elevator that was opening to reveal Damien and Gregor, armed and ready to fight.
They looked at me and I clenched my teeth, trying to hold back the rage threatening to break free, and let rationality take control.
“She’s gone.”
CHAPTER 29
MARINA
The elevator only went down four floors before the men pulled me from the car with the gun still held to my head and marched me through empty service hallways. I had no idea where we were going, but I knew it couldn’t be good.
Did Kostya even know about these elevators?
How was he going to save me in time?
I knew he would come for me. I just didn’t know if he would be fast enough.
The words the man whispered into my ear still burned, almost as bad as the sour stench of his breath. “It’s a good thing you like your sister’s sloppy seconds, because our boss can’t wait to get his hands on you.”
“I would sooner die than let anyone, especially a monster like Solovyov, touch me.”
“Death is definitely on the table for you, sweetheart,” he laughed. “But it’s not Solovyov who will deliver it. They sent Oleg.”
Oleg. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
Was he another one of Veronika’s lovers? An enemy? Solovyov may have been the man that she saw the most, but I knew he wasn’t the only one. He was the most dangerous, the one I was most afraid of, but there were others.
The man holding me moved his grip from my neck to my hair, twisting and pulling just hard enough to hurt. At least his gun was no longer at my temple. No, instead he had it digging into my spine at the small of my back as he shoved me into a service elevator.
Assholes.
I wanted to fight them, but I knew that was pointless.
How could I fight a man with a gun?
I was going to make some kind of move in the hotel room, but Kostya said no. He knew better than I did. If I wasn’t going to be able to get away from them with him in the room, what chance did I have alone?
The service elevator opened to garage parking and instantly the cold air hit my skin.
They pushed me out of the elevator toward a car that sat idling in the garage, waiting for them.
I stared at the car, the cold, sinking feeling in the base of my stomach solidifying into fear at the distinct click of a gun cocking behind me.
I froze, my back straight, a single drop of sweat traveling down my spine, dreading the shot about to be fired, ending my life.
Will it hurt?
Will I feel cold?
How fast will I die?
What would be waiting for me on the other side?
Will Kostya mourn me?
Those questions raced through my head as I closed my eyes.
Two shots rang out, pain stabbing through my ears.
I stood there waiting for the pain of a bullet to register, but the man pushing the gun into my spine and the other one, who had shot Kostya, fell to the ground on either side of me. Dead.
I turned to look behind me, expecting to see Kostya’s angry face as he marched toward me to take me back.
Instead, a man emerged from the shadows; a single tendril of smoke curled from the muzzle of the gun he used to motion for me to get into the car.
I moved while he silently followed.
He opened the back door and tossed in the duffel, then shut the door behind me before melting back into the garage. I considered sliding all the way over to the opposite side and out the other door, but it was already blocked.
A man with a scar running from his temple to the corner of his mouth sat waiting for me. His scar was gnarled and pulled, distorting the side of his face.
I shrank back as an icy realization settled over me.
This was Oleg. I didn’t recognize the name because Veronika had always called him Two-Face, after the Batman villain. He was the other man she’d been sleeping with. A hitman who worked for Solovyov.
Not just any hitman; he was the one you sent when you wanted to deliver a message. Not a clean hit, not a quick death that was honorable, but a tortured one that lasted hours, one that would make any Hollywood serial killer’s stomach turn.