Page 18

Finally, my phone buzzes in my hand, and I jolt. The vibration of the notification sends adrenaline rushing through me, and I glance down at the screen, reading my brother’s name, as my thumb hovers over to click on the notification.
But before I can, I feel something cold and hard press against the back of my neck.
I freeze.
Every single nerve in my body locks up, the shape of the item unmistakable.
A gun.
My breathing hitches, my throat becoming tight as my phone slips from my fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. I hear footsteps behind me, measured and deliberate, as the gun is pressed harder against my body.
I feel like I’m going to pass out.
There’s another set of footsteps, and the sound makes my head jerk. I gasp when I realise there’s a figure there, and as he steps into view, his presence dominates the room.
The man is tall, easily broad, and is dressed in black from head-to-toe. A black jacket stretches across his muscular build, and his shoes thud against the floor as he moves, each step purposeful. At first, I think his face is hidden by the shadows at the edge of this room, but I soon realise that he has a balaclava on, concealing his entire face except for his eyes; pale, sharp, and as cold as ice. They lock with mine, and I feel him stripping me bare with just a single look.
I can’t breathe.
My chest tightens, and my lungs fail me.
As he crouches low in front of me, he plucks my phone off from the floor, barely tipping his head back to look at me. Gloved fingers glide across my screen as he studies the notification, then he places it down on the coffee table, looking at the person standing behind me with a gun pressed to my neck.
My stomach flips.
“Her brother has sent a message.”
He says, his voice low and smooth, an accent I recognise as Russian falling from his lips.
I feel tears pricking the back of my eyes.
The person standing behind me shifts, and the barrel of the gun digs deeper into my neck. I feel my breathing becoming uneven, becoming shallow.
“She’s a smart girl.”
The person—the man—standing behind me says.
He breathes out a laugh, and then all attention is back to the man who’s crouched in front of me.
“Stay quiet.” He says in a sharp tone. “It’ll be easier for all of us that way.”
My body refuses to move, frozen in place as his words settle over me.
They are going to kidnap me.
I can’t breathe.
Eyes filled with tears, I try to process what’s happening, to figure out who these men are, and why they’re here.
They. Are. Going. To. Kidnap. Me.
All I can do is sit on my backside, trembling, as the man’s piercing eyes stare into mine, stripping away any sense of control I once thought I had.
Papa moved us all the way here to England so we would all be safe, but now…
“She’s not moving.” The man behind me grits out. “Tell her to move before it’s too late.”
The man in front of me leans in closer, his chest touching my knees, and his eyes boring into mine as my stomach flips.