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Smoke stung Sloane’s eyes as she stumbled through the dark tunnel, her heart pounding. The chaos of shouting and gunfire echoed behind her, but she couldn’t see Marissa or the guy who’d been leading them— Theo , was that his name? She couldn’t remember —in the darkness.

“Marissa!” Sloane called out, her voice hoarse. No response.

She tripped on something in the darkness again, sprawling onto the rough ground. Pain shot through her palms and knees. As she pushed herself up, a memory flashed—a hand on her back, shoving hard when Sloane had fallen the first time a few minutes ago.

But surely she’d imagined that. Even Marissa wouldn’t have deliberately knocked Sloane down and left her behind.

Right?

She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. She had to keep moving. Catch up to wherever everyone had gone.

Coughing from the thickening smoke, she staggered forward. Light glimmered ahead—the tunnel’s exit. Hope surged through her as she broke into a stumbling run.

Maybe they’d just gotten separated. Marissa would tell Callum and the others that Sloane was still coming. They’d be waiting for her right outside, maybe even on their way back to get her.

She burst out into the cool night air, gulping it gratefully. But her relief was short-lived as she took in the scene before her.

In the distance, she could see a car speeding away, no headlights on. That had to be them.

“Wait!” she screamed, waving her arms frantically. But the car disappeared into the darkness without slowing at all. Sloane stood frozen, disbelief washing over her.

They’d left without her.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, her mind reeling. Had Marissa deliberately pushed her down, ensuring her own escape while leaving Sloane behind?

It was one thing to treat Sloane like her personal indentured servant, another thing entirely to leave her for dead with kidnappers.

Surely it had all been a terrible misunderstanding in the chaos. Maybe Marissa thought Sloane was right behind her the whole time.

A shout from nearby snapped Sloane back to her current hell. She was still in danger, alone and exposed. Whatever had happened with Marissa, she couldn’t dwell on it now.

She was on her own, just as she always had been.

Sloane’s heart raced as she scanned her surroundings. She was in some sort of compound with a bunch of small buildings—they looked to be barns or something similar. She could make out two houses, both with lights on in the windows.

Armed guards were shouting and running in all directions, at least a dozen of them. Smoke still billowed from the tunnel entrance, providing her some cover, but she needed to get out of there.

But go where? She had no idea where she was. Was she still in France? This definitely wasn’t Paris.

A fence ran along the property about fifty yards away. Beyond it lay darkness—and potential freedom. But getting there meant crossing open ground. She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave the safety of the shadows.

She pushed her shoulders back. She had to. It was now or never.

She crouched low and darted toward the nearest building, pressing her back against its rough concrete wall. The shouts seemed to be moving away from her position.

Just like hide-and-seek. She clenched and unclenched her fists to try to stop her hands from shaking.

Except with much higher stakes.

Sloane inched along the wall, her muscles tense, ready to sprint at any moment. She reached the corner and peered around it, assessing the next stretch of open space.

A guard suddenly appeared in her peripheral vision. Sloane jerked back, holding her breath. Had he seen her?

“Hey!” the guard called out. “Check the east perimeter!”

East… Was that her direction? She had no idea. Her heart threw itself against her ribs as she waited. But the footsteps receded as the guard moved on.

She exhaled shakily. It was almost impossible to make herself move. Terror rooted her to the spot. She fought the urge to slide down the wall and cover her head with her arms.

If she did that, if she gave up, she would die.

“Come on, Sloane,” she whispered. “You can do this. You have to.”

Yes, you can, angel. You can do it.

Her mom’s voice in her head gave her the strength she needed. Taking a deep breath, she bolted from her hiding spot, feet pounding against the dirt. The fence loomed closer with each stride, her beacon of hope in the darkness. The cold air whipped against her face as she ran, ignoring the protests of her battered body.

Her breaths came in ragged gasps, but she pushed herself harder. She was going to make it.

Suddenly, a spotlight blazed to life, bathing the area in harsh white light. Sloane’s heart plummeted as shouts erupted behind her.

“There! Stop her!”

Panic surged, lending her impossible speed. She reached the fence, her fingers grasping desperately at the rusty links. As she began to climb, a rough arm seized her waist, yanking her back.

“No!” She kicked wildly. “Let me go!”

“Trying to get away from me, bábika ?”

Her heart thudded wildly at the sound of Nikola’s voice. She couldn’t let him take her. She fought as hard as she could, thrashing her arms and throwing her head back. Distantly, she heard him curse as something she did hurt him, but it wasn’t enough to make him release her.

Two guards stepped forward to help, but Nikola yelled something in their direction, stopping them. Sloane was running out of steam, her struggles becoming weaker. Nikola spun her around, and without warning, his hand cracked across her face, the force of the blow sending her stumbling. Immediately, he grabbed her by the shoulder, fingers digging into her skin, yanking her back up again.

“You think to make a fool out of me in front of my men? First by trying to escape, and now by fighting me?”

He backhanded her again, and she tasted blood on the inside of her cheek. She still tried to pull away from him.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry, little doll. You will learn manners.”

The guards stepped back as he dragged her toward one of the main houses. Nikola shoved her through the door of an office where Jakob stood waiting, his face contorted with fury.

“Look who I found.” There was a note of pride in Nikola’s voice as he pushed Sloane farther into the room, but he kept a grip on her. “The other one got away, but I caught this one.”

Jakob slammed his fist onto the desk. “Fool! This one is useless. We can’t make the trade with her. We only get paid when we trade the other.”

As the brothers faced off, Sloane darted her gaze around the room, searching for anything she could use to escape. But with Nikola’s fingers digging into her collarbone, she knew her chances were slim.

“The other one is gone,” Nikola replied. “Our men were not able to catch the car.”

Nikola’s calm words did nothing but infuriate Jakob further. “Then we have nothing! No payment. We need to figure out why this happened. It shouldn’t have happened.”

Nikola shrugged. “We’ll find another rich American to kidnap, like you said. But this one is mine now, Jakob. I want to keep her.”

It took everything Sloane had to force herself not to blanch.

Jakob’s face twisted with disgust. “We’re not here to play house with hostages. This is about money. About business.”

Sloane’s stomach churned as she listened to them argue over her fate. She tried to make herself as small as possible, as if doing so might make them forget she was there.

“I know.” Nikola’s tone was irritated.

“William Getty refuses to pay,” Jakob spat. “She’s worthless to us now. We need to cut our losses and get rid of her.”

She whimpered as Nikola’s grip on her arm tightened painfully. “No! I will keep her.”

“This isn’t a game, Nikola!” Jakob shouted, his face reddening. “You’re not ready to lead if you can’t make tough decisions.”

Nikola’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “I am ready to lead. I am someone to be respected.”

Jakob’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. Prove it, then. Take her out and kill her yourself. Then I’ll know you’re ready to be the bossman.”

Sloane’s heart stopped. She looked up at Nikola, searching for any hint of mercy in his empty eyes.

After a long moment, Nikola nodded reluctantly. “I’ll do it.”

“Good, brother. Let’s get it over with and figure out how to clean up this mess.”

A cold sweat broke out along her spine as they turned toward the door.

Jakob’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and cursed. “I have to take this. But go, do it now, and let’s figure out our next steps.”

She stumbled along behind as Nikola dragged her back out of the house and toward the woods surrounding the farm.

Sick terror hit her, slamming into her like a sledgehammer, as she tried to figure out anything she could do. There was no way she could outfight Nikola; he was way too strong for her. As they reached a secluded area, Nikola raised his gun, his hand trembling slightly.

Sloane’s survival instincts kicked in. She prayed she wasn’t about to make a huge mistake.

“Wait!” she cried out, her voice cracking. “Nikola, please. You don’t have to do this.”

His empty eyes bored into her, but she detected a flicker of hesitation. She pressed on, her words tumbling out rapidly.

“You can trick Jakob. Tell him you killed me, but lock me up instead. You’d be in control then, not him.”

Nikola’s brow furrowed, considering her words. “I…I would be outsmarting Jakob?”

“Yes.” Sloane nodded eagerly. “You’d prove you’re smarter than him. A true leader. And I would be yours.”

She buried a shudder deep inside at the thought of his hands on her. Would death be better?

No. She would survive. Survival was the most important thing.

“You would be the bossman of me.” She had no idea why he liked that ridiculous word so much, but she would use it if it kept her alive.

For a moment, she thought he might pull the trigger anyway. Then, a slow, unsettling smile spread across his face.

“I am ready to be the bossman.”

Relief flooded through her, quickly replaced by dread as Nikola marched them both rapidly back to the cellar she’d been in before. He tied her back to the chair, his large hands once again pinching her breasts and thighs. She gagged as he cupped her between her legs.

Maybe death would’ve been better. She forced her gaze to a back corner of the room, trying to disassociate herself from her own body as he continued to touch her.

“My bábika .” His hot breath in her ear made her want to throw up.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Jakob stood there, his face contorted with rage.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you, Nikola,” he snarled. “You’re too weak. You’ll never be a leader. I’ll kill her myself.”

Callum narrowed his eyes as he slipped through the shadows of the farm compound, every nerve on high alert. Drying sweat from the miles running back sent a chill through his body in the cool night air as he crouched behind a weathered barn, but he ignored it. His eyes scanned the perimeter, searching for any sign of Sloane.

“Where are you?” he whispered, frustration and fear clawing at his insides.

Was he too late? Had the Kozak brothers killed her immediately once they realized Marissa was gone? It would make sense.

Decades of rigorous tactical training took over as his keen eyes picked up on movements all around the compound by the guards. These men were definitely not professionally trained—probably just locals who were looking to make some extra money. Still, Callum’s body tensed instinctively, ready to react as needed.

An armed, untrained guard could kill him just as dead as a trained one. Especially since Callum didn’t have any weapon of his own.

He spotted Jakob Kozak emerging from the main house, his face contorted with fury as he stormed across the yard. Callum followed. Kozak would be his best way to find Sloane, even if he had to get the information forcefully.

He was so fixed on Jakob, he didn’t see the guard who materialized from behind a stack of crates until he was blocking Callum’s path.

Without hesitation, Callum struck, his movements swift and silent. The guard barely had time to cry out before Callum’s strong hand clamped over his mouth and his other hand delivered a hard punch to the guard’s jaw, knocking him unconscious.

“Sorry, pal,” he muttered. “Nothing personal.”

Callum quickly dragged the body behind a stack of crates and checked for any signs of life. Satisfied that the guard was still breathing, he grabbed the guy’s AK-47, then turned his attention back to Jakob, who was now yelling at another guard, asking where Nikola had taken Sloane.

Relief flooded him. She was still alive.

Callum inched closer, carefully avoiding any open areas that would make him visible, as Jakob headed back toward the same cellar from which they’d just rescued Sloane and Marissa. Callum kept to the shadow of the tunnel, trying to formulate a plan as he listened to Jakob scream at his brother.

“You useless idiot!” Jakob’s voice boomed. “Can’t you follow simple instructions?”

“She is mine. I will keep her.”

Keep her ? Was he talking about Sloane? That was creepy as fuck.

“This just proves that you’ll never be the boss, Nikola,” Jakob snarled. “You can’t handle it. All you had to do was kill her. Now I’ll do it myself.”

Jakob hadn’t even finished the sentence before Callum burst through the cellar door, weapon raised. The scene before him crystallized in a heartbeat: Sloane bound to a chair, her eyes wide with fear; Jakob, his arm raised, a gun glinting in his hand pointed at her head; and Nikola, his empty eyes reflecting the dim light.

Without hesitation, Callum squeezed the trigger of the AK, aimed directly at Jakob.

Nothing.

Every curse word Callum knew flew through his head in a split second as the gun failed a first time then a second.

Goddamned hand-me-down weapons .

Not waiting for anyone to recover, he launched himself at Jakob, tackling him. They crashed to the ground, his gun skittering across the concrete floor.

“You will die,” Jakob snarled.

Callum’s fist connected with Jakob’s jaw. “Not today, asshole.”

A flicker of movement caught Callum’s eye. Nikola was lunging for Jakob’s fallen gun. In one fluid motion, honed by years of training, Callum leaped to his feet and swung. His fist collided with Nikola’s temple, and the larger man crumpled like a marionette with cut strings.

“Look out!” Sloane cried, her hoarse voice coming out as barely more than a whisper.

He turned, only to see Jakob charging at him, face twisted in anger, a knife in his hand. Callum felt the sting of the blade across his bicep but ignored the pain. He expected Jakob to try again, but instead, the man dove for Sloane, knife raised.

Callum leaped for Jakob, knocking him away from Sloane in midair. As they came down, Jakob’s face was dragged down the jagged metal edge of a rusty oil drum. The man screamed as blood gushed from his now-mangled features, and he passed out on the ground.

With both Kozaks down, Callum rushed to Sloane. His fingers worked quickly at her bonds, but he kept his touch gentle despite the urgency.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening. “You remember me, right?”

Those blue eyes were huge as she stared at him. “Callum.”

“That’s right, angel.” As the ropes fell away, Callum helped her to her feet. “But we need to move. Now. We don’t have much time.”

They raced for the door, his arm securely around her. His mind was already plotting their escape route, but a part of him marveled at the fierce protectiveness he felt. He’d thought those feelings had died with his wife, but here they were, blazing to life for this young woman he’d only had two sentences of conversation with.

“Stay close,” he murmured as they emerged into the night. “And maybe we’ll make it out of this alive.”