Page 24

We don’t drive for long. I do my best to count the turns and note each direction, but it’s not as easy as it seems in the movies, and once I miscount one turn, the rest becomes useless.

It feels like the trunk is getting smaller by the minute. I’ve never struggled with claustrophobia, but in this moment, I can see why people have it.

I can hear the muffled sound of men talking from the front of the car. Occasionally, I hear hooting or a shout.

Sometimes I kick the back of the car, but it’s not easy, and I’m worried I’m wasting my energy instead of saving it to fight when I’m out of here.

Because it’s not a long drive, I know we’re still in the San Francisco area when the car comes to a stop and the engine goes quiet.

My heart pumps faster, adrenaline making me dizzy as I wait for the trunk to open.

When it does, the light that floods in blinds me for a moment, and I blink hurriedly, trying to get my vision back.

Rough hands lift me from the car, and I’m thrown over a man’s shoulder. I don’t recognize him, or the place he’s carrying me into.

Three men are walking with him, talking about nothing in particular, casual and calm.

We enter an industrial building. It smells like we’re close to the docks.

The place is filthy; it stinks as though people have been squatting in here. I gag and fight the urge to vomit all the way down this man’s back. I can’t imagine he’d treat me kindly after that.

Stay calm, Lara. Wait for the right moment. Watch everything. Learn. Be patient.

I have to keep reminding myself that kicking and fighting until I have a real chance of escape is going to be useless.

He carries me past an elevator that clearly isn’t working. The heavy metal door is hanging lopsided, full of dents, and the floor looks rotten. There are so many guards standing around on the ground floor.

We take the stairs, which don’t exactly look safe, either.

Third floor.

Third door on the left. Along the passage are more guards.

We go into a room, no bigger than a bedroom, perhaps once an office of some kind. There are old, rotten books in the corner and a broken desk, leaning precariously against the far wall. The windows are coated in dust and grime, the light struggling to pierce through it.

The air smells cleaner in here, but not by much.

I’m slung forward, off his shoulder, and dropped to my feet, but my legs buckle beneath me, and I fall to the ground.

“For fuck’s sake,” the man groans, grabbing my arm and yanking me back to my feet.

“Where is the boss?” he asks his comrade.

“Not sure, he said he was on the way. Let’s get her tied and ready. The last thing we need is more drama or her getting away.”

“This little bird isn’t going anywhere,” the man holding me smirks, a dark, terrifying smile. He reaches out and touches me, and I pull away from him, making him laugh in amusement.

“Feisty,” he says.

The other man loses his patience.

“Tie her to the chair,” he snaps, pointing at a wooden chair that isn’t part of the building. It’s too new. Too clean.

The man holding me drags me to the chair and pulls a roll of duct tape from somewhere, then starts to wrap it around my wrists and ankles, locking me tightly in place.

The other man watches me with cold eyes. His expression is one of boredom, and all I can do is glare back at him, trying to make him think I’m not afraid, even though I’m dying inside.

Nestor will come.

As soon as he realizes I’m gone, he will come find me.

I keep repeating this reassurance over and over again.

I sit in that chair for an eternity. Hours that feel like a lifetime.

Every part of my body is aching because I can’t move. The tape is cutting into my skin, and the wood of the chair is hard against my body.

I’m exhausted from the constant sense of alertness. Too scared to rest my eyes. Too scared to drop my guard.

I hear movement outside, and the men in the room stand straighter, alert.

“What did you do to her?” a familiar voice snaps, footsteps echoing along the dusty, old wooden floor.

“Nothing, boss, you said not to hurt her till you got here.”

Miron.

Of course, it’s Miron.

Nestor’s anger over me chasing Miron is fresh in my mind. This is exactly what he didn’t want.

This is what he was afraid of.

Miron walks around the room and stops in front of me, staring down at me with his arms folded across his chest. He says nothing, the corners of his mouth turned down as though he finds me disgusting.

“I can see why he chose you,” he mutters, contradicting the expression on his face. “Beautiful.”

I swallow, tilt my chin up, and glare at him in defiance.

“What do you want from me, Miron?” I say with as much confidence as I can muster.

He ignores my question, turning to his men. “Were you followed?”

“If we were followed, they would’ve come in and saved her by now. We’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

“Do I look like a give a fuck how long you had to wait for me?” Miron growls angrily.

The men look unhappy about being spoken to like that.

My job, the only thing I can do, is to buy time. Nestor will suspect Miron right away. He hates the man. He will find me.

Miron’s phone rings. He huffs, answering it.

“What?” he snaps.

There is a moment of silence. “Deal with it. I’m busy now.”

He slides it back into his pocket and turns to face me again.

“I am sorry about your father’s death, Miron. You were wrong, though. It wasn’t Nestor,” I speak as calmly as possible.

He snorts, laughing, and waves his hand through the air. “No, it was an accident. I know what. I knew it from the beginning.”

“Oh. Then why did you get so angry with Nestor?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t expect you to understand, girl.”

“Do you miss your dad? Even losing someone in an accident is still painful. He was your father, after all.”

He rolls his eyes as though he’s talking to an annoying child. That’s fine. He can see me as an annoyance, as long as he’s still talking.

“My father was not the type of man I’d ever miss.

All he ever did in my life was hold me back.

He is the reason I haven’t been able to take over from Nestor yet.

Fucking patience. He kept telling me to have fucking patience.

Can you believe that? He seemed to believe that the power Nestor had would somehow just fall into my lap without me having to take it.

” He laughs loudly, a bursting sound that erupts from him as he throws his head back and holds his belly.

“You didn’t need to take Nestor’s position to have power. You already have power.”

“I want more,” he screams, his smile gone.

“My father was weak. He fell in love and forgot about our plan. He was pathetic. He kept pushing for peace and telling me to go with the flow, to work at my stepbrother’s side.

He wanted me to grovel like a fucking pathetic little gutter rat until Nestor promoted me.

” He clenches his fists and moves as though he wants to punch the wall, but stops short of it.

I have an urge to tell him his father was right, that people do work for the things they have in life, but instead I bite my tongue and say, “Sometimes our parents don’t see things the way we do. Sometimes we might even be wrong.”

Miron’s face goes dark with anger.

“Ha,” he says coldly. “Are you saying my dad was right? That I don’t deserve the same power Nestor has?

Are you saying Nestor is a better man than I?

That I’m not worthy?” He’s practically screaming at me, spit flying from his mouth as anger pulses tin he veins over his temples.

The sudden uncontrolled rage tells me he’s had this fight many times before—maybe with his father, maybe with himself.

“I didn’t say that,” I interject quickly, trying to defuse him, but it’s too late. His rage is boiling. He thinks I told him he’s unworthy, and there’s apparently no going back from that.

“Miron,” I say desperately. “I didn’t say that.”

He runs at me and grabs my throat in his broad hands. Locking his fingers tightly around my neck, he squeezes until the air cuts off and my eyes begin to water. “Do you think I give a fuck about what you think of me, bitch?” he hisses in my face, his breath hot against my cheek.

“Boss, we need her alive, for leverage,” someone says cautiously.

“He only has to think she’s alive, you fucking idiot,” he growls, squeezing even tighter. I want to gag and choke, but I can’t. I can’t draw air in. I can barely see through my tear-soaked eyes.

I’m going to die.

This is how I die.

“Fuck,” one of his men screams and a bullet snaps through the window into the ceiling.

Downstairs, three stories below us, gunfire breaks out in every direction. Miron lets go and staggers away from me, his eyes wide.

“Tell your men to kill everyone,” he screams. “Don’t fucking let anyone come through that door.”

But already the gunfire is sounding up the stairs, and the scream of men as they fall from the third to the first floor, slipping over the railing of the curved staircase, is making Miron nervous.

Miron shakes his head.

“Fuck this,” he snarls and runs to the window, climbing out of it and onto the fire escape.

I scream Nestor’s name.

Again and again.

Miron’s men are confused, their boss having abandoned them.

Nestor, Roan, and Benedikt burst into the room, and Miron’s men drop their weapons and lie flat on the floor.

Nestor runs straight to me. He wraps his arms around me and holds me. “I’m here, I’m so sorry. I was so worried. We got here as fast as we could.”

He leans back, pulling a knife from his pocket. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

I try to answer him, but instead I burst into tears. He cuts my hands and ankles free and lifts me into his arms.

“Miron is gone,” Benedikt says, his voice tight with disappointment.

“We’ll find him,” Nestor growls. “He’ll pay for this with his life.”

Nestor keeps my face pressed against his chest so that I can’t look around as he carries me out of the building.

I’m grateful, because I’m already starting to feel the shock of what’s happened, and I don’t think I could handle the sight of what I assume is Miron’s team of dead guards.

The air smells metallic with their blood and gun powder, mixed together in a scent I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.

“Have the doctor waiting at home,” Nestor tells Roan as he climbs into the back of one of the cars outside and holds me on his lap.

Roan nods and dials, letting the phone ring as he pulls away from that horrible building to take us home.

My body is shaking in his arms.

He came for me. I’m safe now.

***

At home, I ’ m lying in Nestor’s bed. The doctor has taken blood, checked my heart rate and blood pressure, and is currently doing some basic tests to make sure I’m okay.

I’m tense and anxious, wanting a moment alone to talk to Nestor. From the second he got me home, it’s been chaos, and I’ve been overwhelmed.

“Alright,” the doctor says, sounding pleased as he walks back into the room.

Nestor stands up from the foot of the bed and moves aside so that the doctor can talk to both of us.

“The good news is that the baby is fine,” he nods, smiling.

“Baby?” Nestor mutters, his brows knitted tightly.

“Yes, there is nothing to worry about and—oh.” He glances from me to Nestor. “You didn’t know?” he asks me, worried.

“I knew,” I say weakly, feeling the weight of the moment press me into the bed.

“I didn’t,” Nestor says, his voice tight. He folds his arms over his chest. “Was there anything else, doctor?”

“No, she is going to be okay. Her stress levels are very high, which is to be expected, and I want her to have a calm and restful environment for a while. Nothing that will upset her. Good food and lots of sleep.”

“Understood,” Nestor says, his eyes locked onto me.

“Thank you, doctor,” I say.

Nestor leaves to walk the doctor out, and I sit alone in the bedroom in a full-blown panic. That is not how I wanted him to find out. What will he think of me? This is horrible. This is so bad.

I need to explain to him that I wasn’t hiding it. He has to know that I only just found out a short while before I was taken.

My heart is racing, and I’m struggling to breathe when Nestor comes back into the room.

“Hey, hey, calm down, take a deep breath,” he says, worried.

“I—I—"

“Stop, Lara. Nothing matters right now except that you need to relax. We don’t have to talk about anything. Okay? Stop, take a deep breath.”

I do as he says.

He waits for my breathing to even out.

“I’m going to make you some tea. Just—close your eyes and rest, okay?”

He stands up and walks out, clearly not wanting to talk to me.

It hurts. It breaks my heart.

He didn’t even comment on the news.

He didn’t say he was happy or sad.

He didn’t want to talk.

Give him time, Lara. He just needs time.