10. 2
“They’ll find us,” Max whispers. “My dad and brother will find us.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not sure I believe it. The Amaya family knows what they’re doing. They’re not the type to make a mistake or to leave a trail. If they don’t want to be found, then they won’t be. It’s a dire thought, but it’s the reality of our situation.
“We just have to hold on,” Max reminds me. He nudges my shoulder. “For our family, Val. We shut the fuck up and we hang on until they find us.”
“Agreed,” I tell him, and this time I mean it. I may not have much faith that we’ll be found, but I do know that whatever the hell the Amaya family is expecting to get from us, they’re not going to get it. Talking isn’t an option. Max and I will both die before we’ll betray our family. I want nothing more than to see Yelena again, but I won’t go back to her a coward. I’d never be able to look her in the eyes again if I did that.
The long car ride while blindfolded is bad enough, but when they stop and haul us out, I immediately wish we were back in the safety of the transition phase. They can’t torture us while we’re being transported, and now that our trip is over, I’m not so sure I’m ready for the next part.
My stomach drops when I hear the unmistakeable sound of a plane. I’d been wrong to wish the movement phase wasn’t over. I may not be eager for the pain that’s awaiting me, but the longer we travel, the harder it’s going to be for our family to find us, and an airplane can’t mean anything good for us. I tell myself that there’s no way in hell they’re going to bring us to Colombia, that the cartel wouldn’t be that fucking bold, but when I’m pushed into a seat and a lap belt is cinched tightly at my waist, I start to panic.
“Where the fuck are you taking us?” I ask the question into the darkness of my hood, not expecting an answer, so I’m not surprised when I only receive a grunt for a response.
I hear Max being buckled in beside me, and when he mutters, “This is not good, Val,” I let out a quick, “I know, but your dad and Niki can still track the plane.”
I cling to that hope like I know he is, and I’m still mentally preparing myself for however long this flight might last when someone lifts my hood enough to bare my neck and I feel the sharp sting of a needle.
“Hey! What the fuck did you just give me?” I yell the words, stunned that they’re already starting to slur. I feel Max struggle next to me against the shot he knows is coming, but I lose consciousness before they’ve even finished giving it to him.
When I wake, my first thought is of Yelena. I’m groggy, still more asleep than awake, but my body works on autopilot, wanting to spoon my wife and curl my body around hers. My eyes jerk open when instead of my arms going around Yelena like I want them to, I’m met with resistance and pain. No warm, small body against mine, and no soft bed beneath me. Every part of my body aches, and there’s nothing but hard, cold cement under me. Everything comes back to me—Yelena screaming from the elevator, the gunfire in the parking garage, our men dead on the ground, and Max and I royally fucked and on a plane to who the fuck knows where.
At the thought of my cousin, I turn my head to look around, but there’s nothing but pitch-black darkness. My arms are no longer zip-tied behind me, and the hood has been removed, but our situation is anything but better. My wrists are bound by a chain that’s latched to the wall. The sharp tug I give it makes it painfully obvious that I won’t be pulling it free anytime soon.
“Max?” I call out to the dark room, and wait for my cousin to answer. The silence is more unsettling than anything else. It’s so dark that it’s only the lack of the fabric’s weight on my head that lets me know I’m no longer wearing the hood. When I get to my knees, a wave of nausea hits me hard, and I have to force myself to take a few breaths before I get sick. Lowering my head, I take a slow, deep breath, refusing to think about Yelena’s morning sickness and the fact that I’m not there to help her or the faint strawberry scent that still clings to my sweatshirt. If I think about her, I’ll break, and I can’t let that happen. She needs me to come back to her, so that’s what I’m going to do. No matter what happens, no matter what they do to me, I will find my way back to her. I promised nothing would ever keep us apart, and I’ll be damned if these fuckers are going to make a liar out of me to the woman I love.
Stretching my hands on the floor in front of me, I start the slow, tedious process of exploring whatever circle of hell I’m in. Every few inches I whisper Max’s name and hope for a response. There’s no sound except me scraping along the floor, the rattle of my chain, and my own heavy breathing. After what feels like forever but is probably the equivalent of me traveling five feet, my fingers hit a jean-clad leg.
“Fuck,” I whisper, frantically bringing my hands up, feeling blindly along his chest and neck until I find the pulse at his throat. It takes me a few seconds before I feel the steady beat against my fingers, and in that time I swear I age a decade. Max not surviving this isn’t an option. I can’t imagine my life without my cousin, and I refuse to even entertain the idea that it might be a possibility.
“Max,” I say, keeping my voice low. If someone else is in here with us, there’s no way in hell they don’t know I’m awake, but I still can’t bring myself to raise my voice. I tap his cheek with my palm and say his name again. He gives a low groan, the sound similar to the one he gives when I need to wake him after he’s spent the night lost to his piano and we have somewhere to be the next morning. I’m tempted to let him stay unconscious, to give him these few precious moments of peace, but I need to know he’s okay, and we need to come up with a plan.
When I give him another smack, this one slightly harder, he groans my name and brushes my hand away. I know the second he fully comes to, because his whole body grows rigid. I squeeze his shoulder and say, “I’m right here. I don’t know where the fuck we are, but I’m here with you.”
He grabs my hand while I help him sit up. “Careful. Whatever the hell they gave us is going to make you feel like you’re about to be sick.”
“Yeah, I’m feeling it now,” he groans. “Where the fuck are we? I can’t see shit.”
“I don’t know, but I think we might be in Colombia.’
“Jesus,” he groans.
I sink down next to him and keep my voice low. We’re speaking in Russian, but the dark room and the uncertainty of what lies in wait around us makes me want to keep things as quiet as possible.
“We’re fucked, Max,” I whisper, because we both know it. “We can’t let them use us against each other. No matter what happens, we keep our mouths shut, and don’t you dare risk yourself for me.”
I hear the breath he lets out, the one that would’ve been a laugh if we were anywhere but here. “You mean, like you did for me?”
“That was different. I had to at least help you try to get away, but now we’re caught. If they beat me, you will let them.”
“And the same goes for you,” he says. “We don’t give them anything, Val, no matter what.”
“Agreed,” I say, even though it kills a part of me to do so.
“It’s the only way,” he reminds me and then squeezes my hand. “We’re getting back to them. You’re going to make it back to her .”
I nod, knowing he can’t see it. My throat grows tight at the thought of my pregnant wife, so I just squeeze his hand back, hoping like hell the universe isn’t so fucking cruel as to permanently keep me from them.
My throat is so dry it hurts to swallow, and eventually Max and I sit so our backs are pressed together, both of us relying on the other for strength. After what feels like hours, we hear a door open before a bright light floods the space we’re in. Blinded, I squeeze my eyes shut and cover them with my hands, wincing at the pain of light after being so long in the dark.
Footsteps echo on the cement floor, and I force myself to slowly peel my eyes open. Blinking rapidly, the pain slowly recedes enough for me to take a look around. It’s my first look at the room we’re chained in, and it makes me wish they’d left us in darkness. It’s a large room, and it looks part old cellar, part torture chamber from my worst nightmares. We’re about five feet from the brick wall we’re chained to, and the rest of the room is empty aside from a few ominous-looking hooks dangling from the ceiling and a large drain hole in the center of the floor. I wish I could say I’m ignorant to what goes on in places like this, but I’ve been in plenty of them over the years. I’ve never been on the receiving end of one, though, and I can’t say I care for it.
Even without the mask, I recognize the man who walks into the room. He’s the one who did the talking, the fucker who shot Pavel and is obviously one of the top men in this cartel. The nose and mouth masks were just for the security footage that the police may or may not ever see. There’s no longer a need for any sort of pretense.
“Glad to see you’re both awake,” the man says, walking closer and stopping a few feet from where Max and I are sitting. “You know who we are, yes?”
I look up at him and nod. “The Amaya Cartel.”
The man smiles but the movement is quick and his eyes remain cold and hard. “Good. And you know why you’re here?”
Max sighs. “I’m guessing it has something to do with us turning down the deal with Marty.”
“It was a shit deal,” I add. “There was no way we could say yes to it, and he made no mention of working with your cartel. He said it was his operation.”
The man gives a slight nod. “Marty is an idiot, but he’s a necessary one. We don’t like to show our faces unless it’s absolutely necessary.” He gives us a pointed look. “Your family made it necessary.”
He starts to pace a few feet in front of us, the sound of his boots on the cement is the only noise in the room until he speaks again. “My boss was very upset with how rudely Marty was treated. He considers it a personal insult, and he’s not pleased that the deal wasn’t taken.” He looks over at us again. “This is not good news for you two. The deal must be made.”
He holds his hands up like it’s beyond his control, but I’m not buying this particular line of bullshit. He’s a trained killer, and his job is to do whatever the hell his boss wants. I’m guessing he’s very good at it, and I’d be willing to bet good money that he even enjoys it on some level. He can’t be much older than us, probably late twenties, and if he’s already in this high of a position, then the man must be ruthless. He stops pacing and squats down near us. “You two are our guarantee that this deal goes through. Your Bratva will agree to let us run product through your territory, or they’re going to be short two members. The choice is theirs.”
“So you’re just going to hold us here until our family lets you run cocaine through our streets?” I ask.
He hears the disbelief in my voice and cocks a brow at me. “I never said it would be a pleasant stay. The Jefe is pissed. You’ll pay for it in blood.” He stands back up, straightening his suit jacket when he’s back to towering over us. “If you can survive it, then there’s a chance you’ll both see your families again.”
“Who are you?” Max asks.
“My name is Mateo.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any way to sway you on this?” Max asks, letting out a small breath of a laugh, knowing there’s not a chance in hell this man could be bought but needing to ask anyway.
Mateo gives another smile that’s not really a smile and says, “No. I’m a man of my word, Maxim, and I’ve pledged myself to the Amaya family. Death is the only thing that will separate us.”
I feel the band of my wedding ring beneath my fingers, remembering the look on Yel’s face when she’d slipped it on me. “The same goes for us, Mateo.”
He gives a tight nod as his eyes land on my hand. I’m not doing anything to draw his attention there, merely allowing myself the comfort of resting my skin against something that’s linked to my wife, but he notices it all the same.
“I saw the sacrifice you made. You left your wife to try and save your cousin. Not an easy choice but an admirable one. If you’re lucky, you might see her again.”
I don’t say anything. There’s no point. The situation is what it is, and it’s our job to survive it. I’m not going to waste energy on trying to convince Mateo to let us go. I recognize the look in his dark eyes. He’s devoted to the cartel, just like we are to our Bratva. None of us will be changing our allegiance anytime soon.
“I see the prisoners are awake.”
We all turn at the heavily accented voice. An older man walks into the room followed closely by three men. Instead of the expensive suits that Mateo and this man are wearing, the other three are in black tactical gear. They’re lower level, the muscle of the organization, and a suit would only slow them down. It’s not convenient to torture someone while wearing Armani. Dominic might disagree, but freedom of movement is important and so is the convenience of throwing something into a washing machine. Bloodstains can be a real bitch.
The older man stops next to Mateo, and two things suddenly become apparent. Everything about this man screams power. There’s no way this guy bows down to anyone, and judging by the way the men behind him are carefully avoiding eye contact, I’m convinced that Max and I are staring at the boss, or Jefe, of the Amaya Cartel. The second glaringly obvious detail is that Mateo bears a striking resemblance to the tall, dark-haired man, even down to the same tilting, non-smile they’re both giving us. It’s eerie, almost like seeing a before and after image of someone. If Mateo’s ever wondered what he’ll look like in thirty years, all he has to do is look to his right to find the answer. I hear Max give a soft sigh, realizing just like I have that we’ve been chatting it up with the fucking boss’s son.
Mateo says something to his dad in Spanish, and the older man quickly answers him before switching to English and saying, “I’m Lorenzo Amaya, and it’s my cartel that you’ve been fucking with. Had your family taken the deal with Marty, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
“It wasn’t a good deal,” I tell him. “Five percent of the profits when we’re the ones taking the risk. We can’t have your men operating on our streets. You want to use our port to bring cocaine in, and then you want to transport it from one side of our territory to the other. We’d have to be heavily involved in this to ensure there aren’t any fuckups, and it’s our asses if the police show up. All that risk for five percent? Would you accept a deal like that?”
Lorenzo doesn’t appreciate my input. I can see it in the hard line of his mouth and the slight narrowing of his eyes. I hold his gaze and repeat what I’d said. “It wasn’t a good deal. We turned it down because it wasn’t good for business.”
“But it was good for our business,” Lorenzo says. “And now you two are going to pay the price, and when your family finally caves, because we all know they will at some point, we’re still going to get our way, except this time you’ll be lucky to get two percent instead of the five that was offered.” He gives a harsh laugh. “After I’m done with you, you’ll be begging to run my product for free. Now, let’s get you two ready for some photos. I’m sure your family is anxious to see how you’re doing.”
Without another word, he turns and walks to the edge of the room. Mateo follows and stands beside him. The three men step towards us like an unspoken order’s been given, and I quickly whisper to Max in Russian, “We just have to survive it. No matter what, we fucking survive this. You hear me?”
“Yeah,” he whispers back. “We fucking survive it. No matter what.”
What his words lack in volume, they make up for in strength, and I let the conviction I hear in them strengthen me as I’m roughly yanked to my feet by one of the men in black. I watch as the same is done to Max, and when we’re both standing, they lift our arms and attach them to two of the hooks that hang from the ceiling. Bracing myself for what’s about to happen, I lower my head so I can breathe in Yel’s scent. I think about my pregnant wife, and then I think about my pregnant twin sister, knowing this is going to hit both of them so fucking hard. Forcing my mind to stay in the here and now, I remind myself of what needs to be done. We will survive this until our family can find us and get us the fuck out of here. We will survive this because we have to, we’ll survive it because we have no goddamn choice in the matter, and we will survive it so we can help end these bastards when the time comes.
And then I’m going home to Yelena, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to let these fuckers keep me from her.
Even though I’m expecting the first punch, it doesn’t make it any less painful. Lorenzo shouts a few instructions in Spanish, and judging by the placement of the punches, I’m guessing their orders are to make us look as bad as possible without actually breaking anything or killing us. I think the man assigned to me is trying his best to disobey that order, though, based on the way he’s hitting my face. My lip burst on the first punch, and now my right eye is so swollen I can barely see out of it. I hear the pained grunts coming from Max, but there’s too much blood clouding my vision for me to see him.
My mind drifts back to Yel, like it always does, like it has for as long as I can remember. She’ll always be my safe place, my home, and the one I’ll always return to in one way or another. Blood drips from my face, threatening to overpower her strawberry scent, but I take another breath, clinging to the reminder of her and to the reason for why I need to keep enduring this.
When I know I’m close to blacking out, Lorenzo shouts a one-word command, and the punches stop. I hang from the hook, gasping for air. Blood drips freely from too many places to count, and I’m pretty sure my nose is broken. I spit out a mouthful of blood while Max coughs and asks me in Russian if I’m okay.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, but then the room starts to grow dark.
“Not so fast,” I hear Lorenzo say, giving my aching cheek a hard smack. “I need a picture before you pass out.”
The man who’d been punching me fists my hair and yanks my head up so I’m staring directly into Lorenzo’s cell phone. There’s no way for me to make this easier for my dad to see. My hands are bound, and I can’t wipe away the blood and pretend it’s not as bad as it looks. My dad and uncles will see this and know how bad it is, and the only comfort I have is that I know they’ll never allow Yelena or Sveta or my mom to see it. They’ll protect them from this, and that’s all I care about. The men in my family have always shouldered the most difficult things. We’ve shielded the women as best we can, not because we're sexist assholes, but because we love them too goddamn much to put this on them.
“Beautiful,” I hear Lorenzo say as he snaps another photo and then goes on to do the same to Max. “I think these might help your family understand the situation a little better.”
I rest my forehead against my arm and try not to pass out. I don’t bother wasting my energy to tell Lorenzo that he’s wrong. Our family will never cave. We can’t. If our dads agree to this, then we’ll be handing the Bratva over to the Amaya Cartel. They’ll own us, and they will always be a threat to everyone we love. We can’t allow that, not even to save my life or Max’s.
We’re stuck here until they figure out a way to save us.
After Lorenzo’s taken his photos, he leaves while giving orders to his men in Spanish. With my swollen eye useless, I blink blood out of the other and watch as Mateo looks over at me and then Max. His expression is unreadable, but after his dad leaves, he barks out a few more orders that leave the three men hustling to lower Max and me back down to the floor. Our chains are reattached to the wall as we both lean against the brick, our shoulders pressed together in silent support.
When they leave, I look over at Max and groan. “You look terrible, man.”
“I can’t possibly look any worse than you,” he tells me. “Your nose is broken.”
“Yeah, how the fuck is yours not?” I run my eyes over him. His face is swollen and cut up, but his nose isn’t broken. It’s the only part of his face that isn’t marred, and it stands out all the more because of it—a clean patch of skin amidst the wreckage.
“Fuck,” I sigh before turning to face him. We’ve all been given basic first-aid training from Pyotr, and Max and I both know how important it is to not let my nose stay like this. With his wrists shackled, he raises his hands and gently feels along the tender skin. I wince away from his touch. It’s impossible not to.
“It’ll be over in a second,” he says, and then before I can brace myself for it, he deftly moves his fingers, adjusting my nose back into place with a sickening crunch.
“Jesus,” I groan, reaching up to touch my tender flesh while my eyes involuntarily water and more blood spills from my nostrils. “God, we’re a fucking mess, aren’t we?”
“We are,” he agrees, leaning back against the brick wall again. “That’s probably the worst of it, though, right?” The sarcastic tone and soft laugh he gives has my busted lip curling up into a hint of a smile.
“Definitely,” I say. “They probably just left to go and prepare our rooms and get a hot bath going.”
He sighs, and I lean my head back to rest against the hard bricks. After a few minutes, he says, “At least they didn’t break my fingers.”
I nudge his shoulder. “You’ll be back to playing your music in no time.” We both know it’s bullshit and most likely not true, but we need to hold onto hope. Without it, we’re lost.
Closing the eye that’s still working, I let my mind wander back to Yel. The thought of her breaks my heart, but it also muffles the pain of my busted face and gives me strength. She’s my reason to keep going, and for her, I’d do anything.
I’m lost in memories of her when the sound of the door opening has Max and I tensing at the noise and the possibility of more pain. I’m prepared for the three bastards to come back in. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that Max and I will be strung up again, and we will have the shit kicked out of us several more times. I’ve mentally prepared myself for a lot of things, but what walks through that door isn’t one of them.
The man who’d been assigned to Max walks in with a young woman at his side. When she lifts her head and I get a flash of dark eyes, my stomach drops. I know it’s not Yelena, they don’t look a thing alike, but that one flash of dark hair and eyes is enough to make my heart rate spike and my palms grow sweaty. I suck in a breath as the man roughly yanks her to a spot near Max. Her wrists are bound by chain like ours are, and as she slumps to the ground, he attaches her to another hook in the wall. Instead of walking off, he squats down and grabs her chin, forcing her face up to his.
Whatever he tells her is in Spanish, but from the tone and the sick way he’s looking at her, I can guess at the meaning. She shrinks in on herself as much as possible and lets out a soft whimper.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” I hear Max yell at the guy, but the man just gives a soft laugh and shakes his head. Looking over at Max, he trails a finger down the girl’s face, ignoring the way she’s softly crying and trying like hell to scoot away.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want with her,” he says. He gives another harsh laugh and brushes aside the dark hair she’s trying to hide behind. “Isn’t that right, puta ? And if daddy doesn’t cooperate soon, then they’re going to give you to me, and I’m going to get to play with you all fucking night.”
The woman sobs harder and tries to curl into a ball while Max yells again for him to leave her alone. The man laughs and stands back up. He spits on the ground near the woman’s feet and mutters something in Spanish before walking away.
Right before he shuts the door, he flicks a switch, plunging us in darkness again.