Chapter 6
Aurora
With each inhalation through my nose, my lungs burn, the gag between my teeth soaked with saliva. The fabric filling my mouth pushes my tongue down. I already managed to wear myself out by thrashing until my muscles screamed and rubbing my wrists raw beneath the zip ties.
My body trembles with exhaustion and fear. The blindfold presses against my eyelids, stealing even the small comfort of sight. I lie here, half sprawled across the back seat, and try not to think about how this might be my last hour alive.
The car smells expensive. Leather and some kind of musky cologne. Far too good for a killer’s vehicle. I wonder if he brings all his victims here. If the trunk is lined with plastic. If he’s done this before.
My gut says yes.
A fresh wave of panic rolls through me, and I try to regulate my breathing.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. In through the nose and out through the nose.
The terror gushes back, stealing my rhythm and causing me to gag against the cloth.
My throat constricts. For a few seconds, I’m pretty sure I’m going to choke to death.
No. Not like this. I don’t want to die like this.
Though tears still leak from beneath the blindfold, I force myself to calm down and slow my respiration. I haven’t cried this much since Samantha broke her arm falling from a tree when she was twelve.
Samantha. Oh god. What will happen to my sister if I disappear? Who will help pay her tuition? Who will call her to make sure she’s eating more than just ramen noodles? Who will be in the audience cheering for her when she graduates med school?
Fueled by desperation, I tug against the zip ties again, ignoring the stinging pain as plastic cuts into my flesh. I need to free myself. To survive this. Samantha only has me.
The slamming of car doors jerks me from my thoughts.
Voices.
Multiple voices.
Bright, desperate hope flares in my chest. Maybe someone noticed what happened. The police, even. Maybe this nightmare is about to end.
I strain to hear through the glass and metal separating me from whatever’s happening outside.
Conversation drifts into the car, reaching my ears. One of the windows must be cracked.
“Where the fuck were you, Alexei?” This man is clearly not a happy camper. “We had a job tonight.”
My ears perk up at the mention of my captor. Alexei. Now I know his name.
“I had to take care of something.” Alexei’s voice is low and cool. Unfazed. “Took longer than expected.”
“You’re supposed to charm them into coming home with you, not tie them up before you reach the bedroom.” I can almost hear the smile in the second guy’s voice.
These guys must be my captor’s—Alexei’s—friends or business associates. The fact that they have faint Russian accents has my heart sinking.
“She’s not—” Alexei releases a frustrated sigh.
A third new voice joins in, this one intense and unsettling. “There’s blood on your shirt.”
“It happens.”
I huff into the gag. It happens? It happens? Who says that?
Murderers, that’s who.
“You killed somebody.” The first guy’s tone drips with disbelief. “Did the woman in the back of your car see? Why is she still alive?” A beat passes. “We eliminate witnesses, brother. That’s how we do things.”
Alexei remains unflappable. “Well aware. But things went south, and I had to shoot the fucker I was meeting. Anyway, the girl’s not a typical witness. She knew the guy.”
The man who called Alexei his brother growls. “If this is about MJ, you were ordered to drop that. By Roman himself and by our father.”
Silence.
“I know.”
“And yet here you are. Chasing ghosts instead of doing your job.” All traces of teasing have left the second man’s voice.
“I wasn’t chasing ghosts. It was Benny Parker. He knew something about what happened.”
“Did you even think about the consequences? To yourself, to us, to the Bratva?” The first guy, Alexei’s brother, sounds livid. “And the girl? What’s your plan with her? Because if Roman finds out you’ve got a witness—”
“He won’t. Not from any of you.” I’m not sure how to decipher the threat ringing in Alexei’s voice. “Tell him I got a tip about a rival crew encroaching on our territory. That I went to check it out and got ambushed. Tell him whatever the fuck you want, but give me twenty-four hours.”
Territory. Crew.
The words hang in the air, pieces of a puzzle I don’t want to solve. Because if I’m assembling them into the correct picture, then my chances of survival just slid from slim to none.
“We can give you a few hours, Lexei. We can’t guarantee more. And you’d better have a more believable story ready for when Roman calls.”
My captor’s response is too muffled to parse. I shrink back, unsure of how well these coldhearted killers can see me through the tinted windows. Maybe they’re watching right now while deciding what to do with me. Pondering the best method of murder.
They continue talking, but the whooshing in my ears overpowers their voices. I try twisting to break the plastic strap holding my wrists together.
Useless.
Even if I could free myself, it’s four killers against one cocktail waitress. I wouldn’t stand a chance.
A silence descends, broken only by the clank of car doors shutting and an engine starting.
Tiny hairs prickle on the back of my neck. Blood continues to roar in my ears.
Several minutes, or maybe seconds, pass before the rear door opens. I can feel his presence towering over me, radiating dark and dangerous energy.
He doesn’t speak.
A sob escapes me, and I struggle to breathe through my tears and the gag.
“Stop crying. I’m not going to kill you.” Alexei’s minty breath coasts over my neck. “Not yet anyway.”
The door shuts again, and I go utterly still.
Is he leaving me here all alone in the back seat? My crying, my screams…they’re futile.
No one can hear me. I’m trapped in the back of a Russian killer’s car.