Chapter 29 Jordan
JORDAN
Icross my arms and stare out the tinted window, watching nothing in particular. My chest feels tight, constricted by anger and frustration.
I don't want to look at him, but I can feel Matei's presence beside me, pressing down on everything unsaid between us. The argument loops in my head.
I shift against the door, putting another inch between us, as if distance will somehow fix this. It won't. Nothing will until he realizes why I'm asking in the first place.
Lindsey's face flashes through my mind. She's probably fine. Probably blowing her rent money on designer knockoffs like she always does. But probably isn't good enough anymore. Not after everything I've seen.
I need to know she's okay. I need to see her with my own eyes.
And I need Matei to understand that.
I'm upset. My emerald dress feels too hot, too tight. I want to scream at him. I want to demand he take me to my apartment right now. I want to.
His hand lands on my thigh.
The touch is firm, and I feel the heat that radiates from his palm. My breath catches despite myself, my body responding even as my mind rebels.
I don't move. I don't push him away. I just keep staring out the window, vowing not to look at him.
Suddenly the inside of the car is too bright, and an engine's roar cuts through the Rolls-Royce's insulated silence.
Everything happens at once.
Matei's hand clamps down on the back of my neck, and he pushes me to the floor.
"Get down!" he says as he pulls out his gun.
I lift my head, trying to see what's happening. "What the fuck is going on?" I ask.
"We may have trouble, fluture," he says loudly and turns to look down at me. "But don't —"
Glass explodes.
I scream, my hands flying up to cover my head as shards rain down on us. Matei's body crushes me deeper into the seat, his chest against my back, shielding me from the onslaught.
Gunfire erupts. Rapid pops that make my ears ring.
Matei springs up, and cold air rushes over me as he twists in his seat, his gun raised. He fires through the shattered rear window, flashes illuminating his face, reflecting off his eyes.
He's yelling in Romanian, the words flying too fast for me to catch. The driver nods as I hear more gunfire.
Our car swerves violently, and I roll into the door, my shoulder hitting hard enough to almost knock the wind out of me. I yell as I try to pull myself forward.
Matei ducks down again, his body covering mine as bullets punch through the metal. The sound is obscene, thuds and metallic pings that make my stomach twist into knots.
Tires screech. Engines rev. The smell of gunpowder and Matei's cologne is all I can smell.
He pops up again and shoots at whoever is following us.
I can't breathe. My lungs are working, but I can't seem to get enough air.
This isn't real. This can't be real.
But Matei's body pressed against mine, holding me down, is real. The terror clawing its way up my throat is real.
I wish we hadn't fought. I wish we were still on that stupid boat. I wish for anything but this.
More gunfire rips through the night.
Then a sound I'll never forget. A long, terrible screech of metal on asphalt, high-pitched and endless. The car lurches sideways, and I'm thrown forward, my body weightless for a single, horrifying second.
The world tilts.
My stomach drops as the car leaves the ground. For a moment, I'm floating, suspended in space with no up or down. It's almost peaceful, this terrible silence between heartbeats.
Then Matei's arm wraps around me like a vice, his fingers digging into my ribs so hard it hurts. He yanks me against him, his grip punishing, and I realize he's trying to hold me in place, trying to keep me from.
We slam back into the seat.
The impact drives the air from my lungs. My teeth clack together hard enough to make my jaw ache. Then I'm floating again, weightless and spinning, and I can't tell which way is up.
I slam into Matei's chest. His grip loosens just for a second, and my body hits something with such force, pain explodes through my temple.
More glass shatters, and the world spins one more time.
Then everything stops.
The silence is absolute, broken only by the ticking of hot metal and the ringing in my ears. My vision swims, and I can't clear it. I look around and realize the car is upside down.
I turn my head, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through my skull. Matei is slumped in the corner, his face covered in blood.
"Matei!" My scream tears from my throat, raw and desperate.
He doesn't move.
"Matei!" I reach for him, my fingers finding his shoulder. I shake him, panic flooding my system. "Matei, wake up!"
Nothing.
I shove him harder, my hands hurting. His head lolls to the side, and then his eyes snap open, dark and unfocused, and he jerks himself up.
"Are you okay?" His voice is thick, slurred at the edges.
"I think so."
"Okay," he says. "We need to get out."
He looks around and points to the window that was on my side. "There."
I turn and look at my window. It's gone.
"We can climb out."
We move, and my hands and knees scrape across broken glass. I barely feel it, my adrenaline keeping me going.
I get out first and then turn back instinctively to help Matei. He stands, but his movements are jerky and wrong. It's like his legs won't cooperate. He sways, his hand reaching for the flipped car.
"Matei, you're hurt."
"I'm fine." But he's not. His eyes can't focus. He might have a concussion, maybe worse.
I look toward the front of the car and freeze.
The driver is halfway through the windshield. His upper body hangs over the crushed hood, arms dangling at unnatural angles. I can't tell if his chest is moving. My vision is too blurry from either tears or shock.
I shake my head, and then I hear footsteps.
The sound cuts through the ringing in my ears. Many, and they're moving fast.
Shouting erupts around us. It's English and a language I don't recognize. Not Romanian, something else.
Men materialize from the darkness, and the car that was behind us pulls to a stop. More men jump out.
They surround us instantly.
Matei tries to fight.
He swings wild, his fist connecting with someone's jaw, but it's not enough. There are too many of them. Hands grab him, yanking him backward. He stumbles, still dazed, and they're on him like wolves.
"No!" I lunge forward, but arms lock around me from behind.
A man presses against my back, his breath hot against my ear. I scream, thrashing in his grip, but he's too strong. Something sharp pricks my neck.
I see it in my peripheral vision. A syringe. The liquid inside glows blue in the darkness.
No. No no no no.
The needle plunges into my skin.
Fire spreads from the injection site, racing through my veins like ice and lightning. I know what this is. I've seen what this does.
Siberian Ice.
The world shifts. Colors bleed at the edges, everything taking on a sickly blue tint. My limbs go heavy and numb. My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the asphalt, my palms stinging as they catch me.
I can see Matei through the haze. They're kicking him. Boots connecting with his ribs, his stomach, his face. He tries to defend himself, but the blows keep coming, relentless and brutal.
I try to scream. I try to move. But my body won't obey. The drug wraps around me, muffling everything, making the world move in slow motion.
This is different. Lindsey never acted like this on it. It's stronger.
Matei's blood spatters the ground.
"His brother," a voice somewhere says in a thick accent. "His brother will be coming with his men. Let's go."
Hands grip my shoulders, hauling me upright. My legs drag uselessly beneath me.
"We got what we were after anyway," another person says. "Let him bleed out and die here."
What we were after.
Were they after me?
I'm forced forward, my feet stumbling as I can barely stand. I turn my head, the movement seeming to take forever, and see Matei on the ground. He's not moving. Blood pools beneath him, black in the darkness.
I try to call out to him. I try to scream his name. But my throat won't work, my tongue feels thick and useless in my mouth.
The haze deepens, creeping in from the edges of my vision. The world narrows to a tunnel, then a pinpoint.
Matei's face, covered in blood.
The men dragging me toward a car.
The cold realization that I'm being taken, and there's nothing I can do to stop it, overtakes me.
Then nothing.
Everything goes black.