Chapter 32
Alyona
Metal screams somewhere in the distance, a sharp crash that ricochets through the empty building and jerks me upright so fast the cuffs bite into my wrists.
For a moment, I have no idea where I am. My heart sprinting ahead of my thoughts, but then the stink of mildew and old oil settles into my lungs and reality comes rushing back in a nauseating wave.
The dealership.
The abandoned one they dragged me into hours ago.
The space around me is cavernous; the ceiling high enough that every sound multiplies and echoes until it becomes something monstrous.
The service desk I’m chained to is nothing but a stripped skeleton of metal framing and warped particleboard.
Its drawers ripped out, its countertop sagging.
My cuffs are looped through one of the supports, forcing my arms forward at an awkward angle that makes my shoulders ache.
Humidity clings to my skin, dampening the hair at the nape of my neck and making every breath feel heavy. The air tastes like rust and wet concrete.
Outside, thunder rolls low and constant, and every few seconds lightning flashes through the broken front windows, bleaching the world white for a heartbeat.
In those bright stutters, I catch glimpses of the place around me.
Support beams like ribs, empty showrooms yawning wide, old banners hanging in tatters from the ceiling.
It looks like the carcass of something huge. Dead and hollow. But I have no idea where it is in the city or if I’m even still in Savannah.
Hinto. I’m sure of his identity now; I've heard his men use his name. They forced a pill between my teeth that I choked on trying not to swallow. Whatever it was, knocked me out and kept me fuzzy until we reached this place.
Voices drift from somewhere deeper in the building, rough and careless, the kind of laughter that makes my stomach knot. I strain to hear them, stretching as far as the cuffs allow, the chain clinking softly.
“…told you he’d come,” one of them says.
My pulse slams into my throat.
He.
They mean Kaz.
Of course, they mean Kaz.
A strange, fierce warmth blooms in my chest despite everything, so sudden it almost hurts. Fear and love twist together until I can’t tell them apart. I picture him the way he looks when he’s angry, when his eyes go flat and calculating, when the world seems to narrow to a single point.
He’s coming.
Of course he is.
He always comes.
“He’s attacking,” another voice mutters. “Whole damn city’s lighting up.”
My breath stutters out of me, half sob, half laugh. I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t just sit still.
Lightning flashes again, and for one wild second I imagine SUVs tearing down streets, engines roaring, Kazimir at the front like a storm given human shape.
Then a third man snorts.
“Not here, idiot. He ain’t anywhere near the dealership.”
The warmth inside me falters.
“He hit Hinto’s place instead,” the man continues, bored. “Jefe didn’t expect that.”
My heart drops so fast it feels like missing a stair.
Before I can even process that, another voice erupts somewhere out of sight.
Glass shatters. Something heavy slams against metal.
“Carajo!” Hinto roars, fury cracking through the building like another bolt of lightning. “How did he find it? How?”
Boots pound across the concrete, fast and frantic, and the lazy, taunting energy in the room vanishes like someone flipped a switch.
Hinto’s men start moving with purpose, grabbing weapons, radios crackling, curses snapping back and forth in Spanish, their voices overlapping until the whole dealership feels like it’s vibrating.
“Move. Now. All of you.”
“Get the trucks ready.”
“Call the south gate—”
“Leave two here,” another voice cuts in. Hinto. “No chances.”
My stomach twists.
A tall figure steps into view from behind a row of gutted cubicles, and even before I fully see his face, I know it’s him.
Hinto.
He’s devastatingly handsome, but rage ruins the illusion. His jaw is tight enough to crack teeth, eyes blazing, mouth pulled into something ugly and feral. His long hair is disheveled.
He stops a few feet from me and crouches so that we’re eye level.
“You,” he says softly, which is worse than shouting.
I shrink back, dragging my knees up toward my chest as far as the cuffs allow.
“If Baranov does anything rash,” he continues, voice almost conversational, “if he pushes me too far, I will cut that baby out of you myself.”
The words slice straight through me. A small voice in the back of my mind whispers, what has him so worried? What has Kaz gone after that isn’t me and the baby?
My hands fly to my stomach, instinctive and desperate. My whole body folding inward like I can protect what’s growing there. Terror floods me so fast that my vision blurs.
He smiles at that, satisfied, then stands and turns away.
Within seconds he’s gone, swallowed by the chaos, leaving only two guards and the echo of his threat.
Silence creeps back in, thick and suffocating. Confusion follows close behind.
Kaz wouldn’t make a mistake. He wouldn’t attack the wrong place. Hinto isn’t stupid enough to keep me where his main operations are centered, so why is Kaz there?
For one awful, heart-splitting moment, a thought slips in that I hate myself for even thinking.
What if this was never about me?
What if I was just leverage…a pawn in a war between men? It’s taken weeks, but I’ve finally been able to admit to myself that what I feel for Kazimir isn’t just lust. It’s much more.
And I’ve been starting to think he might feel the same way.
But what if all of this really is fake, and he’s not coming?
Time stretches until it stops feeling real.
At some point the storm weakens, the thunder retreating into the distance like a sulking animal, and all that’s left is the slow, steady sound of water dripping off the building’s edges.
The noise echoes through the cavernous dealership, each drop exaggerated in the emptiness, like a clock ticking down toward something I can’t see.
My legs have long since gone numb beneath me. My shoulders ache from the awkward angle of the cuffs, and my throat feels raw from breathing what feels like dirty air. With a growl, my stomach rumbles; I haven’t eaten since this morning, and it's well past afternoon.
The two men guarding me have dragged over a pair of dented fold-out chairs.
They sit with their boots planted wide, weapons resting across their laps, boredom etched into their faces.
One scrolls through his phone. The other chews something loudly and spits into an empty corner.
They look tired and annoyed, but still wired enough that every small noise makes their heads snap up.
They haven’t spoken to me once.
I’m not even a person to them. I’m just cargo.
I focus on the dripping water and try not to cry.
Kaz is coming, I remind myself.
He has to be.
A metal door slams somewhere deeper in the building, the bang ricocheting through the space like a gunshot. Both guards jolt upright, chairs screeching against concrete.
Footsteps approach fast and furious.
Hinto stalks into the room like a man who has lost something important and intends to make it everyone else’s problem. His shirt is wrinkled now, hair damp, jaw shadowed with stubble. Whatever smooth, charming mask he wears for the public is gone, replaced with pure irritation.
He looks harassed. Frayed.
Behind him, another man carries a ring of keys.
Without a word, the man crouches and unlocks my cuffs. The metal falls away with a heavy clank, and when he hauls me upright, my legs refuse to cooperate. Pins and needles shoot through my calves, and I stumble hard into his chest, crying out in pain.
“Careful,” Hinto snaps, the word cracking like a whip.
The man freezes.
“If she’s harmed and they do something to my daughter to retaliate,” Hinto continues coldly, “I’ll bleed you like a pig at slaughter. Do you understand me?”
My breath catches.
Daughter.
Everything clicks into place with dizzying clarity.
Kaz didn’t charge in blindly.
He took something first.
Someone.
He kidnapped Hinto’s daughter to get me back. The realization steals the air from my lungs, relief pricking the corners of my eyes with tears.
They drag me outside into a lot slick with rainwater and littered with trash, puddles reflecting the gray sky. A dark sedan idles nearby, exhaust curling faintly. I’m shoved into the back seat.
Hinto steps close before the door can shut, his expression twisted with contempt.
“You’re lucky,” he says quietly. “You won the heart of a killer.”
His eyes sweep over me like I’m something fragile and doomed.
“But that means you’ll never be safe.”
The door slams.
The engine revs.
As the car pulls away, a shaky breath leaves me all at once.
Home.
I’m going home.