45. Sandrine
Sandrine
My heart leaps into my throat, but I see it’s a Tahoe. Kirill has Escalades. Maybe it’s some anxious person needing coffee, or beer, or scratch-offs, or the bathroom.
“Hold my hand.” I grip Violet’s fingers tight in mine to go around the Tahoe.
Some people don’t see small children.
Then a lot happens at once. The Tahoe’s front passenger window opens.
A man wearing dark sunglasses points a gun at me. “Don’t fucking move.”
I freeze, but the rear passenger door opens, and another man grabs Violet. It happens in slow motion. All I see are her little legs.
“Mommy!” Her black patent leather shoes start kicking wildly.
The sound breaks me open.
High. Terrified. Mine.
“No!” The word finally tears free from my throat.
I lunge forward to grab her back. I wedge my fingers between the man’s hand and Violet’s arm to get her free. But a third man appears beside me out of nowhere. His strong hands clamp around my arms.
I twist and fight, but he’s too big.
“No! Violet!” I scream.
She’s crying and reaching for me. “Mommy!”
My guards don’t realize what’s happening because we’re on the other side of the gas pumps. Did they not hear her scream? Hear me scream? Maybe the traffic from the road is too loud. Two are still in their car.
Thoughts of my guards are wiped away when the man hauling me forward shoves me toward the open door. I stumble. And another hand catches the back of my coat. Panic detonates inside my chest. Still, I kick, claw, and fight, all the while yelling for them to let us go.
The man holding Violet disappears into the SUV. The one behind me follows, dragging me with him. They have my daughter. I have to go with them. I let go and hit the seat hard.
Violet scrambles across the bench and leaps into my arms. “Mommy.”
I grab her instantly, and my body curls around hers as the door slams shut.
“I’m here,” I whisper fiercely, my arms wrapping around her instinctively. “Mommy’s here. It’s okay.”
My hands are already checking her, touching her face, her arms. They pulled her so hard. Bastards.
“I’m right here,” I repeat, my voice somehow steady even though my heart is beating out of my chest. “It’s okay. This is just a mistake.”
The sound of gunfire and yelling punctuates all other noise. I cover Violet’s head and notice how quiet she gets. She was trained for something like this. Maybe it was at school. Maybe it was Kirill’s doing.
“Go,” the man in the backseat with us tells the driver.
The car lurches forward, and we start moving. Fast.
I press my lips to Violet’s hair, breathing her in, grounding myself in the only thing that matters. Her.
As we speed away, I catch a glimpse of chaos I left behind. One of the guards from the other SUV is on the ground, another is crouched behind the tailgate. There are more gunshots, but their sound vanishes the farther we get down the road.
Violet cries into my coat, her small body shaking. “Mommy, what’s happening?”
I force myself to breathe. In. Out. “We’re just going for a ride.”
I lift my head, my gaze snapping to a man pointing his weapon at us.
“Stay still. Don’t move,” he says in a thick Russian accent.
It’s not a voice I recognize. Still, Violet and I are all alone back here. I grip the handle, not that I’d jump out of a moving car.
“It’s locked,” the man with the gun says, his eyes cold, assessing.
“Please,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “You made a mistake.”
The gunman darkly murmurs, “We no make a mistake, Madam Volkov.”
I think about all the other Russians Kirill and Drago have been killing for not swearing allegiance to him. Of course someone would retaliate.
A chill slides down my spine and my heart stutters. This wasn’t random. This was organized and planned. And I made it easy for them by taking us out of our routine.
My stomach drops, a heavy, sickening weight settling low in my body. This is my fault.
Mind racing, I reach into my brain for connections, names I’ve heard Kirill say, allies to use as threats. I need something, but my mind is fracturing. I’m failing.
I tighten my arms around Violet, pressing my cheek to the top of her head. Breathing in the faint scent of sugar and shampoo. This is real, and I need to stay focused.
“Mommy…” She looks up at me, tear-streaked cheeks and jaw trembling. “I’m scared.”
“I’ve got you,” I tell her, brushing her hair back. “Nothing will happen to you.”
Her lower lip wobbles, but she nods, trusting me. Even though she thinks I left her for five years.
“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” I say, my hands shaking, praying I can mentally survive this. “We’re together. That’s what matters.”
I don’t know where they’re taking us.
I don’t know what they want.
Whatever this is, whoever they are, they tried to take my daughter. No way was I letting go.