Chapter 31
KATE
My wrists are bound in front of me with zip ties cutting into my tender skin. I’m starting to bleed where Nikolai yanked on it earlier because I wasn’t moving fast enough. We’ve been walking up the stairs for what feels like an eternity. My thighs and calf muscles are burning.
“Boy, am I out of shape or what?” I complain, trying to pretend this is just another day at the gym, but I rarely work out, so I feel like I’m dying . . . or about to die anyway.
He took the mask off halfway up, confirming his identity as the Divine Taste bartender—Mel’s boyfriend. I’ve been making chatty little statements this whole time, thinking maybe I can appeal to his humanity and convince him not to stab me again.
At the very least, I’d like to avoid dying.
“So, did you ever try out that taco place with—”
He halts, turning back to me. “Listen, I’m not like your Mr. Bradshaw.” His accent is noticeably thicker. He must have tried to mask it before. “I don’t care how much you jabber on about tacos or turtles. I’m not going to let you go. Shut the hell up and move.”
He turns back around, increasing the pace upward. There are two men ahead of him, but I don’t know what happened to Georginne.
“What’s wrong with turtles?” I mumble to myself, wondering why he had to bring Speckles into this.
The lighting in this stairwell is awful. I’m glad the elevator has never been out before because it’s almost like they didn’t even install lightbulbs in here. I look up to see that there are some overhead lights, but they aren’t on.
Hello? Focus! You have to figure out how to escape this mess!
“Hey, Nik, sorry to bother you again, but my wrists really are hurting. This thing is way too tight.”
He completely ignores me, trudging up with labored breaths. He is carrying a lot of gear and an enormous gun that almost looks fake. It’s the kind the bad guys in a Tom Cruise movie carry around.
“Are you, like . . . going to blow the place up?”
He still pretends like he can’t hear me, speaking in another language to the men with him, presumably Russian.
“I really should learn another language. Was it hard to become fluent in English?”
No answer.
“I’ve heard it’s difficult, but I don’t know why. I think I would start with Spanish because in high school, I—”
The one in front turns around, ripping his ski mask off. “Make the woman stop!” he roars.
He’s got scars all over his face, like deep cuts that left grooves in his skin. He is absolutely terrifying to look at, and I halt at his words.
My insides are scrambled eggs. I should’ve been quiet, but talking calms me down. I needed to ramble to ease my own anxiety, but now, that fear has morphed into real, heart stopping terror. My heart drops to my stomach as my blood turns to ice.
I’m going to die.
I feel paralyzed by the thought, wishing for the strong arms of my dad to hold me again.
I wish I’d insisted on going to see him today, for one last bad joke and a chance to rib Jerry alongside him.
Tears well up in my eyes as I realize if I do die here today at the hands of these men, he might not ever know. He didn’t even know me last time.
What will they say to him?
The scarred one seems satisfied, turning back around to march us up once again.
I stay quiet for the last few levels, not daring to speak. My mind is running through prayers for help, plans to try and escape, and I wish for Luke to somehow magically think to check the stairs for me.
Is he looking for me?
We stop at the end of the stairwell, and I realize we walked the entire way up to the top, floor fifty-six. They’re jabbering in Russian and loading bullets into their mammoth-sized guns.
Are they actually going to kill everyone?
I can’t see what they could possibly gain by doing such a thing, but the shock coursing through me renders me motionless. I can’t form coherent thoughts. My skin is clammy, and I feel completely powerless.
Should I scream and try to warn my unsuspecting coworkers?
My blue dress is beginning to cling to me with sweat, partly from the trek but mostly from fear. I’m full of regret for choosing to wear the long sleeve sweater over it to cover my stitches. I kicked my shoes off after level three, knowing I would never make it with them digging into my toes.
Nik turns to me, brown eyes lasering into mine. “Listen, you are the bait here. If we get what we want, we’ll let you go. If you can convince your boyfriend to work with us, you won’t get hurt again.”
He squeezes the cut on my arm, knowing where it is, even under my long sleeve. I cry out in pain, but he doesn’t stop. I finally nod, tears streaming down my cheeks, and he releases me. I suck in a breath. I have no idea what they want from Luke, but I hope he agrees to it.
But I’m not even his girlfriend. He has no feelings for me. Whatever he’s mixed up in is much bigger than the casual fling we’ve had going on.
He’ll never sacrifice whatever it is he’s hiding to protect me.
The one in front opens the door, gun pointed out. I keep waiting to hear screams of terror, followed by shouting in Russian and gunfire.
No sound reaches my ears. The silence is odd, and I don’t understand it until Nik shoves me out into the office.
“The power’s out,” I murmur, realizing that’s why the stairs were so dark.
They did this. They wanted everyone to leave, and they wanted to bring me up here. Alone.
My stomach is cramping up, and I don’t think I can move another step.
They don’t give me a choice, the one with the scarred face jerking on my bound wrists to drag me forward.
I yelp in pain, tears beginning to trail down my cheeks faster.
He pulls me down the hall, and I search desperately for a familiar face, any face really that isn’t attached to a body in a black military uniform.
The third man disappears down the empty hall.
Did they evacuate the entire building?
We reach the break room, and I’m released by the one with the death grip. Blood is now trailing down my hands and leaving a few bright red drops on the grey tiles.
Nikolai opens the door, pushing me inside. It’s darker in here, but I recoil at a shadow seated at one of the tables.
The shadow turns, exclaiming at the sight of us, “Oh Mylanta! Good heavens, who’s there?”
Becky’s shrill voice is music to my ears, and I’ve never been so happy to see the gossipy HR department head in my entire life. Nikolai curses, walking up to her with his gun raised.
“Is that a—who are you?!” She jumps up from her seat, the chair clattering to the floor.
I notice a rectangle shape in front of her on the table as Nikolai grabs her flailing arms, easily overpowering her.
“It’s okay, Becky! It’s me, Kate.” My voice is shaky, but I want her to know she’s not alone with these men.
Her head swivels in my direction as she continues to kick and struggle against Nikolai. “Get off of me, you psychopathic ruffian! I take self-defense every Monday night!”
He zip-ties her hands in front, like he did mine, but at the same time, she gets a swift kick right between his legs. He doubles over in pain, howling as he clutches his nether regions.
“You bitch!”
I can’t see her expression, but if I had to guess, it’s pretty smug right now.
“What’s going on, Kate? Are you okay?” Her voice reaches me through his grunts.
Nikolai spits, hopefully on the floor, before moving away from Becky to talk to the man still at the door. I nod at her. My eyes are adjusting to the light better now.
“I don’t really know. They want to talk to Lu—Mr. Bradshaw. They said I’m the . . . bait.” I swallow at the term, hoping it doesn’t mean I’m the one who’ll die for the sake of getting what they want. I’m losing hope that I’ll make it out alive with each passing minute.
Becky moves toward me, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Does this have anything to do with . . . the mission we talked about?”
“The one where his friend died?” I whisper back, glancing to see the Russians still conferring near the door.
“Yes.”
“I think so. That’s . . . Nikolai. The one I asked you to check up on.”
She gasps, hand reaching out to grip my shoulder where the cut is. I wince in pain.
“Kate—”
“Hey! That’s enough talking. Sit down and be quiet.” I think it’s the one with the scars speaking now.
Nikolai stalks back toward us as we sit at the table Becky was occupying before we got here. I want to ask her why she didn’t evacuate with everyone else, but I’m not exactly sure how far he would go to keep us from talking, so I keep my mouth shut.
My cuts are mostly numb until I move, and then they sting like someone is pouring lemon juice on a thousand paper cuts. Becky and I are seated at a table in the break room, a half-eaten red velvet cake from a staff member’s birthday decorating the center.
My eyes have adjusted completely to the shadowy room.
I can barely make out the expression on Becky’s face.
Her brows are pinched in concentration, eyes focused on Nikolai.
He’s pacing in front of our table, occasionally going to stick his head out the door.
I don’t know what he’s waiting for, but I hope Luke shows up soon. The other men have disappeared.
Where is Luke?
The doubts I felt earlier are threatening to push back through to the forefront of my mind.
What if he won’t give them whatever it is they want?
I’ve got to try and talk to Nikolai. He sort of knows me now. He’s been sleeping with my roommate, crashing in our apartment for weeks. Surely, that counts for something? At the very least, it should make taking my life somewhat more challenging . . . I hope.
“So . . . Nik, do you miss Russia?”
His footsteps halt, and for a moment, I think I’ve made a grave mistake. Then, his big body moves forward, his hand gripping the back of the plastic chair and pulling it out. He settles in, a drop of sweat from his brow landing on the tabletop.
“I miss the motherland, yes. My family is still there.”