Chapter 32 #2
A hole had opened in his upper thigh, frayed edges of denim circling a black pit that bubbled and flowed with the gleam of red blood. He'd shot my dad.
A sound reached my ears, plaintive and thin. I realized it was coming from me. I sucked in a breath. Evers growled beside me. I needed to keep it together. I could not fall apart. Smokey was falling apart, and he had a bullet in his leg to show for it.
Smokey wept, tears streaming down his cheeks, snot bubbling from his nose, dripping on his shirt as he sobbed, "I don't know I don't know I don't know oh God oh God please I don't know," the words running together in a mumbled rush until he was no more than a wounded animal whining from the pain.
Tsepov, unbothered by what he'd done to my father, turned his attention to Evers. "And you," he said, easily, "I regret wasting all of our time. I should not have assumed your father's business was family business. But, now that you know, where are the account numbers?"
Evers, the tape still firmly across his mouth, shook his head in a negative. Tsepov raised the gun, training it on Evers' chest.
"No," I shouted, terror driving the words from my mouth. "No, no, he can't find them if you shoot him. He can find them, they just didn't know what you were looking for. Please. He can't help if you shoot him."
The sound coming from Evers was somewhere between a growl and a moan of despair. I couldn't bring myself to look at him, to see his fury aimed at me. I knew he wanted me to be quiet, to let him handle this.
Too bad. I was not going to sit there with my mouth shut while Tsepov shot him no matter what he wanted me to do. Tsepov lowered the gun to his side and looked at me consideringly. To the goon on his right, he said, "Yanev, release her. Bring her here."
The man holstered his weapon and circled the room to stand behind me.
The snick of the knife opening was loud in the suddenly-quiet room, my father's noise reduced to whimpers and occasional sobs.
The plastic ties on my wrists and ankles pulled tight as Tsepov's man knelt by my side, smelling of onions and too-strong cologne.
One by one, the ties fell away. He closed a meaty hand around my arm and yanked me to my feet. My arms still secured behind my back, I stumbled as he dragged me across the room to Tsepov. Coming to a jerking halt, I was turned until I stood side-by-side with my captor.
Reaching out a hand, he stroked a finger across my cheek. At my instinctive recoil, his eyes narrowed. "Who would have thought Smokey Winters would have such a beautiful daughter? I've seen pictures, but they didn't do you justice."
His finger pressed up on my chin, lifting my face to his. "If we can't come to an arrangement for the account numbers, I can make use of you. You look like a cheerleader. All this blond hair. Those blue eyes. Still young enough to have a tight little body. Very popular overseas."
Dark, soulless eyes trailed down to my toes, taking in every inch of skin exposed by my silky nightgown. My stomach clenched hard, saliva pooling in my mouth. I could not throw up on this man. Knowing what he was implying, what use he planned to make of me, I wasn't sure I could stop myself.
Across the room, Evers let out a sound of such rage, such frustration I wanted to weep. Instantly, my nausea slid away. I had to hold on. Evers was going to lose it, tied to that chair, temporarily helpless.
I wasn't going to make it worse. He wouldn't let anything happen to me.
A ridiculous thought, considering that he was unarmed and zip tied to a chair.
It didn't matter. Evers wouldn't let anything happen to me.
I just had to hang in there, keep Tespov from shooting anyone else, and we'd figure out the rest.
Tsepov dropped his hand from my face. As if we were friends, he slipped an arm around my waist, turning me to face my father and Evers.
"Here we are, the two men in your life before us. Your father and your lover. You're a smart girl. What do you think? Is your father lying? I find it hard to believe he has the mental discipline to withstand pain, but you'd be surprised what people will do for money."
He flicked the gun in Evers' direction, sending a shaft of ice into my heart.
I wanted that gun pointed anywhere but at Evers.
"Maxwell's boy, well, if he wasn't working with his father, then I'll believe he doesn't know where the numbers are.
But he's resourceful. Useful. I only need one of them.
You tell me, which one can solve my problem? "
Tsepov lifted the gun and pointed it at Evers, then slid it past my empty seat to settle on Smokey, who flinched and whimpered.
Then back to Evers, who leaned into the room, his eyes on fire with rage, cold with fear, arms straining so hard on the plastic ties blood trickled down his wrists.
The fear wasn't for himself. It was for me.
Tsepov swung the gun back and forth, a faint smile on his face, waiting for my answer. I spared my father a look, saw his fear, his weakness, and beneath both, love. Somewhere in his heart, my father loved me.
I knew to the depths of my soul that he'd never imagined his actions would put me in so much danger. He was stupid and foolish and selfish, but he wasn't malicious.
I didn't have to think.
Maybe I should have.
Maybe I'm a horrible person for making my choice so quickly. So easily.
I didn’t care. My head and my heart knew exactly what to say.
My eyes locked to Evers, hoping he could read in them the words I'd never spoken aloud, I gave Tsepov my answer.
"Evers. You need Evers. He'll get you what you want."
Warm breath brushed my ear. "Good girl. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Then, turning his head, "Yanev."
Black fabric dropped over my head, cutting off my vision, trapping my sour, humid breath, the sound of my panting breaths filling my ears. A cold hand closed over my breast, squeezing hard enough to draw a gasp of pain from my tight lungs.
Evers bellowed with rage behind the layers of tape, wood banging as if he'd lurched in his chair.
His hand kneading my breast, voice pleased, Tsepov said in my ear, "Now we'll see how good a girl you really are."
I trembled with the effort to stay still, terrified that any show of resistance would bring that gun back to Evers. Another muffled roar. Squeezing my eyes shut, I prayed. Please. Please.
Abruptly, the clutching hand dropped away. The sack over my head tightened around my neck and I was dragged back, almost losing my footing. Big hands, not Tsepov's, grabbed me under my armpits, pulling me away from Tsepov. Away from Evers.
Through the thick fabric over my head, I couldn't make out Tsepov's next words.
The only thing I heard clearly was the gun.
It fired, two shots in rapid succession.
My knees buckled, legs giving way. Strong arms swept me off my feet, tossing me over a wide shoulder.
I couldn't see, couldn't hear, and then we were gone, the ring of gunshots echoing in my ears.