Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Does this mean Yan wants to take me with him?
To steal me away from here?
More crashing sounds, mixed with Russian curses, reach my ears. The brothers are still fighting, but unless one of them kills the other, they’re likely to stop soon. Which means I have to act now.
My searching gaze lands on the window shades, and I rush over, yanking them apart. Bright sunlight hits my eyes, blinding me for a moment, but then I see we’re on the second floor.
Not an optimal location, but one that I can work with.
Luckily, the window is as old as the rest of this building, consisting of two separate wood-framed panes that open outward, like French doors. The lock in the middle is rusted and painted over, but when I put all my strength into it, the paint seal breaks, and I’m able to twist the lock and push the panes open.
The effort, minor though it was, exhausts me, but there’s no time to rest. The street outside is narrow and deserted. If I were to call for help, nobody would hear me—not that I was counting on some magic rescue.
Hurrying over to the bed, I strip off the top and bottom sheets and tie them together. Then I knot the makeshift rope around the leg of the bed and go back to the window, holding the other end.
It won’t extend more than a meter out the window, but anything that brings me closer to the ground is a good thing.
My hands are shaking and I’m sweating as I climb onto the windowsill, gripping the sheet tightly. A year ago, I could’ve jumped from this height and easily walked away, but now, I’m out of shape, my bones weak and brittle. The ground appears dangerously far, the cracked asphalt looming below me like a death sentence.
For a moment, I entertain the idea of staying, of going with the flow and seeing what happens. After all, would it be so bad to be Yan’s captive? To get those mind-shattering orgasms and sleep in his arms every night? Maybe he’d grow attached to me after a while, as much as a man like that can, and wouldn’t kill me even if I learned more about them. In fact, we could even partner up and—
I shut the door on that thought before it goes any further. The sex hormones must still be muddling my mind for me to even entertain an idea that insane. If I stayed, I’d be nothing more than Yan’s sex toy, I’m sure of that. Besides, even if I were willing to take this kind of risk, it’s not all about me.
Hanna needs me.
The thought of my grandmother steadies me, as always. I can’t afford to give in to this whim, to let attraction to a handsome killer distract me from my responsibility to the woman who raised me. She’d cared for me my whole life, and now it’s my turn to do the same for her.
“Goodbye, Yan,” I mouth silently, and tightening my grip on the sheet, I jump down.
Part II
6
Yan
Colombia, Present Day
As is my habit lately, I pull out my phone to check my email. With all the shit that’s gone down in recent months, getting information in a timely fashion is key.
“Where’s Kent?” Julian Esguerra asks when Peter Sokolov—our former team leader and the reason for our current predicament—walks in, joining me, my brother, and our teammate, Anton Rezov, in Esguerra’s office.
“How should I know?” Peter retorts, taking a seat next to me at the oval table. I’m only peripherally aware of his presence, or that Ilya is crunching on a cookie Esguerra’s housekeeper brought in earlier. All my attention is on my inbox, where a message from our hackers has just landed.
“Isn’t he staying in the house with you?” Peter continues as I open the email.
“He was making the rounds with the guards this morning,” Esguerra says. “Looks like we’ll have to fill him in later. I have a call coming up.” A beat, then: “Any word from Henderson?”
“No, and I wouldn’t expect to hear from him anytime soon. We’re still”—Peter pauses, as if to check the time—“about an hour from the start of the deadline. I’m guessing we’ll have to make good on our threat with at least a few bodies before he realizes we’re serious.”
“All right,” Esguerra says as I skim the message. “I’ve already given our men the instructions on which hostages are to be killed first. Any word from your hackers?”
I look up from my phone. “Actually, yes. They’ve just tracked down the sniper for us—the one who shot the agent during Peter’s arrest.”
Peter visibly tenses. “Who is he?”
“He is apparently a she,” I say, reading more of the email. “Goes by the name of Mink and is from the Czech Republic. Hold on—the picture is loading now.”