With that, she pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor. Torn linoleum underfoot. Faded green walls covered in graffiti tags. Broken glass from smashed windows that crunched with each step.
“Send Katrina.” Callum’s order came from behind her.
Without looking, she knew they were standing in the doorway, Ryan guarding Callum’s back while he kept his gun trained on the men at the other end of the corridor. The woman between them was shoved forward. She stumbled, then hurried forward down the corridor. Megan heard a sob and anger flared inside her, a white hot flame that wouldn’t be snuffed until Durand paid.
Shadows. Torn pictures painted by kids long gone. Rat droppings. Light fittings hanging from the ceiling. Tiles torn out from above her, now on the floor. She took it all in with every step that brought her closer to the man who hunted her.
When she came level with Dimitri’s sister she paused. The woman was wrapped in a thin white robe, nothing more. Her long dark hair was matted. She was thin, frail. Her face was gaunt, her eyes wide and haunted. Megan reached for her. Katrina jerked back as though expecting a blow and Megan’s rage blazed brighter. Slowly, she placed her hand on Katrina’s fragile arm.
“You’ll be safe now. I promise,” Megan said to her. “Tell your brother, I love him.”
She saw the flare of hope in Katrina’s eyes at the realisation she’d see her brother. Hope and determination. Strength. With that one look, Megan knew it wasn’t too late for the woman. She had the same spine of steel as her brother.
“Don’t let them break you.” Katrina’s voice was a rasp. It was advice borne of bitter experience and of victory.
“I do the breaking, honey,” Megan whispered back.
She gave Katrina’s arm one more squeeze as Durand’s voice echoed down the corridor. “I have a gun pointed at both of your heads. Walk to me now, Megan, or you both die.”
“You are such an asshole,” Megan shouted back and felt Katrina stiffen under her touch.
Megan glanced down at the smaller woman and noticed she was barefoot.
“Ryan?” she shouted as she continued her walk to Durand. “She’s barefoot and there’s glass.”
“Don’t shoot,” Callum shouted. “We’re going to pick her up.”
She heard running and knew Ryan would help Katrina the rest of the way.
“I won’t shoot,” Durand called. “Not if I get what I want.”
Megan came to a stop a couple of feet in front of Durand. He was decked out the way Hollywood thought mercenaries should look. Camouflage pants and jacket, sidearm harness and leather half gloves. Oh yeah, and a checked scarf around his neck to keep out the sand. Sand. In South London. She almost rolled her eyes.
“Hi Renny,” she said. “How’s your backside? Still sore?”
The smack came out of nowhere. A backhand across her cheekbone that sent her to the floor. There was a roar from the other end of the corridor. Callum. Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. If they thought she was going easy, they were wrong. She elbowed the guy in the gut. Another bloody armour-plated vest. Pain spasmed through her body from her elbow.
“Move, move,” Durand shouted, and then she was being dragged away from the corridor.
Away from Callum and Ryan.
Away from freedom.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Move it. Move it.” Dimitri bellowed the order, even though he knew logically that the car was going as fast as it could.
Gold from the street lamps lit their way to the destination Elle had sent them. The streets were a blur of Victorian terraced houses and multi-levelled office buildings. They swerved past cars, causing horns to blast. Not caring.
“Comms on.” Lake barked out a frequency. “Callum, you hearing me?”
Nothing.
Dimitri gripped the panic handle as the car swerved around a corner.
“Callum, come in.”
Silence.