“He’s not going to leave us here,” I say.
“How do you know that?” Patricia cries.
“I just do,” I tell her.
“How much more do you think that door can take?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, looking over at the door again.
The metal glows a deep lava-orange.
Even from all the way across here, I can feel the heat kissing my skin, making my cheeks warm.
It would be pleasant if it didn’t feel so much like hell.
“They’ve been going for half an hour,” Patricia says.
“You’ve been keeping track?”
She nods, laughing in a strangled way, without a hint of humor in the noise. “Every second they take is a chance, right? Maybe Jett will return. Maybe he’ll save us.”
“He will,” I tell her fiercely, my heart pumping erratically in my chest. I don’t like that note of doubt in her voice. “He’d never leave me behind. I’m carrying his child. We’re in love.”
Patricia flinches, pausing in her pacing. “In love? Since when?”
“Since the first moment we saw each other,” I declare, with much more confidence and bravery than I’d ever been able to summon if I was telling Jett any of this.
“Does he feel the same?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, and then falter when tears start to bud in my eyes.
“Oh, Julia,” Patricia says, walking over to me and placing her hands on my shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. I just know it will.”
We sink onto one of the bottom bunks together, the three of us huddled close as the metal sparks and hisses and makes angry noises that go directly into my chest.
Time passes and all we can do is sit and wait.
Patricia starts to murmur prayers under her breath. I didn’t know she was religious, but the prayers seem to bring her strength. She closes her eyes and clasps her hands tightly to her chest, her words coming faster, more urgently, as though she’s imploring the universe to save her soul, if not her body.
I can’t find it in me to pray to God.
All I pray for is for Jett to return to me, my man, my savior.
I try not to let doubts arise in my mind, but then another half an hour passes, and more minutes tick by, on and on, until little niggling voices start to tell me I’m an idiot.
This was his plan all along, a voice hisses in my mind. It sounds like Casey Jenkins, one of the top dogs in high school, a cheerleader who always had a cutting comment ready to make me feel small. He lured you in and then sold you to the Bratva. He’s returned to his woman now, his skinny, attractive woman, and they’re both laughing at you, you stupid girl.
I scream no in my mind, over and over again. That can’t be true.
Even if it should be impossible, I know Jett. I trust him. He’d never abandon me like that.
“Julia,” Patricia whispers.
“What?” I say.
“Listen.”
“What?” I snap, heartache making my tone vicious.
“Listen.”
I’m about to snap at her again, but then I hear what she means. The constant buzz has stopped. Now, I can hear voices raised, their words slowly becoming clear to me.
A flare of hope flurries in my chest.
I stand slowly, feeling Rebel’s heartbeat pick up against my palm, as though she’s daring to hope, too.
“Julia,” Patricia hisses when I start to walk toward the door.
But I don’t stop. I can’t. It could be my man.
“You foolish man,” a male voice growls, in a heavy Russian accent. “You should have run. You had a chance. This girl is nothing to you. Now you’ve forced me to handle this myself, and that is never a good idea, American, no. The Bratva must always keep their word.”
“I’ll give you one chance. Leave now. Or things are going to get really fucking bad for you, Igor.”
My heart flutters and I let out a gasp without meaning to.
“Jett,” I scream, unable to stop myself, a thousand celebratory tingles dancing around my body. “You came back for me.”
“Of course I did,” Jett roars.
But then my belly starts to sink. I heard several Russian voices out there just below the buzz of the tool they were using to break in.
What chance does one man – even a man like Jett – have against so many?
“You have to run,” I yell, the certainty of it crashing into me. “You can’t be here. They’ll kill you. Run, Jett. Leave us.”
“Smart slut,” Igor laughs, loud enough for me to hear. “You should listen to her, American. One man against six of my best killers. What sort of a fool are you?”
“I like those odds,” Jett snarls.
“Do not be a fool,” Igor shouts.
“You’re the fool,” Jett says, cold now. I have to strain to hear him. “You came after the woman I’ve bound myself to. You came after my woman. Do you realize how fucking stupid that makes you? Have you never heard the name, Jett Jackman? Every man here is a killer, a rapist, a child molester, or a monster. Every man here deserves to die. Guess your biggest mistake, Igor.”