“Let’s go,” I say as we move toward that unguarded door. We walk through and step into a corridor lit only by candles and the occasional flash of lightning from the window. Several doors line the corridor and I know the one I’m looking for is the one where a soldier stands guard.
“Bathroom,” my brother says to him.
The man points to the opposite end of the hall and we walk in that direction. The door he’s blocking is glass, so I can see the fat man when we pass. He’s climbing some stairs at the far end.
“Gentlemen,” the soldier says. “Move on.”
I didn’t realize I’d stopped. I shift my gaze to meet his. He’s my height. My build.
“My brother drank a little too much,” Dante says, coming to put an arm around me.
I wonder if I appear drunk. I’m not fully myself, that’s for sure. My heartbeat is strong, loud in my ears, blood rushing. I have tunnel vision. I see one thing. Getting to that man. Getting to Scarlett.
The soldier nods, expression unchanging. He holds my gaze and folds his arms across himself.
I reach into my back pocket, using something out of Marcus Rinaldi’s playbook, push the button on the switchblade and, without a moment’s hesitation, push the blade into his gut.
He doesn’t have time to blink before it happens. Before the knife is forced so deep in his stomach, I feel the soft, mushy insides against my hand.
I thrust deeper, getting close enough to hold him upright, one hand around his arm, my body pressing his to the door.
His eyes have gone wide, his hand frozen on its way to reaching for his weapon.
I twist once more, feel his full weight on me as his knees buckle. A choked sound comes from his throat before a trail of blood seeps from the corner of his mouth.
“Fuck,” Dante says from behind me.
I pull the blade out, wipe it on the man’s shirt as Dante catches his other arm.
“What about getting in, getting Scarlett and getting out?” he asks as we drag the man’s heavy body to the bathroom.
“Fuck that.”
“Oh yeah? And why is that? Because you want an army coming after us?”
“Because I’m going to kill every mother fucker in this place before I walk out tonight.”
We drop him in the bathroom. Dante looks at me. He grins. “We’re going to kill every mother fucker in this place. We, Brother.”
44
Scarlett
The chains that bind my wrists to my ankles are removed and my arms are stretched overhead, bound to a metal rung on the headboard. I’m flipped onto my stomach, the cuffs clanging as I’m tugged downward. The link that hobbled me is also removed. My legs are pulled apart, stretched to either corner of the bed and linked to the rungs there.
The two men responsible for preparing me, stand back and look down at me. One tugs the pillow out from under my head and shoves it beneath my belly. He nods, meets my eyes and cups his erection.
“I’ll take your ass when it’s my turn,” he says in Spanish. “Save me a piece.”
I spit at him.
He slaps my ass.
“Hey,” the other soldier interrupts and points to the corner where I see one of those flashing red lights again. The camera is hidden but the soldiers know about it. They must be Felix’s men. “After.”
The man glances at the blinking light, nods then returns his attention to me. “If there’s anything left.”
They walk out but don’t close the door. Instead, they stand in the hall looking at me as one lights a cigarette. I tug at my restraints but it’s no use. I already know that.
Cigarette smoke wafts in from the hallway. I twist my neck to look toward the door, as the sound of another man, one with a hoarse voice and a heavy Russian accent floats into the room. It makes me think of Petrov. Of Mara.
But honestly, it’s hard not to think about myself now. Maybe I should have accepted the pill from the bitch downstairs. Killed myself before they could have their fun.
I close my eyes and steel myself, or try to, as the voices grow closer. I know the man is standing just outside the door. I don’t open my eyes. I don’t want to. I can imagine the view.
They speak for a few minutes before I hear the door close and the man sighs deeply.
“A pretty gift,” he says as the bed dips beneath his weight. He puts a hand on my hip.
“Don’t touch me!” I hiss, tugging away the inch I’m able to.
“Oh, I will do more than touch you,” he says, standing again, taking off his jacket. He tosses it over the back of a chair. He doesn’t bother taking off his shirt. He just opens his belt, then the crotch of his pants. He fists himself.