Stolen: Dante's Vow

He knows Dante. What will that mean?

“The rest of your men?” Gray asks Matthaeus.

“What about them?”

“Tell them to stand down or I slit this one’s throat.”

“No!” I yell and Gray turns to me, the expression on his face different than I expect. This situation so reminiscent to the night I met Petrov but so very different.

“They’ll stand down,” Matthaeus says as we step out of the box. I find the corridor that was only slightly occupied just minutes ago full of men. They’re his men. Gray’s. And a glance at Felix tells me he wasn’t expecting this.

“I delivered,” Felix says to Gray, and I see his unease. He’s still no match for the people he deals with, and he knows it. “If you’ll deposit the second half of the payment I’ll be on my way.”

Gray gives him a dark look. “We’ll take care of it downstairs. You’ll come with me. Move.”

“Sir,” the soldier in charge nods and guides everyone out.

I remain where I am, unsure what to do, very aware of the dagger at my thigh but still powerless with Dante knocked out. Once Gray and I are the only two remaining he turns to me.

“Come,” he says, gesturing to the door. He keeps distance from me though.

I study him, trying to figure him out.

“You won’t be hurt anymore, Mara.”

I’m confused by him and his words. By the tone and his meaning.

He gestures once more to the door. I don’t have a choice, so I move through it and follow to where one of the men is holding the door open to the emergency stairwell.

It’s loud as we hurry down the concrete stairs, every sound echoing. I hold on to the railing and when we pass the ground floor entrance, we’re led through another door, one I hadn’t seen before. It’s smaller so most of the men have to duck through it. Once we’re through, several flashlights light our way. It’s dark and dank, smelling like water that’s been standing still too long. We keep going and ahead I can see the man carrying Dante, see Matthaeus behind him. Behind me is Gray looking unperturbed in his expensive suit, two more soldiers trail him. Every time I glance at him, I find him watching me.

The crowded corridor opens up a few minutes later, although it’s still dark in here, light is coming in from somewhere. A loud sound has me jumping as we get to a cavernous open space.

“Subway train,” Gray says.

Subway?

“The tunnels connect,” he clarifies as the man carrying Dante sets him down on an ancient looking bench against the wall. Matthaeus goes to him. He’s slumped over but moving.

I take a step toward them, but Gray catches my arm and I don’t even stop to think. It’s pure instinct I act on. I don’t think about Jericho’s words advising me to choose my moment. I don’t think about all the soldiers with their guns around me. I don’t care about any of it. I need to get to Dante. That’s all.

So I slip my hand through the slit of my dress and take hold of the dagger strapped to my thigh. I pull it out of its holster and brandish it between us.

“Let me go. Now.”

I expect every weapon in the place to be cocked and turned on me. I maybe even expect to get shot. But that doesn’t happen. In fact, none of the soldiers make a move.

Gray never takes his eyes from me. “You’re not a prisoner,” he says and does the strangest thing. He lets go of my arm. Surprising, because I expected a fight. I’m sure I’d be easy to disarm. But as soon as I’m free I hurry toward Dante and Matthaeus. I crouch down in front of him keeping hold of the blade as I touch the bloody spot on his temple.

“Dante?”

He groans, and a moment later he’s looking into my eyes and I’m so relieved. It’s stupid I know because we are not out of this mess or even close to it. But he’s alive and he’s here and it’s all I can think about.

I reach my arms around him, and he wraps one of his around me. Standing, he moves in front of me. He’s not quite steady. I can see it. But he’s determined.

Matthaeus stands too and I try to move around Dante but he’s blocking me with his arm.

“Well, this is very cozy, but I’d just like to get paid and be on my way,” Felix says with a forced laugh as he steps toward Gray.

One of Gray’s men cocks his gun and points it at Felix’s temple. Felix comes to a stop, all the color draining from his face.

I tighten the grip on the dagger, my palm sweaty. Quietly, I slip off my shoes, the ground cold and grimy beneath my bare feet.