Page 153 of Made for Sinners

About the way he said my name, not like it was a command, but a promise.

And I held onto that.

Because it was the only thing keeping me from unraveling.

The gag was tight, cutting into the corners of my mouth. My wrists throbbed where the zip ties bit into my skin. My ankles were numb. Every inch of me ached, but I refused to cry. Refused to give them the satisfaction.

The men had stopped talking. They were waiting now. For what, I didn’t know. Orders, maybe. Or a response from Dante.

I didn’t know what they’d said to him. I didn’t know what they wanted.

But I knew him.

And I knew what he’d do to get me back.

He wouldn’t negotiate.

He wouldn’t beg.

He’d burn everything down.

The man who’d spoken to me earlier—the one with the Russian accent and the dead eyes—walked back over. He crouched in front of me again, his face still hidden behind the mask. I could see the outline of his jaw now, sharp and clean, like he was young. Too young to be this cruel.

“You’re very calm,” he said, tilting his head. “Most women would be crying by now.”

I stared at him.

He chuckled. “Ah. You think your husband will come for you.”

He reached out and ran a gloved finger along my jaw. I flinched, but I didn’t look away.

“He will,” he said, almost to himself. “That’s the problem.”

He stood and turned away, muttering something in Russian to the others. I caught only fragments—“Conti,” “response,” “plan B.”

Plan B.

I didn’t like the sound of that.

I shifted in the chair, testing the restraints again. Nothing. The zip ties were too tight, the chair too solid. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t run. Couldn’t fight.

The man with the cigarette flicked ash onto the floor and said something sharp in Russian. The others laughed. I didn’t need to speak the language to know they were talking about me.

I closed my eyes.

And I thought about the tunnel.

About the way the earth had smelled—damp and old and alive. About the way the stars had looked when I stepped out into the woods. About the way my heart had raced when I realized I was free.

And then I thought about the moment it all changed.

The footsteps.

The hands.

The SUV.

The way my freedom had lasted only long enough to remind me how much I wanted it.

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