Page 5 of Filthy Lies

Terror and fury are warring within me and there’s no telling which will win. I want to grab all these people and shake them like rag dolls and make them understand.

I am a person. A human being. I have done nothing wrong. You cannot justdothis, you sick fucks!

This innocent baby—my baby—caught in some ancient blood feud before even taking a first breath.

I’d scream if I could. I’d scream until the whole damn world took notice.

But I can’t.

So it doesn’t.

The darkness around me has never felt blacker.

“The baby will be here soon,” she continues. “Try not to fight. It makes things worse.”

As if on cue, another contraction crashes through me, longer and more intense than any of the ones that preceded it. Despite Dr. Bitch’s instructions, I scream. The sound bounces off concrete walls and returns to my ears broken and jagged.

“Breathe,” she instructs, unmoved by my pain. “The doctor will arrive shortly.”

Through the haze of pain, I focus on a single thought:Vince is coming.I know it like I know my own name. He will tear apart the city to find us.

I just need to stay alive until then. Keep our baby alive.

When the contraction eases, I uncurl slightly. “Water,” I gasp.

She passes me the bottle from where I dropped, and I take another tiny sip.

A distant sound of footsteps echoes down what must be a hallway. The woman turns toward the door.

“Doctor arrives,” she announces. “Now, the real work begins.”

As she steps aside to admit someone else, I close my eyes briefly, summoning every ounce of strength I have left.

Vince, I think desperately.Find us. I believe in you.

But until then, I have only myself to rely on. My body contracts again, my baby nosing its way into a world far more dangerous than either of us is ready for.

I steel myself. They may have taken me, but they won’t take my child.

Even if I have to die to prevent it.

3

VINCE

Blood drips from my knuckles. I barely feel it.

The man zip-tied to the chair in front of me used to have a name. I think it was Leonid or Lev or something similarly forgettable. He was my father’s driver for the past three years.

Now, he’s just a means to an end.

His face is unrecognizable—swollen, purple, streaming crimson from a split lip and broken nose. One eye is sealed shut. The other stares at me with naked terror.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” I say icily. “Where did they take my wife?”

He spits blood onto the concrete floor of the warehouse basement. “I don’t know.”

I nod to Dimitri, who steps forward with a pair of pliers.

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