Page 19 of Salvation

I shook my head slightly. “No, malishka. The club doesn’t pay ransoms.” I kept my voice steady, though my heart raced. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t come for us.”

Clover trembled against me, and I felt wetness on my arm where her face pressed. Silent tears. I shifted to pull her closer, shielding her with my body as if I could somehow absorb her fear.

“Do not cry, little one,” I murmured, pressing my lips to the top of her head. “We will be strong, yes? For your father.”

She nodded against my shoulder, but her tears continued to fall, soaking into my shirt. I held her tighter, my mind racing. They would call the club. Make demands. Show proof that we were alive. And Salvation… what would he do? I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t sit and wait. Wouldn’t follow their instructions. He would come for us with the fury of a storm, bringing the entire club with him.

And these men -- these stupid, amateur kidnappers -- had no idea what they’d unleashed.

I stroked Clover’s hair, whispering reassurances in a mix of English and Russian, while part of my mind calculated. How long had we been here? How long would it take the club to track us? What would our captors do when they realized their mistake?

Footsteps approached the door again. I tensed, angling my body to keep Clover behind me as the lock rattled. Whatever happened next, I would protect her. This girl who had become my daughter in all but blood. This child who had helped heal my broken pieces over the years.

I was Bratva born, and now I was a Reckless King’s woman. These men would learn there were fates worse than dealing with the club. They would learn what happened when they threatened a mother’s child. I’d been weak and defenseless before. Now I had a true reason to fight, and I’d give them hell if they tried to hurt Clover.

The door began to open, and I narrowed my eyes against the sudden light, keeping my body between Clover and whatever came through that door.

It swung open with a rusty creak, flooding our dim prison with harsh fluorescent light from the hallway beyond. Two men filled the doorway -- the smaller one flicking a wall switch that brought our single bulb to full strength, temporarily blinding me. I blinked away the spots in my vision, taking their measure as they stepped inside. Not Bratva. Not professionals. Just local trash who’d made the worst mistake of their lives.

The taller one stood in front with a lazy confidence that marked him as the leader. Lanky but wiry, with dirty blond hair pulled back in a greasy ponytail. His most distinctive feature was the tattoo that slithered up his neck -- a green and black snake that curved from beneath his collar to behind his ear. Cheap work, prison-done from the look of it. His companion was shorter but broader, muscles straining the seams of his T-shirt. His head was cleanly shaved, with a jagged scar bisecting one eyebrow.

Snake Tattoo carried a plastic bag in one hand and a smartphone in the other. He tossed the bag at my feet, where it landed with a soft thud. Through the thin plastic, I could make out the shapes of water bottles and fast-food containers.

“Dinner time, ladies,” he said, his voice matching the one I’d heard through the door. “Don’t say we don’t treat our guests right.”

Behind me, Clover shifted closer, her fingers digging into my arm hard enough to bruise. I welcomed the pain -- it helped me focus, kept the fear at bay.

“What do you want from us?” I asked.

Snake Tattoo smirked. “Just a little insurance while your biker buddies put together our money. Nothing personal.” He glanced at his shorter companion. “Isn’t that right, Marco?”

The shorter man -- Marco -- grunted, his gaze darting nervously around the room rather than looking directly at us. “Let’s just get this done, Vince.”

I filed away the names. Vince and Marco. Amateurs who hadn’t even thought to hide their identities. They were already dead men walking -- they just didn’t know it yet.

Vince held up his phone. “Time for your close-up. Gotta show the Reckless Kings that their precious family is still breathing.”

“My dad will kill you for this,” Clover said, her voice surprisingly steady despite the fear I could feel trembling through her body. “All of them will.”

Vince barked out a laugh. “Hear that, Marco? Little girl’s making threats.” He pointed the phone at us, the small light beside the camera illuminating. “Smile for Daddy, sweetheart. Tell him how well we’re treating you.”

Clover’s grip on my arm tightened. “My dad will come for us,” she repeated, staring directly into the camera. “The whole club will.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s the idea.” Vince moved closer, his phone focused on our faces. “They’ll come with our money, and you’ll go home in one piece. Simple business transaction.”

I kept my face expressionless, evaluating our options. Both men appeared to be armed -- bulges at their waistbands suggesting concealed handguns. The zip ties bit into my wrists, too tight to slip free without tearing my skin open. Not yet. Not with Clover to protect.

“Say something,” Vince snapped, annoyance flashing across his face. “Need to prove you’re both alive and kicking.”

“I still say we should just use pictures,” the other one grumbled. Vince sighed and took a few pictures, then glared at the man as if to ask happy now? Then he turned back to face me, pointing the phone my way again.

I met Vince’s gaze steadily. “We’re alive. For now.”

He sneered, stepping closer. “Not very cooperative, are you? Maybe we need to be more convincing.” He reached out suddenly, fingers gripping my chin and forcing my face toward the camera. His nails dug into my skin. “Say hello to your old man, Russian. Tell him to have our money ready.”

I stared directly into the lens, imagining Salvation watching this footage. Imagining his rage, his fear, his determination. I wanted him to see that I wasn’t broken. That I would protect Clover with my life. That I believed in him.

“We are unharmed,” I said clearly, my blue eyes never wavering from the camera. “Do not worry about us, Salvation.”

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