Page 20 of Salvation

The message was clear. Do not pay. Do not follow their instructions. Come for us your way.

Vince released my chin with a small shove, seemingly satisfied. “See? Was that so hard?” He turned the camera toward Clover. “Your turn, kid.”

Clover glanced at me, then lifted her chin in a gesture so reminiscent of her father that my heart clenched. “I’m okay, Dad. Don’t worry about me.”

Vince lowered the phone, tapping at the screen. “That ought to do it. Proof of life, check. Ransom demand, coming up next.” He glanced at his watch. “They’ve got enough time to get the money together.”

Marco shifted uncomfortably by the door. “We should get going. Make the call from somewhere else. Or better yet, just send a note. Pay someone to deliver it.”

“Relax,” Vince said, pocketing his phone. “No one’s tracking us here.”

Marco’s gaze darted to me, then away. “I don’t like this, man. The Russian especially. You hear what they say about the club’s connections?”

I kept my expression neutral, though a small thrill ran through me. The club’s reputation preceded them, even among these lowlifes.

Vince rolled his eyes. “They’re just women. The club will pay to get them back, end of story.”

“The younger one is his kid. The older one’s his wife,” Marco persisted. “What if they’ve got ties to the real Russians? The serious ones?”

A cold smile touched my lips before I could suppress it. Marco saw it and took a step back.

“See? She’s fucking smiling, man.” His voice rose slightly. “This isn’t right.”

Vince turned to me, irritation plain on his face. “Something funny?”

I shrugged as best I could with my bound hands. “Just thinking about what Salvation will do when he finds you.”

“If,” Vince corrected, but I noted the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “If he finds us. And he won’t, not before we get our money and disappear.” He nodded toward the bag at my feet. “Eat up. Might be a while before your next meal.”

He backed toward the door, keeping his eyes on us. Marco was already halfway into the hallway, clearly eager to be gone.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” Vince warned as he reached the threshold. “We’ll be right outside. And we won’t be as nice next time.”

The door slammed shut behind them. The lock clicked, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

Clover exhaled shakily against my shoulder. “Did I do okay?”

I turned to her, examining her face in the harsh light. Despite her fear, there was a determination in her eyes that reminded me so much of Salvation it made my chest ache.

“You did perfectly, malishka,” I murmured, pressing my forehead briefly against hers. “Your father will be very proud.”

“They’re idiots,” she whispered, glancing nervously at the door.

I nodded, reaching for the bag of food with my bound hands. “Yes. And that may save us -- or condemn them.” I managed a small, reassuring smile. “Either way, we must keep our strength up.”

As Clover helped me open the water bottles with our awkward, bound hands, I kept my ear tuned to the sounds outside our prison. Waiting. Planning. Preparing for whatever came next.

Their footsteps faded down the hallway, followed by the muffled sound of another door closing. I waited, counting to thirty in my head before moving. We might not get another chance to be alone, and I needed to know exactly what we were dealing with. I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the way my head throbbed, and began a methodical inspection of our prison, taking in details I’d missed in the initial panic of waking up bound and disoriented. Clover watched me from the floor, her eyes tracking my movements as I tested the walls, examined the door, and assessed everything that might become a weapon or an escape route.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, scooting back against the wall to give me space.

“Looking for anything useful,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “Anything that might help us.”

The room was small, maybe twelve feet square. Concrete walls, concrete floor. A single metal door with a deadbolt lock -- simple, but effective. No windows. The only light came from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, too high to reach even if I jumped. A dirty mattress had been tossed in one corner -- the one we’d been sitting on. In the opposite corner sat a plastic bucket -- our bathroom, presumably. How thoughtful.

My gaze traveled upward, following a network of pipes that ran along the ceiling. Water pipes, maybe, or heating. They disappeared into the wall opposite the door. A basement or utility room, as I’d suspected.

“Anything?” Clover asked, hope tinging her voice.

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