Page 213 of Dance of Defiance
That’s truly all I care about.
He smiles as he pulls me tighter, kissing me again.
“So,” I shrug after we break apart. “Ready to choke down some big wiener schnitzel?”
He erupts in laughter. I grin at him.
“I haveliterallybeen waiting all fucking day to say that, by the way.”
“I’d love to,” he chuckles as he cups my face. “And after that…”
“Yah,” I growl in a truly atrocious Schwarzenegger accent. “You vant somemohrviener schnitzel vor za dessert, yah?”
He cracks up.
I do too.
Then, hand in hand, we walk inside for our reservation.
It’s amazing. All joking aside, the wiener schnitzel is fuckingbanging, the bartender is some hipster cocktail nerd who whips up these trulyinsanemocktails with sage, plum, and egg white in them, and the service is fantastic.
And the company?
Outstanding.
We laugh. We hold hands. We eat alotof sausages and wiener schnitzel. Honestly, it’s quite possibly the best evening of my life.
…Until we walk back across the street to the car, and the van roars up next to us, and the men in black balaclavas jump out, jamming us with tasers.
And then suddenly I'm screaming his name as the bag is shoved over my head, drowning me in darkness.
41
ROMAN
The light blindsme as the bag is yanked off my head. I frantically look left and right, but the harsh glare in my eyes after the last God knows how many hours spent with a bag over my head has me seeing nothing but white spots against an even whiter background. I try to stand, but the rough bite of rope against my ankles and thighs, and at my wrists pulled behind my back, stops me.
Gloved fingers pinch the edge of the tape covering my mouth, and I flinch as it’s torn from my lips.
“VAL!”
His name is the first thing that erupts from my throat. I look around blindly again, my pulse roaring as pure adrenaline and fear careen through my body.
“VAL!”
“Roman?!”
“Val!” I scream when I hear him call my name from somewhere to my right. “Where?—”
I grunt, fireworks exploding in my head as the back of a hand smashes across my mouth. My head snaps to the side, blood spraying from my split lip as I hiss.
I flinch as the hand grabs my chin, angling my face up. The light blazes into my eyes, and I blink against the blinding glare until slowly, I can make out shapes.
People—men—are standing around me, a spotlight angled into my face. I smell cigarettes and vodka, then damp, stale air and the coppery scent of blood.
“Cut him loose.”
A chill rips down my spine when I hear my father’s voice, calm and icy.
