Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“Is okay,” I grunted.
“I need your help to get her back,” said Radimir. “You’re the only one I trust.” And he told me about meeting Bronwyn, about Spartak’s nightclub and the exchange at midnight. “I’d need you on the next plane,” he said, then took a deep breath. “Will you help?”
Back in with the Bratva. Walking into a trap. A good chance I’d be killed. Of course I wouldn’t do it.
Except for a friend. “Yes,” I told him.
I’d wandered down the hall to Gabriella’s study. She was sitting in the dark, as she always did, but her keyboard and mouse pulsed scarlet and she had the text on the bank of monitors in front of her set to amber so she looked like some sorceress, bathed in light from a river of lava and fire. I leaned against the wall for a second and just gazed at her. She’d never looked more beautiful. Then she saw me out of the corner of her eye and looked curiously at my phone. Who is it? She mouthed.
“And your hacker girlfriend, Gabriella,” asked Radimir. “We could use her help. Could she come along, too?”
“She’s my wife, now,” I told him, gazing into Gabriella’s eyes. “And if I know Gabriella, she’ll insist.”
65
BRONWYN
The car pulled up to the curb and stopped next to a long line of people. The temperature was well below zero and it had started snowing again: I could see women in short skirts pulling their coats tight around them as they waited to get into the club.
Beside me, Spartak leaned close. “We’re going in, now. Walk right in front of me. Try to run and I’ll snap your neck.”
I nodded mutely. I’d spent the afternoon locked in a side room at some sort of warehouse. When I’d tried to make a break for it, he’d hit me so hard I saw stars. I’d managed to slip the switchblade into my bra, but it wasn’t much use now: they’d handcuffed my wrists behind my back.
Spartak and his two bodyguards climbed out of the car and then hauled me out, Spartak pulling me back against his chest so that no one could see my cuffed hands. They walked me straight past the line and up to the door, where the bouncers nodded respectfully and waved us in. I saw now why Spartak had wanted to do the exchange here: everyone but us had to walk through a metal detector to get in. When Radimir came, he’d be unarmed and defenseless. And he would come. I’d heard Spartak’s phone call, and I knew Radimir would make the trade: his life for mine. Then Spartak would kill us both.
One of Spartak’s bodyguards opened a set of heavy doors ahead of us and a wall of sound slammed into us, pummeling my ear drums. The bass was making the floor jump and tremble under my shoes and all I could see ahead of us was a claustrophobic crush of bodies, silhouetted by sweeping lasers and smoke.
Spartak pushed me forward, into the crowd and across the huge room. For a moment, I thought I might be able to slip away into the crowd, but he killed that hope instantly, gripping the chain of my handcuffs and twisting it in his fist so that my wrists ground painfully together. We were so close, I could feel his breath on my neck. He used me as an icebreaker, pushing me through the sea of people ahead of him, and it was terrifying: when you’re pushing through a crowd, you naturally use your hands to pry people apart and make a path. But my hands were trapped behind me, so it was my face and chest that touched people first. I got elbowed in the face three times, and two guys took the opportunity to “accidentally” brush against my breasts.
I tried to get my bearings. The club was huge, with one massive, hexagonal dance floor downstairs and at least three floors of balconies and smaller VIP rooms looking down over it. Right at the top of the building, I could see a glass-walled room that overlooked everything. The place had a run-down, seedy feel: the carpets were sticky from spilled beer and the place stank of weed. I could see people openly popping pills and it felt like there were way too many people there for it to be safe: every balcony and bit of floor was crammed. The worst thing, though, was the atmosphere. In some clubs, everyone’s caught up in the music, riding the same natural high as the DJ plays the crowd like an instrument. Even around strangers, it feels like you’re part of something. But here, there was an undercurrent of nervous, twitchy energy. Women moved around in groups, thumbs over the mouths of their beer bottles. Men leaned against pillars and walls, watching, waiting, moving in when they saw a woman on her own. The place felt unsafe.