After one ring, my father answers, his voice quiet but intense.
“Yes?”
“Dad, it’s me.”
He senses the desperation in my voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Men took me. They tied me up and—”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Some ship, I think. They had us tied up, but we managed to escape, and—”
“Who’s with you?”
“What?”
“Who is with you?”
“Her name’s Brooke. Her father’s stationed on the island, too.”
“What’s his name?”
“Dad, aren’t you listening? We’re in danger! You need to call the police. You need to—”
“Holly”—my father’s tone is way too calm for the current situation—“what’s Brooke’s father’s name?”
“Daniel Heller. He’s a colonel. Dad, you need to call the—”
“Holly, stop talking.”
This catches me off guard. “What?”
“Let me talk to the girl.”
“You mean Brooke?”
“Her name isn’t Brooke.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know everyone on the base, Holly. There is no Colonel Heller.”
Forty-five minutes to go.
Sixteen
I don’t know when it happened, but Brooke’s sobbing has quieted. She’s gone completely silent.
I turn, wondering if she’s still beside me, and yes there she is, but the terrified girl who I’d known these past couple hours is now gone.
“Brooke?”
She punches me in the throat.
It’s not a hard punch—it doesn’t crush my larynx—but it still has enough force to cause me to lose air.
I drop to my knees, let go of the phone as I reach for my throat.
Brooke snatches the phone midair—she has the reflexes of a ninja—and stands back up straight, places the phone to her ear.
“I’m not going to draw this out,” she says, and her voice no longer sounds the same. Now it’s accented with Russian. “We want what you stole in the next two hours or we will kill your daughter.”
I look up at Brooke again—is that even her real name?—but she doesn’t even bother glancing at me. It’s as if I’ve become an afterthought despite the claim that they’ll kill me if they don’t get what they want.
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” she says into the phone. “We haven’t hurt her yet, and if you want it to stay that way, you will get what we want in two hours or the only thing that you’ll find left of your precious daughter will be her head. We will call you back in an hour for your progress.”
She snaps the phone shut, looks at me for the first time.
“I guess we’ll see how much your father loves you.”
I glare up at her but say nothing. Not that I don’t want to say something—I very much want to tell this girl where to stick it—but my voice box is momentarily out of service.
“My real name is Veronika, by the way. I would say it is nice to meet you, Holly, but you have been a real pain in the ass.”
I smile up at her, try to speak for the first time.
“Everybody has to be good at something.”
Veronika says, “You surprised us. We assumed you would buckle under the pressure and call your father the moment we told you to do so. But you did not, even when we threatened to hurt you.”
“Like I said, I’m a stubborn bitch.”
“When you first refused, we assumed you knew the truth about your father. And yet we still did not hurt you because those were our orders. Under normal circumstances, we would tear out your fingernails one at a time. Then we would break your fingers one at a time. Then your hands. If we would need to continue, we would, but typically girls your age do exactly what they’re told after the first or second fingernail is torn off. But you … you are different.”
I smile again. “I am a precious snowflake. Now what’s this about my father?”
“Your father is a killer.”
The absurdity of this statement makes me want to burst out laughing, but Veronika’s face remains impassive.
She says, “Your father stole something from my employer. One of the men with him was shot and left behind. We knew the man’s life was worthless—your government would take no accountability for him—so we tortured him. He gave us your father’s real name and where he was currently stationed before we ended his life.”
“This is crazy. My father is only a sergeant in the Army.”
Veronika laughs. “You know nothing about who and what your father is. Poor, poor dear.”
I’m still on my knees, my shoulder against the wall. “Can I stand up?”
“Certainly. It will make it easier to take you back to where we kept you before. Grigory will not be happy with the beating you gave him.”
Grigory? Shit, and I was really starting to like the sound of Dolph as the asshole’s name.
Leaning against the wall, I rise to my feet. I study Veronika’s swollen face.
“You let him beat the shit out of you just to try to get me to call my father. Why?”
“Our employer doesn’t want you harmed. He has children of his own. He knows that if you are harmed, your father will retaliate against him.”
“So you let Dolph turn your face to hamburger.”
“Dolph?”
“Grigory, I mean.”
“I’ve been through worse, and it would be much worse for me if we failed. Now let’s go. Do not make this any harder than it has to be.”
“You literally told me thirty seconds ago that you aren’t supposed to hurt me.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we won’t hurt you if we have no other choice.”
“Do you honestly think I’m just going to go back willingly? You don’t even have a weapon.”
Veronika smiles. “Do you want me to punch you in the throat again?”
“As fun as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.”
“Then let us return to the room.”
I issue an overdramatic sigh. “Fine,” I say.
I step toward her—and stab her in the stomach.
The switchblade has been in my right-hand pocket this entire time. I pulled it out after Veronika throat-punched me and I’ve held it ever
