“It means that if we can get out of this cell, we might have someone on the other side of that door fighting for us.”
My father looks at me for a minute and then nods. “They’ll be in with the slop they call dinner in a few minutes. The guard is a fat man with a bum right eye.”
I grab the pitcher, spill the last of the water under the bed, and hold the hard plastic container in my hands like a boulder. “So, I’ll hit him from the right side.”
My father gives me a look of both surprise and admiration, and then there are footsteps in the hallway. I shove the pitcher behind my back and press myself against the right wall of the cell. Within a minute, the guard unlocks the door and pushes it in, pausing in the doorway.
“Stand back,” he grumbles, his accent thick.
There’s a gun strapped to his thick waist, but he isn’t holding it. Clearly, he’s accustomed to cowed prisoners. As he walks into the room to set the tray of food (Dad was right, it really is slop) in the middle of the floor, my dad nods at me, and I lift the pitcher above my head and bring it down hard on the top of his head.
It’s only plastic, but with all of my weight behind it, the pitcher packs a wallop. The man cries out, falling forward onto the tray of food, a greenish goop spreading across his T-shirt, and before he can right himself, I slip the gun from his right hip and aim it at the side of his head.
“Give me the keys.”
The man narrows his eyes at me. “You wouldn’t.”
I cock the gun. “Try me.”
Without hesitating, the man heaves his large frame off the tray and onto his back. From there, he pulls the key out of his front pocket and hands it to my dad. He whimpers, “Don’t shoot me.”
He’s still trembling on the floor when we slam the cell door shut and slide the bolt into place.
Instantly, my dad grabs my hand. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
“No.” I yank my hand back. “I told you, there’s someone down here fighting for us, and I’m going to fight for him, too.”
“Him?” My dad looks at me the same way he did every time I mentioned a human male in high school—like he’s angry and also might throw up. “Do not tell me you let one of these Russian men fool you into thinking he cares for you.”
“I’m not a child,” I say, hating how much those words make me sound like a child. “And he didn’t fool me. He does care for me, and I care for him, too.”
My dad grabs my shoulders hard and looks into my eyes. “Those Russians are all alike, Bells. I’ve worked with them for years. Whatever that man told you, it was a lie. A manipulation.”
“You would know a lot about lies, would you?” I snap, jerking away from his grip. “Yuri didn’t lie to me. His father lied to him and tried to kill him, and I’m not leaving here without him. Go ahead without me if you want.”
“You know I can’t do that,” he says, shoulders sagging. “Please. We’ll get out of here and call the police. We’ll send someone to look for your friend.”
I shake my head. “He could be dead by then. I’m going to look for him now.”
My dad looks over his shoulder like he’s contemplating making a break for it and leaving me behind, but when he looks back at me, I see the resignation in his eyes. He thinks we’re going to die down here, and he’s choosing that—he’s choosing me—over his escape.
“Lead the way, Bella.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bella
From the outside, the building was an abandoned dentist’s office, but the basement underneath is a sprawling maze of hallways and rooms that stretches far beyond the walls of the office upstairs. Ivan must have expanded the basement and built onto it, because it’s a full-blown compound.
“Do you know where you’re going?” my dad asks, sounding more nervous than he did a few minutes before.
I don’t want to tell him the truth that I’m so turned around we could be headed to the roof, but I also don’t want to outright lie to him. “I think we’re getting close.”
“To what?” he asks, looking over his shoulder down the hallway to make sure we aren’t being followed.
This time, I decide not to answer at all. It’s easier that way.
The hallways are all empty, and I assume it’s because Ivan had all of his men gathered in one room for his showdown with Yuri. He really does enjoy a dramatic moment, and lucky for us. It makes it a bit easier to roam aimlessly around the hallways looking for Yuri when there aren’t Society members milling around.
I stop at every corner, peering around with my gun held upright close to my chest, ready to aim and fire should the need arise, and then we run. I glance in open rooms as we pass and press my ear to closed doors, but I don’t hear or see anything. Part of me wonders if everyone hasn’t vacated the premises. They locked up me, my father, and Yuri, so maybe they called it quits for the day. Maybe they put in a good eight hours and went home to sleep, leaving the keeping of the prisoners to the fat guard I incapacitated with a plastic pitcher. Possible, but unlikely.
When we reach the end of another hallway
