My arms are heavy from trying to get free and he’s already faster than me. I need to end this now.
I lunge forward. As he ducks, trying to get under me to avoid my fists, I thrust my knee up into his head. He recoils. I grab him by the throat, thrusting him against the beam. My fingertips dig into his throat.
“Tell me where Ally is,” I hiss. “Or I’ll tear your throat out.”
I apply more pressure, feeling the muscles tighten in his neck. I loosen my grip when his lips try to form words.
“I’ll tell you,” he chokes out. His eyes flicker behind me. I start to turn, but an arm hooks around my neck, pulling tight like a noose. The other hand is close to my ear, fingers pressing against the back of my skull, telling me it’s a rear-naked choke, which is far from ideal. I back up quickly, slamming the other man’s back against the wall, but it barely loosens his grip. I try to ram him into the wall again, but he’s prepared this time.
As his grip tightens, Marco hurls forward, hitting me so hard against the head that the rear-naked choke loosens from my momentum. I jerk forward, grabbing onto Marco, but before I can hit him, the other man punches me in the back of my head. I fall to my hands and knees. Marco kicks my ribs over and over, lightning strikes of pain coursing through me. The other man stomps down, putting his weight into the attack, but it can’t compare to Marco’s rage.
Time sneaks in and out of my perception. At times, I hear my mother screaming. In others, I see Ally breaking down in Renovate boutique.
All the people I let down. All the people I couldn’t save.
“Cuff him again,” Marco’s voice floats through the disorientation. Hands grab me, dragging me until I feel the support beam behind me. The cuffs snap back onto my wrists, a final victory.
A hand wraps around my throat.
“Before you die, I don’t want you to think you won,” Marco hisses. “I didn’t want to kill you yet because I have other plans for that.”
He releases my neck. I hear his footsteps, moving away from me.
“Prepare the disposal site,” he tells the other man.
Footsteps.
Door opening and closing.
Silence.
I let the pain rip through me. I let it take over until my body can’t take it anymore.
22
Allison
Funny the things you remember when you’re tied up. Literally.
18 U.S. Code 1201 floats through my mind—the federal statute pertaining to kidnapping. It can lead to life imprisonment and, if the victim dies, it can lead to the death penalty in certain states.
This is not reassuring to most victims, especially when the victim wakes up in a bedroom next to two dead bodies and is informed by a large kidnapper that they were the house’s owners.
The cloth gag is damp against my tongue, but the dry sections still cut into the corners of my mouth. The cable ties press my wrists so tightly together, I can feel a patch of sweat between them behind my back. They’re tied to more cable ties, tethering me to the leg of a bed.
I glance over at the two dead bodies, my only companions now. After hearing thumping noises over and over, the kidnapper ran out of the room. I thought I heard Lev earlier, but I haven’t heard him again, which could mean that whatever gas they gave me caused me to hallucinate or he’s dead.
I look away from the dead bodies. Imagining Lev, his skin turning gray and his heart beating one last time, a panic is set loose in my chest. He’s chaos and brutality, but I need him—for those things, but also for his control and his compassion.
For his love.
I try to slide my wrists out of the cable ties for the hundredth time. They only cut into the heel of my hand more. I try to pull the bed forward, using my weight, but it doesn’t budge.
My eyes flick up as the doorknob turns. I wait.
It’s not the kidnapper. This man is younger, smaller, with a swollen nose, a black eye, and contusions splattered across his face.
He walks behind me, crouching down. There’s a faint snapping noise and the cable ties are gone. He grabs under my arm and jerks me up onto my feet.
“It’s time for you to play your part,” he mutters. “And you better not fuck it up.”
He shoves me toward the door. I stumble and let myself fall. He sighs, leaning down to grab me again. I lunge my elbow back, but I can’t move far with my restraints. It barely grazes him. He grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me as close to his face as possible. I stomp at his feet, but he only pulls me up further, so my toes barely touch the ground.
He hurls me against the doorway. The corner of it jabs into my back. I fall back onto the floor.
“Get up,” he snaps. “If you try something like that again, I’ll kill you and your boyfriend.”
Hope surges within me. Lev is still alive.
I get onto my knees, then my feet. The man points me forward, directing me down a pair of stairs. I walk sideways to avoid falling down. My eyes watch my feet, so when I reach the bottom of the stairs, the first thing I notice is the blood spatter all over the floor.
When I raise my head, I see Lev.
I only have this man’s assurance that Lev is alive, but it’s hard to imagine considering how messed up his face is. His whole face is one mottled bruise. His eyes are closed, his head lolled on his shoulder. Blood ripples across the front of his shirt like a macabre necklace.
I start walking more quickly, knocking down a chair as I sprint toward him.
