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“Everyone ready?” Alaric asks.
“Let’s do this.” Cyrus beams. He’s always ready for anything that entails a fight. If The Purge was an actual event, Cyrus would do a year-long countdown in anticipation of the big day. I should be worried about how much he likes carnage.
The limo pulls up to an abandoned warehouse. It looks like an area that was booming at one time, but all that remains is abandoned warehouses and industrial plants.
I survey the area as we exit the limo to see if there’s any way they can infiltrate us. I can’t see any people, and only one car is in the parking lot.
Zeke startles me as he grabs my hand, his fingers squeezing. “It’s gonna be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you or Mona.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t let anything happen to Mona or me.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eye like usual. “You know it’s not sexist for a man who loves you to want to take care of you, right? It’s not like I’m asking you to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.”
We all approach the decrepit cement stairs leading to a steel door. Alaric tugs the metal handle, and the door opens. A simple tug. No security, no codes.
I shiver as the stench of vomit and piss assaults me. Fear clutches at my throat, making it hard to breathe. “This is where they’ve kept my sister?”
As the words leave my lips, I see all the blood. I don’t want to pay these men and go on my merry way. I want them to suffer. Mona is privileged to pay to get out of this circumstance, but what about the other girls these monsters abduct?
I squeeze Zeke’s hand, and he lowers his ear to my mouth. “He has to die.”
I don’t know when I decided that death is an acceptable outcome for certain people. It sure wasn’t from my mother, who firmly believed in tolerance. Even with all she went through, Nasrin Baran demonstrated the virtue of mercy.
But I don’t.
Forgiveness isn’t possible for those who have no issue harming others. Men who rape, steal, torture, and kill can’t change. All they can do is fake it until they’re convinced they have society fooled. Men who use religion as a tool for corruption cannot be allowed to obtain power. Divinity becomes a weapon in their arsenal, powerful enough to brainwash the masses.
Alaric halts at a large door. Two men with semi-automatics strapped to their backs talk into a walkie-talkie before opening the doors.
“Alaric,” says a thin man with a goatee and greasy hair. He stands from his chair and raises his hand for Alaric to shake.
“Not sure if pleasantries are warranted, Marcus,” Alaric sneers, refusing to shake the man’s hand. “You kidnapped someone important to me. I’m sure you realize that this altercation means the end of any business deals my organization has with yours.”
Marcus laughs. “Dear Alaric, with the money I’ll be gaining today, I could buy your organization ten times over.”
“Let’s cut the bullshit,” Lev says as he opens the briefcase.
“That’s not the amount we agreed on,” Marcus says in disgust. “Where is the rest of it? This is a quarter of a million at most.”
“No suitcase in the world could house that amount of paper bills,” Lev states. “We have your Cayman account, and we’ll wire the rest of the money once the girl is returned to us safely.”
“Levinston Cartwright, I assume?” Marcus asks. “Your parents threw wonderful events with the best party favors. Such a shame you didn’t continue their legacy.”
Lev’s back stiffens, and his eyes go blank. That same look he gets when he’s touched. I want to jump in front of him and stab Marcus until his body goes limp and falls on the floor at Lev’s feet.
Lev looks away from Marcus and shuts the briefcase, regaining his composure. “Yes, well, my parents’ interests and mine differ drastically. Now, I suggest we forgo discussions about the past and continue with our negotiations.”
Marcus laughs and pulls out his phone. “Bring the girl in.”
A large man bursts through the door with my sister. She looks good and has no visible markings. Her eyes are alert, and her hair and clothes are clean.
I free myself from Zeke and run to her, wrapping my arms around her tight. “Joonam.”
Tears fall from Mona's eyes as she returns my hug. She keeps saying sorry in Persian. Mote’as-sefam.
“Shh. I’ve got you. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’ve got you.”
“As you can see,” Marcus says, “the girl is fine. So how about you wire that money, and we can all be on our way?”
