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“No. He’s refusing.” I couldn’t believe I was actually saying those words. It was a fucking key. It would cost the man nothing to hand it over but for whatever reason, he treasured it more than his son’s life.
“He’s refusing to get his son back?” Viktor made an irritated noise. Something thumped in the background, like he slammed his fist against something hard.
“He won’t give up the key,” I repeated. “So now what? If we go back to the bank and force our way in, they’re going to know the emeralds are gone.” Which defeated the entire fucking purpose of trying to be stealthy about it.
Viktor swore under his breath. “Maybe you should cut something off his son and send it to him. Let him know you’re serious.”
The thought of permanently depriving Roan of any of his appendages made my stomach inexplicably sour. “I don’t think that would convince him. He seemed pretty certain.”
“We’ll let him think on it for a few days. When his son doesn’t return home, he may have a change of heart.”
“Yes, sir.”
A few more days?
A few more days watching Roan? Being in the same space as him? Dodging his questions and the beseeching look in his brilliant blue eyes?
Sure. No problem.
9
Roan
The next daya guy about my age showed up with a grease-soaked paper sack in hand.
Unlike the tattooed guy from last night, this one opened the door just enough to throw the bag in and yanked it shut again. And unlike the other guy, I stood a much better chance against this one, which he probably acknowledged as well. We were the same height and roughly the same weight. I knew by looking at him I’d be able to outrun him.
“Thank you,” I said automatically.
He made a face, clicking the lock shut. “You’re welcome?” Yes! An answer! His accent was strange, foreign. It seemed familiar, like German or something, and I was eager to keep him talking.
“I’m Roan.” I didn’t want to freak him out and chase him off, so I stayed where I was instead of retrieving the food. “What’s your name?”
Licking his lips, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Ivan.”
Ok. So, Russian? Something Eastern European.
“Do you know why I’m here, Ivan?” He started to turn away, so I got to my feet quickly and held a hand out, like that would help. “No, wait! Please. I won’t ask you about that. Just don’t go. Please?”
Shockingly, he paused and turned toward me again. He eyed me warily, which was simultaneously amusingandconfusing since I was the captive here. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“Says who?”
Heavy steps thundered across the warehouse, silencing whatever Ivan was about to say. I stood tall, waiting to come face-to-face with the tattooed guy again. In lieu of an actual name, I’d dubbed him Mr. Black, trying to bring some sense of order to this fucked up situation.
Except, it wasn’t him. It was a different tattooed guy with slicked-back blond hair and a big, gold cross around his neck. The new guy cracked Ivan upside the head so hard it mademewince and snarled at him in another language.
In that moment, I was teleported back to the bank. Every feeling of fear and helplessness I had that day flooded through me again. Everyone always talked about “Fight or Flight,” but they didn’t mention the third option — “Freeze.” That, sadly, is what my body chose to do then, like it chose to do right now. Not that I could flee anywhere or successfully fight anyone while locked in a goddamn dog cage.
At least now I knew why Mr. Black seemed so familiar. It was his eyes, the only part of him that’d been visible that day beyond his obvious size. A blue so pale and shocking against black lashes, they almost looked inhuman. Eyes like that were wasted on an asshole like him.
But why the fuck would a group of bank robbers come back a month later to kidnap me? Me?! I didn’t even work at the fucking bank! If they were going to kidnap any Sinclair, why the hell didn’t they go after my dad? He was the one with more money than he knew what to do with. Mom and I were just ornaments in his life — easily replaceable when lost or broken.
I didn’t have the chance to ponder my circumstances for long.
Ivan said something quickly and hurried away, holding the side of his head.
The blond man stormed up to the kennel and slammed his fist against the chainlink. “Don’t fucking talk to him or anyone else. Got it?”
