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So yeah, I know what being roofied feels like.
Hana grimaces as she looks around. “Where the hell are we?”
I take a deep breath, looking around more carefully. The room is mid-sized, maybe twenty by twenty feet. But with no windows and barely any light, it feels suffocating. The walls are rough-hewn stone, cold and damp to the touch. Chains hang at the far end of the room, set into the stone like something out of a nightmare. The air smells stale, musty.
Old.
“It looks like some kind of basement or bunker,” I say, my voice hollow. “Or a bomb shelter, maybe.”
“Or a prison,” Hana mutters, her eyes scanning the room. She’s still pale, and I can see fear in her eyes even though she’s tryingto hide it. I feel it too, crawling up my skin, making my chest tighten.
Then I hear it—a low, pained groan from somewhere in the far, dark corner.
I instinctively reach for Hana, pulling her closer. The shadow in the corner shifts, moving, and my breath hitches in my throat.
“Who the fuck is there?” I hiss.
For a long, agonizing moment, there’s nothing but silence.
Then, a voice—hoarse and broken—rattles out from the corner.
“Freya?”
I blink, stunned.
“Freya? Is that you?”
The figure in the corner stirs again, and finally, the dim light from the hanging bulb catches it enough to reveal the face. I gasp, scrambling to my feet, my mind spinning in disbelief.
It’s fuckingKir.
“Oh my God!” I rush to his side, dropping to my knees next to him.
Jesus.
He looksterrible—pale and bruised and weak, so unlike his usual powerful, lethal self. I glance down at his body, my eyes widening when I see his torn shirt and blood staining his side.
“Freya—” Hana is right next to me, yanking off her cardigan and tucking it gently under Kir’s head.
“What the fuck happened?!” I blurt. “How are you even here?!”
Kir groans, trying to sit up, but then winces, clutching his side where the blood has seeped through.
“Last thing I remember…” His voice is strained. “My SUV was hit. Isaak…” His jaw grits. “Isaak was shot. Then they took me and everything started to go black.”
I stare at him, horror washing over me. “Whotook you?”
He winces, his breathing labored. “Krvi i Novca,” he grunts. “Blood and Money. Serbian mercenary outfit. At least, I think that’s who it was. Pretty sure I recognized the unit tattoo on a few of them.” His eyes darken. “And they might be the only motherfuckers crazy enough to accept a job that involves takingme.” He grimaces as he looks up at me. “They’re hardcore. Whoever hired them has solid connections, and deep pockets.”
My mind spins, trying to process it all. How the fuck is this happening? Who would want to take Kir, Hana, and me? My chest tightens as I take another look at Kir, my heart thudding in my ears.
“You’re hurt,” I whisper to him, my hand trembling as I touch the bloodstain on his shirt. “You need medical help.”
Kir shakes his head weakly, his expression stoic. “I’ll live.”
I look between him and Hana, the weight of our situation settling over me. We’re trapped in some basement or bunker, with no idea who took us, or why. Does anyone even know we’re missing? Have we been gone long enough for them to realize?—
I frown as I glance back at Kir. “Wait. You were in New York?”
