Page 19

He struck me. My vision flashed white.

“Adriana!” my father shouted.

I tasted blood. The man seized my throat.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

His grip tightened. My lungs strained. The room blurred around the edges. Behind him, my father dragged himself onto his knees.

“Leave her alone.”

The man looked over his shoulder.

“Tell me where it is.”

My father stared at me. His face was already swelling. Blood coated his mouth and chin. One eye had begun to close. Still, he looked at me as though I were the only person left in the room.

“I destroyed it,” he announced.

The man released my throat. Air tore into my lungs.

“You destroyed it?”

“Yes.”

A fist struck my father across the face. He fell sideways. The man followed him down and hit him again. And again. Each blow landed with a sickening thud. My father lifted his arms, trying to protect his head, but there were too many of them. A boot struck his stomach. Another drove into his back. Someone kicked his hands away from his face as the next fist landed.

I screamed until there was no voice left in me. I begged. I promised them anything. I told them I would find the drive. I told them I would give them whatever they wanted. They didn’t listen.

My father tried to rise again. They knocked him down.

“Betrayer,” one of them spat.

A boot struck his ribs.

“Thief.”

Another kick.

“Traitor.”

My father’s body jerked beneath the blows. He stopped trying to cover himself. His arms fell to the floor.

“Please,” I sobbed. “Please, you’re killing him.”

The man nearest me looked over.

“That’s the idea.”

My knees gave way. The man holding me hauled me upright by my hair. My father heard me crying. Somehow, through the pain, he turned his head. His gaze found mine. The beating had changed his face, but his eyes were still his. Brown. Gentle. The eyes that had watched me take my first steps. The eyes that had searched every crowded room until they found me. The eyes that had softened whenever I called him Papa, even when I was angry. They held me now. He looked at me as if he could still protect me with nothing but that gaze.

One of the men grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him onto his knees. My father could barely hold himself upright.

“Last chance,” the man said. “Where’s the drive?”

My father swallowed blood as he looked at me.