The man is wearing a suit, appearing buff and big, but his face is shadowed and turned away as he drags someone on the ground by the hem of her T-shirt.
Reina.
He’s dragging an unconscious Reina. From the slight view I can get, I make out her battered face and how her lifeless legs slide on the filthy ground.
My muscles turn tight as my fists clench by my sides. How fucking dare he touch her?
I’m about to move when another man emerges from behind the cottage, wiping his hands on his black hoodie. “I got the other one, Boss.” He motions at Reina. “What are we going to do about that one?”
“Use her as bait. There’ll be only one Pakhan.”
Russian accents. Are they the mafia?
What do they have to do with Reina?
This could be about Gareth Ellis’ relationship with the mafia, but they shouldn’t come after his daughter.
Doesn’t matter. I have a fraction of a second before they take Reina away to God knows fucking where.
Reina’s life is mine.
Fucking mine.
No one gets to take her away from me.
I retrieve my phone and search for sounds then hit play on the loudest volume. The sound of sirens erupts in the otherwise calm forest. It’s far away at the beginning but keeps getting closer as the seconds tick on.
Both men freeze.
“Blyad!” one of them yells. “What are they doing here?”
“What are we going to do, Boss?” the other man asks.
“We’ll come back for her. We have what we need.” He kicks Reina away and a whimper spills from her lips.
My fist tightens with the need to snap his fucking neck.
Both of them run around the burned cottage, and Reina remains there, unmoving. I hear the sound of car tires crunching in the distance, indicating that they’ve left.
I jog to Reina and crouch in front of her, keeping the siren audio working.
She’s on her stomach, face down. The fire from the cottage in the distance lights the deep blue bruises on her face and arms. Her blond strands fall on her face, camouflaging her swollen eye and cut lip.
Those motherfuckers.
I stroke the hair off her eye and she whimpers in pain.
Pulling my hand back, I search in her pocket and retrieve her phone. Sure, I could’ve used mine, but I don’t want her to know I saved her.
I’m not her savior. I’m her worst nightmare.
I put the phone to my ear, and a woman picks up immediately.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“A girl has been attacked in the forest at the edge of Blackwood. She’s unconscious but still breathing. Trace her GPS.”
“Who are you, sir?”