I cling to him and then begin to press frantic kisses to his face, his throat, anywhere I can find skin. I’m so relieved to see him. I knew he’d come back for me, but knowing and seeing are two different things—and in the long minutes when I was trapped, naked, in Hudson’s sex prison, I worried that my luck had run out. That there would be no happy ever after for me.
Naomi makes a disgruntled noise at our hugging, so Daniel reluctantly pulls away, dragging me to my feet after him. His hand clutches mine tight, and I’m so glad. Then he releases it and offers me a gun, which makes me almost as happy.
He goes back to Naomi and looks his sister over. She cringes, wrinkling her nose as he hugs her close again and touches her, looking for bruises. “You’re okay, Naomi? You’re not hurt?”
She holds up a finger. “I have a paper cut.”
He laughs, and for a moment he looks so relieved that I want to laugh, too. “No, I mean, did these assholes hurt you? Did they touch you?”
“I don’t know why you’re discounting my paper cut,” Naomi says, disgruntled. “It’s quite deep.”
Daniel leans in and gives her a rough kiss on the cheek. “I love you, you nut. You know that, right?”
“I’m fine,” she says in a softer voice. “If that’s what you’re asking. No one has hurt me.” She puts her hands out and begins to straighten Daniel’s clothing, adjusting his collar and smoothing a wrinkle out of his sleeve.
“Thank God.” He seems to visibly deflate for a moment, and then he looks over at me. “Come on,” he says. “We need to get out of here. We’ve got one more guy to find, and then we’re busting out of this turkey farm.”
“This is not a turkey farm,” Naomi says, a furrow of concern on her brow. Her fingers dance along the brim of her cap again, apparently a nervous reaction. “This is an extremist compound. And if they find out I’ve escaped, they will kill Mom and Dad. I can’t leave.”
“They’re not going to kill anyone, Naomi. I promise.” Daniel’s words are so confident, even I believe them. “Now, come on. We have to get out of here.”
But Naomi hesitates, then shakes her head. She turns back to her desk and begins to straighten things, as if a tidy room will stop the anxiety she’s feeling. “I can’t leave. I can’t. Everyone gets hurt if I leave.”
Daniel casts his sister an exasperated look when she sits back down again and then moves to my side. “You okay, fighter?”
I nod, unable to do much more than that.
“Good. Okay. Stay here and shoot anyone that comes through that door unless it’s me or Petrovich. Hell, shoot Petrovich. I don’t give a damn. Keep yourself and Naomi safe and don’t worry about Petrovich. All he cares about is finding the hacker.”
“Here,” Naomi calls from her desk. She raises her hand as if we’re in class.
Before Daniel can say anything in response, a massive form fills the doorway, and we all turn, pointing our guns there.
It’s Petrovich, and for a moment, my finger itches on the trigger. He’s got blood splattered on his face, and he’s wearing the same ridiculous waiter uniform that Daniel is. Except on his enormous body, it’s tight over the arms and looks as if he’s been stuffed into it. Not much of a disguise. He’s got a gun held aloft, and there’s a wild look in his eyes.
“We need to leave right now,” he says in that ominous, deep voice.
“Good-bye,” Naomi says from her workstation, and her voice is sad.
“Did you find the hacker?” Vasily asks.
“Here,” Naomi says again and raises her hand. She doesn’t look at either man, just goes back to typing.
“Naomi’s the Emperor,” I whisper to Daniel, moving closer to him as Petrovich pushes his way into the room. “She’s the hacker. They’re the same person.”
“I know.” He sighs.
“Then she is mine,” Vasily says in a satisfied voice. To Naomi, he says, “You come with me.”
“Now wait a goddamn minute,” Daniel begins.
Naomi stands up, eyes Petrovich in that weird, not-quite-looking-into-your-face way of hers, then reaches out and straightens his collar. “I’m not going with you.”
DANIEL
“Can we fucking talk about this later?” There’s no way my little sister is going with that fuckhead Petrovich. I’ll kill him myself if I have to, but I need his muscle to get out.
“There is a caterer’s truck that is stalled, and they have abandoned it. Come now,” Petrovich orders.
“Go.” I gesture toward the women who, after a stalled pause, scamper after Petrovich as he barrels down the hall. We race toward the cellar space beneath the kitchen. Petrovich is first up the stairs. He fires two shots and then curses. When his magazine tumbles down the steps, I realize he’s out of bullets.