Page 145 of Morally Corrupt

"You knew about this?"

"You're slow, Hastings."

"You're telling me you knew what she was up to, and you fucking let it happen?" I'm getting too heated. What kind of sick friendship is this?

"I let it happen?" Vlad scoffs at me. "I don't think you realize that there's no letting anything happen with Bianca. She's always going to do things her own way. I merely accommodated her so it would be safer."

Even I have to admit that Vlad is right in one respect. No one can stop Bianca from doing something she wants.

"How?"

Vlad sighs and informs me of his arrangement with one of the guards at the Block, assuring me that until the auction, Bianca would be taken care of.

"And after? What if it doesn't work? Anyone can buy her. Don't tell me you haven't thought about that."

"The odds are in her favor," Vlad answers simply.

"The odds? What's this, a lottery? We're talking about the safety ofmy wifehere.Your friend."

"So, now she's your wife again? Interesting."

"Vlad!"

"Let me put this differently. Given all the known variables, the probability that Bianca's going to be sold to Jimenez is higher than her being sold to a random person. I don't expect you to understand."

"You know what? I'm sick of your half-truths and omitted information. I don't know what you're after, but from now on, leave Bianca and me out of it."

"If that's what you want…" He chuckles. "Don't worry about Bianca. She can take care of herself."

He hangs up, and I hurl the phone into the nearest wall, watching it splinter.

I go back to where I parked the car and resolve to wait around until I know the auction is over, then hope that Bianca can get out of whatever situation she's in.

Maybe I can even intercept her while she's being moved by her buyer?

Too many thoughts go through my head at the same time. The precariousness of the situation makes me entirely too anxious.

I drive around, at some point, stopping to get some food and water. She might be thirsty or hungry or both… I also get a few energy drinks for myself, already foreseeing a late night. A few miles later, it again dawns on me that she might be injured or sick. I find the closest Walgreens and buy everything I can possibly think of.

The cashier gives me weird looks as I keep on piling things at the checkout, including bandages, saline water, superglue, pain killers, some paracetamol, and some ointments. I'm basically buying one of each.

After I pay the bill, I head out with two full bags, loading them in the car's backseat for easy access. I look at my watch and see it's just a little bit after one a.m.

Remembering the schedule from the night before, I loiter around the abandoned factory again, parking somewhere close but out of sight and driving around every half hour.

* * *

I sip my energy drink, checking the time almost every five minutes. It's well into the night that I hear gunshots coming from the direction of the factory.

I immediately start the car and drive in towards the noise. As I get closer, I see another car opening fire at someone running on the other side of the highway before having its tires shot down. I don't know how, but I know for sure that it's Bianca they're shooting at.

Without even thinking, I reverse my car and go on to the opposite lane. The closer I get to the moving figure, the more horrified I am by her condition. She's wearing a black jacket over a white dress that almost reaches the floor. She's virtually limping as she trudges her way forward. She recognizes my car as she stops and changes direction, coming straight at me.

I stop by the road and open the passenger door. She jumps in, and I drive at full speed, hearing more and more bullets aimed at us.

I don't know how I manage to avoid all the shots, but somehow, I do. When I'm out of range, I keep driving around to make sure no one follows us. I exit the highway and do a few rounds within a neighborhood before parking at a gas station.

As I stop the car, I'm breathing hard. The shock of what just happened still hasn't worn off as I raise my hands and look at my trembling fingers.

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