Page 157 of Raven

I’m sure it has to do with my father, and it makes me mad.

“Hold her,” Skiba says to one of his men and passes me to him. A different gun is pressed to my head, the other man’s arm around my neck.

Skiba licks his lips as he trains his scowl on Raven and approaches him slowly. His gun is in Raven’s face. Raven’s gun is still holding another guy hostage.

Skiba motions with his finger. “Pass me the gun, let my guy go, and no tricks. And I’ll make sure that she is not shot.”

The guy holding me chuckles in my ear and drags his gun over my cheek, the cold metal scratching my skin.

Rave’s eyes catch his movement, and slowly, he lets go of the guy, pushing him away, then obeys Skiba’s signal and slowly sets the gun on the ground and straightens up.

“Good, good. No tricks, is that clear?” says Skiba, pointing his gun at him, then motions to his man.

The guy approaches Raven from behind. In a flash, a chain is thrown around Raven’s throat and yanked, throwing all of Raven’s weight back. It’s yanked so tightly, that Raven doesn’t have a choice but to sink to his knees, trying to hold the chain that starts tightening around his neck with his fingers.

Skiba swings his hand and hits Raven’s head with his gun.

I scream.

Raven grunts, a streak of blood instantly running down his temple while another of Butcher’s thugs runs up and ties Raven’s hands behind his back.

“Now!” Skiba shouts to Ayana guards. “You either call off the flying fucking saucers”—he motions to the drones—“or I shoot his chest.”

In seconds, the drones fly away.

It’s quiet, eerily so. Over a dozen of us on both sides standing in this fucked-up standoff. Raven is tied, a chain around his neck, on his knees, bleeding. But no one is coming to help.

Raven struggles with the chain collar. “Let her go, and we can talk, and you can do whatever you want,” he rasps.

“You are trash, Raven,” Skiba snarls. “Look at you, kneeling for me.”

“Let her go,” Raven asks, his voice raspy as the chain cuts into his throat.

Skiba burps out a nasty chuckle. “I figured we’ll jump on the Tsariuk action and get the reward for his daughter.”

“What you’ll get is Tsariuk putting a bullet in your head.”

In a second, Skiba’s hand swings, my insides clenching when he sends a punch into Raven’s face.

I whimper in helplessness.

“Now, let’s do this again.” Skiba sniffles. “How about we all go for a ride to Port Mrei? We can do a public hanging of you, Raven. Oh, Butcher would love that.”

“Let her go, or someone will hang you and everyone else in town.”

The kick into Raven’s ribs is so loud and hard that my breath cuts off at the sight of him closing his eyes, his mouth open in a silent gasp, because he can’t bend in pain, the chain holding him upright on his knees.

Another thud follows as Skiba sends a blow into Raven’s face, leaving it bloodied.

My eyes burn. My heart is ready to burst.

“Stop,” I whisper, then repeat it louder. “Please, stop. Tell me what you want for his freedom.”

60

RAVEN

Pain is my friend. It’s the best cure for emotions. And it cuts off my anger, if only for a short while as blood gurgles in my nose. A warm trickle of it runs down my lips and chin. Blood is in my mouth. I swish it and spit it onto the ground, raising my eyes at Skiba

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