Page 24 of Macon

ME: No. Getting on a plane. Text when I can.

There, that should hold everyone off for a while. When she fires back her response, I sigh in relief.

VI: Be Safe. *kiss emoji*

“Here you are, Ms. Walker,” the hostess says, handing me my bill and placing the food on the counter.

I power down my phone. That way, no one can get ahold of me or track my phone.

“Thank you,” I say, paying with cash.

Grabbing my food off the counter, I head back to the room. Concentrating on my dinner, I approach the hotel room, unlock it, and push open the door with my shoulder.

The big suite has a kitchen and dining area and is an attached room. I place the food on the counter and begin to unload it when the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I look up to find three very large men in my room.

I scream, dropping my plate of food onto the counter. My instinct is to run, but these men never are alone. I already know there’s a man at the door. Running only makes them more mad—or excited, depending on how sick the fucker is.

“What the fuck!” I say, clenching my jaw and the counter as I try to stay calm.

“Ms. Walker?” the man sitting down asks in a thick Russian accent.

I survey the room before answering. “Yes. And who might you be?”

The man smiles, but his smile doesn’t make me feel happy. Instead, it makes my heart speed up. He radiates everything bad and dangerous.

“I’m Mr. Peshkov,” he replies, but when I don’t react, he crosses his leg over his other like he’s getting more comfortable.

My heart is racing, and I try not to show fear.

I unclench the counter and cross my arms, asking calmly, “Mr. Peshkov, may I ask why you’re in my room?”

He tilts his head back slightly, chuckling. When I don’t join in, he waves his hand toward me. “Come sit with me, kyo?ode. I want to chat.”

What the fuck? Did he just call me cutie?

I hesitate but eventually do as he says and walk to the living area across from the kitchen. I eye the room and notice a man standing at the door. Four men, along with Mr. Peshkov, are around the room. I’m not getting out of here unless they want me to.

I sit across from him and try to get comfortable but fail horribly. He watches and studies me with a smirk on his face.

He leans forward when I don’t say anything, placing his forearms on the chair’s arms. “Do you know who I am?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You just told me you’re Mr. Peshkov.”

His lips pursed together, irritated. “Yes, but do you know who I am?”

I stay seated, not saying a word.

He smirks like the devil himself and continues, “I see. Now if you were Cindy, you know I don’t like a smart mouth.”

Oh my God. They know Cindy.

Pure fear washes over me, and I try to hide it when I reply, “Well, I’m not Cindy.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know who you are, Raydene.”

Tears slip down my face. Fucking Dexter. This is all his fault. They found me. I’m going to die today.

Past ~ 1 week earlier

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