Page 41 of Beloved Sacrifice

“And if you take me back to the U.S., I’ll be executed. Alive and kidnapped is better than dead.”

Marek’s straight brows made a single dark line above his nose, his frown was so ferocious. “What are you talking about?”

“The Grand Master didn’t tell you? I’m a traitor. I burned down a building, nearly blew up the headquarters, and tried to murder three people.”

Marek stared at her. “You’re…joking?”

“Nope.”

Weston was walking down the hill. He stopped at her side. “I’m taking both of you back to the cottage. You have two choices—I can put you in the trunk of the car, or you can walk.” There was anger in his tone, and maybe some hurt.

Get in line.

But she knew when to bite her tongue and accept her beating. She started trudging her way to the cottage. Halfway up, she looked over her shoulder. Marek was back in the car, slowly and carefully turning the car around. Weston stood on the high ground, the gun trained on the other man.

Weston kept the gun trained on the car as Marek drove slowly back the way he’d come, then turned left into the driveway.

Rose took a seat on the front step and picked gravel out of her cut up legs. She watched them—Weston keeping his gun on Marek. Marek’s gaze was moving, switching from Weston to the road in front of him.

Marek parked the car then carefully climbed out, his hands up. Weston stopped where he could keep them both in sight.

“Open the door and go inside, Rose.”

She stood and opened the door.

“Follow her,” Weston said.

Rose turned to watch Marek precede Weston into the small house.

“Kitchen,” Weston said.

Rose led their fucked-up little parade into the kitchen.

“Open that door.” Weston motioned with a small jerk of the gun. Rose opened the narrow interior door. It was dark, but she reached in and found the string to a bulb.

There was a narrow, steep staircase down into the cellar

“Empty your pockets,” Weston demanded.

She looked over her shoulder at Weston, but she couldn’t read his expression. The man who’d held her while she’d wept, who’d walked her through the web of secrets and information, was gone. When she looked back, all she saw was a hard, scarred man, with no mercy on his face.

Marek calmly set a wallet, passport, and cell phone on the kitchen counter.

“Rose, pat him down.”

“Am I your prisoner or your accomplice?” She tipped her head to the side in exaggerated mock confusion.

His face was a stony mask. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Language,” Marek chided.

Rose and Weston looked at Marek, who regarded each of them calmly. Some of the tension eased out of Weston.

“What were your orders?” Weston asked Marek.

“To find Ms. Hancock and rescue her from her kidnapper.”

“I’m not her kidnapper,” Weston snapped.

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