Page 1 of Redemption

Megan

Prologue

“Do you want another drink?” my friend Lena shouts into my ear over the Swedish House Mafia track. We’ve been dancing for the last half hour to a special re-mix playlist from my favorite band. It’s the first time I’ve been to a club in ages. I was lucky enough to land a prestigious job at a top architecture magazine here in Stockholm, shortly after leaving university. I wanted to concentrate on settling into the job, so for the last six months, my social life has suffered. However, tonight is my twenty-fourth birthday, and Lena wasn’t going to let it pass without a proper celebration. I’m glad I agreed to come although I’m absolutely exhausted now and really need my bed.

“No, I think I’m going to head off,” I say, motioning for us to move to the side of the dance floor where it’s quieter, so we don’t have to shout as much. “I don’t want to stay out too late. I’ve got to go through one of my articles tomorrow to ensure I’ve got everything I need in it.”

“But it’s only one in the morning,” Lena complains, giving me puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I pout back at her. “I’m out of practice.”

“Ok, but we have to make this a regular date once a month, from now on. You promise me?”

“Pinky promise,” I swear and hold my little finger up to allow her to shake it with hers. We both grab our coats and head out into the night. It’s cold, and the air smells like it’s going to snow—it will be the first of the winter season. Lena flags a taxi down. She lives farther away from the club than I do, so she needs the transport to get home.

“You want to get dropped off?” she asks while climbing into the back of the bright yellow vehicle.

“No.” I look up at the sky, and a few flutters of snow fall onto my face. “I’m going to enjoy the snow.”

“Ok.” She shuts the taxi door and rolls the window down. “Make sure you message me when you get home.”

“Will do, make sure you do as well. Thank you for getting me out.”

“No problem. Don’t forget we’re doing this again next month. I’ll be calling you tomorrow to set up a date.”

I shake my head at her as the taxi pulls away.

“Happy Birthday,” Lena shouts out the window and disappears into the distance.

My home is a five-minute walk from the club along a main road. My feet are sore from dancing in high heels, but I’m not bothered. I’ve always loved the snow. I grew up in a small village on the outskirts of Stockholm. Whenever it snowed heavily on school days, we would go outside during our lunch break and make snow angels on the ground. Then when I got home, I’d do the same again. By the time I came in for the evening, I was almost an icicle. I don’t know why I love it so much. I guess it’s the feel of it falling on my face, and the chill in the air. I’m not someone who enjoys hot weather. No, I’d rather have a holiday skiing than sunning myself on a beach somewhere.

I’m almost home when a car pulls up beside me, and I grab hold of my phone just in case.

“Excuse me, Miss?” The female passenger opens the car window and calls out. I stop and turn to the vehicle.

“Yes?” I respond politely.

“I wonder if you could give us directions? We’re looking for The Sparrow Hotel,” the woman asks. I know instantly where she is looking for, and they’re close.

“If you just go down the road a bit farther, you’ll come to a junction. Turn left, and it’s on your right just there.”

The woman sighs with relief.

“Thank you so much. We’ve been driving around for ages, looking for it.”

“Not a problem.” I smile at her and resume my journey home. I’m only a short distance away now, so I retrieve my keys from my bag.

When I came to the city, my parents wanted me to have a decent place to live, so they sold the big house we lived in and gave me half of the proceeds as a loan until I was able to afford taking out a mortgage of my own—I’m pretty certain that will be a while yet, though. I’ve got responsibility in my current role, but I still have a lot to learn, and my pay check reflects that. With the money they gave me, I was able to buy an apartment in a good area.

Pressing my security code into the keypad at the front entrance to my building, I wait to hear the click, signaling it’s been registered, and the door is unlocked. The front entrance requires a code, but I use a key to get into my apartment.

Suddenly, a sweaty, salty tasting hand is thrust over my mouth, shocking me.

“You’re going to be perfect,” a deep male tone whispers into my ear. He’s speaking American English.

I try to struggle against him, but he’s too strong. I’m lifted off the ground and thrown into a vehicle parked nearby. The man gets in behind me, and before I can start screaming for help, the door is shut, and the vehicle speeds away with me in it.

“Who are you?” I shout in English, a language I’ve been learning since I was young. I grab hold of the car door handle, trying desperately to open it, but it’s been locked from the front. So I bash on the window instead, hoping to get the attention of the people flashing past in a blur.

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