Page 84 of Delivered to the Devil

But even though it’s good for me to have a goal to work toward, the despondency and despair sets in every now and then, and I feel myself trembling with fear when my mind ventures into scenarios involving Janos being dead. The fear almost eats me up some days, but when it starts affecting my work and I have to call in sick, I pull myself together, determined to do everything in my power to find him.

CHAPTER 40

“Fear is the Weakness”

by In Flames

Rebecca

After four months of working and saving up—just waiting—I can’t take it anymore. I’m convinced I have enough money to set my plan into motion, so I withdraw every last penny, pack the cash in a bag along with some extra clothes and toiletries, and head to Copenhagen.

I check into a three-star hotel in the center of the Western part of the city for a few days. It costs more than I’d like to spend, but I can’t risk staying at a cheap hostel with a bag full of cash. Plus, I need to be in the heart of the city since my plan requires me to be out late at night, and I need to be able to get back quickly.

Since I returned to Denmark, I’ve had fearless moments where nothing mattered, but since that evening on the beach, the recklessness has been gone. Now I have a goal, and I’ll do whatever it takes to achieve it, no matter the cost. The only risks I’m willing to take are the ones that will help me get there. Tonight will be such a case.

As I leave the hotel on the first night, I’m barely even nervous. All I can think is that I’m one step closer to seeing Janos. I can’t even consider the possibility of him being deadanymore. I need the faith to keep going. I need to believe I’ll once more get to stare into those hard eyes that would soften for me in increments. That I’ll get to be close to him again, feel his powerful presence radiating off him and shielding me from the world. I need to feel his big hands that could easily break me, but offered me comfort and solace instead. I’ll give anything just to have that one more time.

For three nights, I immerse myself in the shadowy side of the city, talking to people at seedy bars as I search for someone who can help me. I’ve never been good with people, small talk, or striking up conversations with strangers. But it turns out that desperation has granted me some much-needed courage. And it works. I end up with two names: a man and the name of his favorite bar.

On the fourth night, I sling my bag with half the cash over my shoulder—I’m not risking it all in case he tries to trick me—and make my way to Mick’s bar in search of a man named Ricco.

My heart pounds as I step into the dimly lit bar on a Monday night. There are not many people here, and I’m about to think I’ll have to extend my stay, so I can be here during the weekend, when I scan the room and find a man who fits the description of Ricco to a tee. Long blonde beard, a bald head, tattooed hands, and a biker logo on his leather vest.

He’s as broad and tall as Janos, but whereas Janos carries his strength with the elegance and ease of a mighty warrior, this man simply looks raw and brutal. Where Janos’s thick muscles ripple gently under his skin, this man’s muscles protrude in bulges and unnatural bumps like he’s on steroids.

This man has to work for it to look big and intimidating. Janos doesn’t—the danger is rooted so deeply within him that his mere gaze reflects it. And that’s why this man looks as good as harmless in my eyes.

If I couldn’t make that comparison, I probably wouldn’t go over to him. But I’ve been face to face with danger much more severe, and my desperation blots out any hesitancy.

My feet move of their own reckless volition, carrying me straight toward the danger. I don’t even falter when he notices me and meets my eyes. Because his eyes aren’t dead like Gabor’s or closed off like Janos’s. In these eyes, there’s life and humor, and it makes me hopeful. Maybe I can actually count on him if he decides to help me.

“Are you Ricco?” I ask when I sidle up to him at the bar.

“That’s me. And what can I do for you, gorgeous?” He runs his fingers over his beard as he scans me up and down with his clear, blue eyes.

“I hear you’re good at getting things across borders.”

“You hear so many things around here,” he replies casually.

Having no time to drag out and play polite, I cut straight to the chase. “I need to get something into Hungary.”

“And what kind of goods does a girl like you need to bring to Eastern Europe? Sex toys and teddy bears?” He casts an amused look at his friend, who gives a laugh and a shake of his head.

I don’t let them get to me. “Me,” I reply.

Ricco bursts out in a deep, rumbling laughter. “You?” he says, like I just told him the best joke of the year. “Can’t you just take a plane like everyone else? Or do you have Interpol on your tail or something?”

“I need to get into the country without anyone finding out.”

“Rent a car, sweetheart. No one cares whether you drive, fly, or run across the border.”

“I’m not taking any chances with border control.”

Ricco turns to his friend. “Do you think she’s a cop?”

“Cops aren’t that stupid. They’d come up with something better. It’s probably just Spike messing with you again.”

Ricco turns back to me, now looking me over with a cheerful smile and an approving nod. “Now, that’s a pleasant surprise, him sending such a tasty little thing my way.”

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