Page 85 of Ten

Myfirsthelicopterridewas nothing like I had expected. It had always been on my bucket list of things to do. Usually right underLOSE ONE HUNDRED POUNDSandGO TO HAWAII. I had seen plenty of videos on social media of tourists riding helicopters around Hawaii or other tropical locales. I wanted to do that someday.

If I survive tonight...

That seemed less and less likely as the helicopter stayed in the air. Wherever we were going, it wasn’t nearby. Even if Ten and the others had survived the shootout and the fire, they were so far behind I wasn’t sure they could catch up in time. If they did manage it, then what? Another shootout? More death?

Please be alive, Anton. Please be okay.

I had the same thoughts for Ilya and Eric and even scary old Kostya who Holly loved more than anything.

Holly.

Did she know? Was she sitting next to Savannah, scared out of her mind that Kostya was dead? Would she blame me? Could she ever forgive me for being the cause of so much hurt? I was the reason the salon had been vandalized and burned. Now, I was the reason her man was hurt—or worse.

The tears on my face felt cool with the rush of night air swirling in the cabin of the helicopter. My feet hurt so badly. They throbbed and stung, and a pool of blood had gathered beneath my injured soles. I desperately wanted to bend down and pick out the glass and splinters, but I worried that one move would earn a slap.

The men surrounding me ignored me completely, their faces hidden behind their tactical masks. Their efficiency with their weapons convinced me they were professionals. These men would kill me and move right on with their lives as if I was nothing more than a bug in their way to be crushed.

Where are we going? Why did they take me?

This wasn’t about Kiki. There was something else at play, something I couldn’t even fathom. Whatever it was, if I didn’t figure out what they wanted and quickly, I wasn’t going to see the sunrise. As much as I wanted to get lost in self-pity and call myself a curse, I didn’t actually want to die.

I have to fight.

I want to live.

I wanted to cuddle up on Ten’s couch and listen to him read one of his favorite books while Wilford sat behind us, flicking his tail and purring.

Wilford.

Of everyone who had been in the house when the attack started, Wilford seemed the most likely to have survived without a scratch. I had watched him stalk enough frogs and crickets and run from a loose dog in our neighborhood to know he could book it when necessary. He was a villainously smart cat, and he would have gone straight outside the first chance he got. Hopefully, he was hiding up a tree somewhere, waiting out the danger.

The helicopter made a sudden turn, and I clutched at the hard metal seat where I had been installed. We swooped left and then right before the helicopter dipped down and leveled off. My stomach pitched wildly, and I was sure I would be sick if the pilot did any crazier maneuvers.

Slowly, the helicopter lost altitude in a controlled descent. We touched down finally in the middle of a pasture. The rotors were still spinning fast as the men spilled out of the contraption. Two of them hauled me up by my arms and forced me to jump. I landed awkwardly on my bloody, injured feet and cried out in pain.

“Hush!” A man snarled in my face. He grabbed the back of my hair, and I knew from his grasp it was the same man who had captured me in the cabin. I scurried to keep up with his quick pace as he rushed me across the pasture to a waiting SUV. I was shoved inside, a hand slapping my ass in the meanest way, and I fell forward onto the middle seat.

Hissing in pain, I lifted my throbbing feet off the floorboard. I could feel the jagged bits of glass and splinters poking from the bottoms. Desperate and ready to accept whatever punishment was doled out, I lifted my left foot onto my right knee. All those Pilates classes finally came in handy, and I was limber enough despite my size to do what needed to be done.

Carefully, I picked out the glass and splinters I could feel. There were smaller ones embedded too deeply, but I managed to get the worst ones. I switched feet, hissing and biting back whimpers with each chunk of glass or wood I pulled from my skin. I had two pieces to go when the doors to the vehicle opened again and men started to climb on either side of me. I hurriedly plucked those last two shards of glass and tossed them behind me with the others.

Gingerly, I lowered my bloody feet to the floorboard and placed my dirty, grimy hands on my knees. Squashed between the two intimidating men, I tried not to move or even breathe too loudly. I wanted to sink into the upholstery and disappear.

I wasn’t that lucky or magically gifted.

The man who seemed to like pulling my hair now sat on my right. He kept his fingers curled in my hair, winding the strands around his fingers. I clenched my teeth, refusing to cry out and show him how much he was hurting me. I blocked out the nasty, racist shit he said to his friends about my hair.

I hope Ten beats the dog piss out of you.

I glanced surreptitiously in the man’s direction, using the flash of light from the driver opening and closing his door to memorize details about my tormentor’s uniform. His exposed forearms revealed tattoos, one of them a set of lightning bolts and the other a strange skeleton head that gave me big white supremacist vibes.

Of course.

I sank inside myself, going into a calm, quiet place where I was safe. I remembered all the mantras and affirmations my therapist had taught me over the years.

I am strong.

I am brave.

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