Page 101 of Unspoken

"Yes," I grind out between clenched teeth. "And you need to follow my lead."

"Alright," he agrees.

We edge along the wall slowly, crouching low, our weapons ready. When we reach another corner, we halt to a stop and I scan the empty space between the buildings we need to cross. Then I’m counting down from five in my head before we make a break for it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

We spring into action, running toward the cover of the next structure. A round is fired off at us. The bullets soar through the air, buzzing past our ears. The entire building vibrates with the impact of gunshots as we reach it and drop on our asses. I’m thankful for that Kevlar Ivan gave me. Vlad is breathing hard and loud, but his grasp on his Glock is tight and certain. He curses again in Russian, moving his head to the edge.

Before we both know it, another ra-ta-ta-ta comes from the opposite direction. I react instantly, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him to the ground as an angry round bursts justabove us. The wall spits tiny stones onto my back. The vest protects me from most of it. Vlad’s body hits the rough ground with a thud, and I roll on top of him, shielding his form.

We lie there like this for a brief moment until an answering gunfire puts a stop to the wave of enemy bullets.

"That is not what I hired you for, McKenna," Vlad gasps out between ragged breaths when the night quiets around us. "You are supposed to be protecting my brother, not me. That shit is making a dent in my ribs."

I grunt out in response, "I saw an opportunity. I took it." I remove myself from his body. "You’re welcome. And I'll send you an invoice."

He pushes off the ground, all dust and a pissed-off expression. "We will have a conversation when Sasha is back home, safe and sound."

Oh, I’m sure as hell, we will. And I don’t know if I’m looking forward to it.

CHAPTER 34

SASHA

I'm huddled in the corner of this dank basement, weak and hungry, my back against the wall and my eyes are tired from the bare light bulb. My stomach growls, begging for some sort of sustenance. It's been ages since I had that disgusting sandwich Kolya—with his flinty eyes—brought me. The lack of windows makes it impossible to tell how much sodding time has passed.

Could be hours.

Could be days.

Could be weeks.

No, not weeks, I reel myself back from hyperbole in my head's refuge. No person can survive this long on a single sandwich and a single bottle of water. Especially not someone as bloody pampered as me.

Yes, I’m having a moment of truth while in captivity, learning some interesting facts about myself. Mostly that I’m a wimp and a coward.

"Blimey," I mutter under my breath as I shift my gaze from one end of the room to the other. The dusty complexion of rusty pipes crawling uninterrupted across the ceiling becomes maddeningly familiar; they're ever-present yet useless in terms of an escape plan. Anything that might help me to gain an upperhand seems nonexistent in this room. Then, there's Kolya. He’s a statue of muscle, just standing there. His mere presence deadens any flicker of hope for liberation.

He does leave. Twice. The keys he’s carrying on his belt rattle against the metal as he locks the door. He probably retreats to eat, piss, and sleep. Somewhere a lot more comfortable than what I’m offered in this room.

No one else shows up. Not even Shtyk.

Time ticks by and stretches into a continuum of nothingness and I’m starting to go crazy. Where’s my brother? Does he know I’ve been taken? What about Logan? And then I think about Alfie and his guts and brains flying across the parking lot of my former uni in London and I realize that I deserve this—whatever is coming. Yes, I deserve this. I’m the reason my best friend is gone. And dying to make up for it, for this tragedy, is okay.

But on the inside, I’m still scared.

Kolya is gone again and when he returns, I’m barely hanging on. I’m thirsty and hungry and my only thought is food and water. There’s this cloud inside my head. But Kolya doesn’t bring anything with him. Except for the keys and the gun.

"Hey, mate, do you know where we’re at?" I call out to him in English.

Arsehole only glares at me and continues to be a monument.

"I thought I was getting more food," I supply.

Nothing.

I wait a few minutes, then try to strike up a conversation about weather. Less triggering topic. Maybe he’ll speak.

Kolya just stares at me with those weird eyes while I continue asking him random questions. College education, desert flora, latest fashion from London.

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