Page 49 of Crystal Wrath
I work quickly but quietly to free my other hand and then my ankles. Once I'm loose, I turn my attention to Amelia's bonds. Her wrists are in worse shape than mine, the rope having bitten deep enough to draw blood. But I manage to work her free within minutes.
We sit in the growing darkness, rubbing our wrists and trying to restore circulation to our hands and feet. Neither of us speaks. We both know that our captors could return at any moment.
I move to the door, pressing my ear against the rough wood. I can hear distant voices, but they're far away, maybe on the ground level of the structure or even outside. The building feels empty around us, but that can be deceptive.
The windows are our best bet. I test the shutters, looking for weak spots. One of them has a loose board that I can work with my fingers. The wood is old and soft, with signs of rot, and after several minutes of careful prying, I manage to create a gap large enough to see through.
We're definitely on stilts, maybe fifteen feet above dark water. The structure extends in both directions, suggesting this is part of a larger building or complex. In the distance, I see lights that might be on the mainland, but they're much too far away to swim to.
Below us, I spot a small boat tied to one of the pilings. It's nothing fancy, just an old fishing boat with an outboard motor. But it might be our ticket out of here if we can reach it.
I turn back to Amelia, who's watching me with desperate hope. I put a finger to my lips, then lean close to whisper in her ear.
“There's a boat below us. We need to get down there quietly.”
She nods, her face pale but determined. We've come this far. We're not giving up now.
And somewhere out there in the darkness, I know Renat is coming for us. I don't plan on dying here. Not without a fight.
16
RENAT
Sergey's voice is low, gravel scraping against panic as he steps into my office. I barely register the words at first, too focused on the flickering screen in front of me, a security feed from one of our waterfront warehouses. The numbers on the manifest blur together as I review tonight's shipment details, my mind still replaying the conversation I had with Elena this morning. Her stubborn insistence on returning to work. The fire in her eyes when she challenged my authority. The way her lips parted slightly when I kissed her goodbye, soft and yielding despite her protests. But then I hear the phrase that obliterates everything else.
“They've taken Elena. And Amelia.”
The glass in my hand doesn't just fall to the ground. It shatters in my grip, shards slicing into my palm, blood mingling with the vodka that drips onto the floor. Crystal fragments scatter across the Persian rug like deadly diamonds, catching the light from the brass lamp on my desk.
I don't even feel it.
I rise from the leather chair, the air turning sharp around me, every breath laced with fury. The office suddenly feels too small, the walls pressing in as rage builds in my chest like a nuclear reactor reaching critical mass. My hand throbs, but it's distant, meaningless next to the storm raging inside me.
“Who did it? Bennato?” I demand. My voice is low but lethal. Sergey flinches despite himself, his green eyes flickering with a hint of fear. Good. He should be afraid. Everyone should be afraid right now. “Tell me exactly what you know.”
He launches into the report, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to deliver the information. Elena gave Yavin the slip at the newspaper building, using the bathroom window while he watched the front. She meets Amelia at a café three blocks away. Then Bennato's men intercept the girls inside the establishment, using sedatives and one of our own SUV models to throw off suspicion. They disappear into Miami's sprawling network of side streets and back alleys before anyone in the café could call 911 or intervene. Surveillance cameras lose them as they head south toward the waterfront district.
It was quick, clean, and professional. That is exactly what I would expect from Francesco Bennato.
I move to the bar cart against the far wall, my movements deliberate despite the fury coursing through my veins. Blood drips steadily from my palm, leaving a trail of crimson dots across the marble. I wrap a white towel around my bleeding hand, pressing hard enough to make the cut sting. The pain grounds me and keeps me focused when every instinct screams to tear the city apart brick by brick until I find her.
Blood seeps through the pristine fabric, warm and sticky against my skin. I don't stop pressing. The physical discomfort isnothing compared to the ache in my chest, the hollow feeling that opened up the moment Sergey spoke Elena's name.
Memories come unbidden, sharp as the glass that cut me. Elena's voice in my foyer this morning, angry but still vulnerable as she argued for her right to continue working. Her slender fingers gripped her laptop while she avoided my gaze. The soft curve of her shoulder beneath my palm when I pulled her close. The way her body melted against mine despite her protests, her defenses crumbling for just a moment before she rebuilt them.
Her eyes flashed with determination when she told me she wouldn't hide. The stubborn lift of her chin reminded me why I fell for her in the first place. The taste of her lips was soft and sweet with a hint of the coffee she'd been drinking. The small sound she made in the back of her throat when I deepened the kiss, half protest and half surrender.
The look on her face when she challenged me and trusted me just enough to let her guard down and show me the woman beneath the professional facade. Fierce and beautiful and absolutely uncompromising in her pursuit of the truth.
I crush the memory before it softens me. Right now Elena needs thepakhan, not the man who's falling in love with her.
I turn to Sergey, who's been watching me with the wary attention of a man who's seen what happens when I lose control. “I want every contact we have burning through the night. I don't care who you have to call, how much it costs, or what favors you have to cash in. Every informant on our payroll. Every rat in the gutter who owes us a debt. Every corrupt cop and crooked politician in our pocket. Find out where Bennato is keeping them.”
He nods, already pulling out his phone, fingers flying over the screen as he starts making calls. “What about our people? Should I pull them back from the docks?”
“No.” I unwrap the towel, examining the cuts on my palm. They're deep but not serious; the bleeding is already slowing. “Keep normal operations running. I don't want Bennato to know we're coming until we're kicking down his door.”
Sergey's expression darkens. “I'll get the teams ready.”
