sister -- no offense -- then all that remains to sacrifice is his bastard son."
Nazarov nodded. Dima had a sickness in him. The pain of others was his entertainment.
"Please," Alina whispered. "You see now why you have to let me go. Bogdan cannot take my place in Dima's plan."
"He will fucking kill you!" Nazarov screamed, his hand shooting out. He tore the papers from her grip and began tearing them up with each new word that came out of his mouth. "First he'll have them beat you. Rape you. Stab you. They will cut off toes and fingers, make your tongue a stump."
When the child's drawings were reduced to confetti, he looked at Simon for confirmation. "You listened to the tape, the one recorded in King's hotel? You heard Dima's instructions?"
His face drained of all blood, Simon nodded. "Your brother was quite explicit in his instructions. He wanted it recorded on video so he could watch it later."
"Doesn't matter," Alina mumbled right before she tumbled unconscious to the van's floor. "I died a long time ago."
Chapter Twelve
Russia - present day
Alina woke in a shabby room, the smell of borscht drifting under the door confirming she was still in Russia. Hearing the light play of fingertips over a keyboard, she rolled onto one side and saw the back of the Englishman they called Simon.
He wore a headset and he spoke into its microphone. "She's awake."
Covering the mouthpiece, he glanced over his shoulder and tossed a nod at the ice chest next to the bed. "Get yourself something to eat and drink."
She didn't care about food or water. Her thoughts were consumed with Bogdan -- her son.
And Mishka, though she wished she could forget him.
Sitting up, she reached for one of the water bottles, discreetly testing its weight in case she needed to smack the Englishman upside his skull. At little more than sixteen wobbly ounces, she didn't think it would phase him, so she cracked the seal on the cap and took a long drink.
Her voice cracked when she spoke. "How long was I asleep?"
Maybe there was still time to undo the terrible mistake these men had made in trying to help her.
Simon lifted a single finger. She thought for a second he was signaling an hour, but that was too short. A day was too long.
Realizing he was ordering her to silence, she shifted along the mattress until she could see his computer monitor. Green and red images moved on one half of the screen, with images from night vision cameras filling the other half. An iPad was propped up next to him, its display showing thermal views.
"To your right, ten feet and closing," he said.
"What -- what is this?" she demanded, jumping to her feet.
"Sit," he ordered, his voice like a dagger buried in the softest down. "You don't want me to make any mistakes on this. I assure you."
Her ass hit the mattress at the same time her mouth slammed shut. Her gaze scanned each image on the computer and tablet. One of the dots was neither red nor green -- it was blue and represented a body far smaller than the rest that showed on the thermal, where another blue dot appeared over his head.
Bogdan -- her son was that little blue dot and all the other people in the building, red or green were armed and ready to kill.
"No, please," she croaked, but the Englishman had blocked her voice out. His ears were attuned only to the communication stream from the headset and any movement Alina might make to stop him.
One of the red figures dropped and stopped moving. A green one stood almost directly over him. The red man offered one last jerk as a bullet entered his head and then the green man moved on.
Adrenaline flooded her blood. She lunged for the small wastebasket with the condoms and vodka bottles the last tenant had left behind and unloaded the contents of her stomach.
"Please, who is green?"
He didn't answer. Looking at the display again, she drew her own conclusions. The Rodchenko thugs were red because a red dot hovered over the man holding Bogdan. By his height and
Nazarov nodded. Dima had a sickness in him. The pain of others was his entertainment.
"Please," Alina whispered. "You see now why you have to let me go. Bogdan cannot take my place in Dima's plan."
"He will fucking kill you!" Nazarov screamed, his hand shooting out. He tore the papers from her grip and began tearing them up with each new word that came out of his mouth. "First he'll have them beat you. Rape you. Stab you. They will cut off toes and fingers, make your tongue a stump."
When the child's drawings were reduced to confetti, he looked at Simon for confirmation. "You listened to the tape, the one recorded in King's hotel? You heard Dima's instructions?"
His face drained of all blood, Simon nodded. "Your brother was quite explicit in his instructions. He wanted it recorded on video so he could watch it later."
"Doesn't matter," Alina mumbled right before she tumbled unconscious to the van's floor. "I died a long time ago."
Chapter Twelve
Russia - present day
Alina woke in a shabby room, the smell of borscht drifting under the door confirming she was still in Russia. Hearing the light play of fingertips over a keyboard, she rolled onto one side and saw the back of the Englishman they called Simon.
He wore a headset and he spoke into its microphone. "She's awake."
Covering the mouthpiece, he glanced over his shoulder and tossed a nod at the ice chest next to the bed. "Get yourself something to eat and drink."
She didn't care about food or water. Her thoughts were consumed with Bogdan -- her son.
And Mishka, though she wished she could forget him.
Sitting up, she reached for one of the water bottles, discreetly testing its weight in case she needed to smack the Englishman upside his skull. At little more than sixteen wobbly ounces, she didn't think it would phase him, so she cracked the seal on the cap and took a long drink.
Her voice cracked when she spoke. "How long was I asleep?"
Maybe there was still time to undo the terrible mistake these men had made in trying to help her.
Simon lifted a single finger. She thought for a second he was signaling an hour, but that was too short. A day was too long.
Realizing he was ordering her to silence, she shifted along the mattress until she could see his computer monitor. Green and red images moved on one half of the screen, with images from night vision cameras filling the other half. An iPad was propped up next to him, its display showing thermal views.
"To your right, ten feet and closing," he said.
"What -- what is this?" she demanded, jumping to her feet.
"Sit," he ordered, his voice like a dagger buried in the softest down. "You don't want me to make any mistakes on this. I assure you."
Her ass hit the mattress at the same time her mouth slammed shut. Her gaze scanned each image on the computer and tablet. One of the dots was neither red nor green -- it was blue and represented a body far smaller than the rest that showed on the thermal, where another blue dot appeared over his head.
Bogdan -- her son was that little blue dot and all the other people in the building, red or green were armed and ready to kill.
"No, please," she croaked, but the Englishman had blocked her voice out. His ears were attuned only to the communication stream from the headset and any movement Alina might make to stop him.
One of the red figures dropped and stopped moving. A green one stood almost directly over him. The red man offered one last jerk as a bullet entered his head and then the green man moved on.
Adrenaline flooded her blood. She lunged for the small wastebasket with the condoms and vodka bottles the last tenant had left behind and unloaded the contents of her stomach.
"Please, who is green?"
He didn't answer. Looking at the display again, she drew her own conclusions. The Rodchenko thugs were red because a red dot hovered over the man holding Bogdan. By his height and
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