Chapter 46

46

Freya forced her eyes to stay fixed on the closed laptop in front of her, fighting the urge to look at the man who held her life in his hands.

She wasn’t wearing a watch, but she guessed it had been a few hours since the helicopter had touched down on the sweeping lawns of Korolov’s estate. Armed men had marched her through ostentatious rooms and up a curved staircase, their boots echoing against the polished floors. They’d secured her to the chair, then left her alone—letting fear do their work for them.

Books surrounded her. Floor-to-ceiling shelves of leather-bound volumes. First editions, from the look of them. Rare collections. A reader’s paradise transformed into a prison.

Korolov lounged in a high-backed leather chair across the antique desk between them, his long fingers drumming the leather desktop as he gave instructions on the phone. Behind him, an open hearth cast his shadow long across the thick carpet.

Heat from the fire pressed against her face like a thick blanket.

It was hard to breathe.

To think.

Once she opened that laptop and he had what he wanted, her usefulness would end. And so would she.

Plastic ties secured her ankles to the chair legs. There was wet warmth where they had rubbed her skin raw and her shoulders throbbed from being manhandled during the helicopter journey. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the wretched pull in her chest when she thought about Abe.

Her throat ached with words she’d never said. Simple words like “Don’t go” and “I love you.” All her life she’d kept her distance, built walls with professionalism and protocol, told herself it was safer that way. Now the weight of everything she wanted to say to Abe pressed against her ribcage like jagged stone.

The memory of his last touch, fingers pressed against the small of her back, sparked across her skin. Such a tiny moment. Would she have done anything differently if she’d known it would be the last?

The threat of tears stung her eyes. She had to forget Abe. Had to forget the safety she felt in his presence, the connection that had built between them without either of them noticing.

Now was all that mattered.

“It’s time for you to unlock your Pandora’s box, Jonsdottir.” Korolov set his phone down with deliberate calm, and gestured toward the computer.

Freya blinked back to the present moment, her brief mental escape shattered. With trembling hands, she opened the laptop’s security case. Blue light swept across her face—the computer’s imaging system confirming her identity even as she prayed it wouldn’t.

Korolov walked around to her side and gripped her shoulder with one hand. His fingers dug through muscle and tendon, pinching the nerves and sending a blaze of agony down her arm.

She gasped, eyes watering.

A soft oiled click and the cold barrel of a gun pressed against her temple. “Just in case you need some extra motivation to not do anything stupid.” His voice was dark velvet, promising endless pain.

She swallowed, her heart threatening to break free of her chest, her lungs refusing to give her air.

Think Freya. Think.

She was out of time, but a sliver of hope remained.

The kill switch.

She could still make a difference. She just had to access the switch without Korolov realizing what she was doing.

The digital keypad was smooth under her fingertips.

Gunfire erupted from outside. Gunfire?

She didn’t dare hope it was Abe and his team. How would they have found her?

The harsh chatter of more gunfire sounded. This time in the house. Downstairs?

His gun bumped against her temple as Korolov tensed. She squeezed her eyes tight, waiting for it to go off.

Instead, he spoke to the two men guarding the inside of the library door. “Whoever that is. Go end them.”

The men nodded and then were gone. It was just her and Korolov now.

He bent low so his mouth brushed her ear. “Don’t think that your friends are coming to save you because they are not. My men will eradicate them like the vermin they are and you will give me what I want now.” The safety on his gun released with a soft click under pressure from his thumb.

Freya hit the cursor and the screen shimmered. She pressed her forefinger to the digital keypad and waited for the secondary measures to confirm access approval.

The device beeped. Access granted.

Code scrolled.

The gunfire escalated, and then an explosion of shattering glass and the thunder of a car engine.

“What the—” Korolov stalked across the room to the window. He continued to aim his gun at her, and her legs were tied to the chair, but he was no longer watching what she did.

Her hands flew over the keyboard, accessing the kill switch that would wipe the archive.

“What the fuck?” Korolov spread one hand flat on the dark glass, his attention still outside.

Nearby, the car engine revved, followed by the screech of metal tearing and men shouting.

What was going on?

Abe and the others? Fox? Leo?

She hadn’t thought it possible. How would they have known where she was and to get here in such a short space of time? But who else could it be?

The screen flickered, and a dialogue box appeared.

Do you wish to delete all files associated with the Central Archive?

The cursor blinked. Waiting.

She’d made her peace with the consequences. This laptop and its contents had been her responsibility and she had allowed it to fall into the wrong hands. She couldn’t contemplate what a ruthless weapons dealer would do with this if he could put it on the black market. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

But this was months of work. Painstaking detailed work. Hours and hours?—

Fuck you, Korolov.

She hit delete.

The screen went black.

Korolov looked over at her, his eyes dark. Did he sense it? Did he read it in her eyes? She didn’t dare breathe.

“What have you done?” Korolov crossed the room in a split second. He spun the laptop to face him. The screen was blank save for one line of text.

Archive deleted.

His face warped. “You bitch.” His gun smacked her temple and pain cracked through her body. She fell sideways, hitting the floor, her mouth flooding with blood.

“You fucking bitch.” He lifted the case and threw it across the room, where it shattered against the wall.

So much pain caused by one machine, and it was over just like that. Reduced to microchip boards and processors. Meaningless tech.

Freya pushed up from the floor on shaky arms. Her vision blurred on one side. When she touched her head, there was a pulpy swelling where there should be smooth bone. Nausea rippled within her.

Korolov faced her, his mouth skewed in a snarl. Fury burned in his eyes as he aimed his gun.

Freya closed her eyes. She wouldn’t let him see how scared she was. I’m sorry Abe.