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71. Chapter 71

71

Wren

T hirty minutes. Feels like an eternity of ice-cold sandpaper grinding against my fucking spine. Where's Alex? What's Elena doing to him? My mind's racing like a horse on crack, every goddamn second stretched thin as tissue paper.

Damn cunt. They better not lay a finger on my kid…

I can hear water dripping somewhere,

Plop, plop, plop.

That fucking water's gonna make me lose my goddamn mind.

My mind keeps racing back to Alex, his little face streaked with tears. Lenny, trying to act tough even when I could see the fear in his eyes. Em, my baby sister, probably scared shitless. And Dad… Fuck, even that old drunk doesn't deserve whatever these assholes are doing to him.

I strain my ears, trying to listen for anything. A cry from Alex… Oh God. Please, God, no. Shit.

Am I really praying now?

Fuck it.

Hey, big guy upstairs, I know I haven't been the poster child for sainthood. Hell, I've probably broken every commandment twice over. But if you're listening, just… just keep my kid safe, alright? I'll go to fucking Sunday school or whatever. Just don't let these bastards hurt Alex. Or Em. Or Lenny. Even John, the miserable old fuck.

A loud clang snaps me out of my thoughts. The cell door at the end of the hall creaks open.

Boots. Heavy ones. Grunting. Sounds like a herd of pissed-off bulls is coming my way.

I push myself up, legs cramping from sitting so long. Gotta be ready for whatever bullshit they're bringing.

The footsteps get closer. Two, no, three pairs. Great. It's a fucking party.

"Hey there, princess," one of them calls out in English. "Ready for some fun?"

I don't answer. Just glare at the bars, waiting.

A face appears. Fucking hell. This guy looks like he was put together with spare parts. Nose crooked from too many breaks, a scar running from his left eye to his jaw. His eyes, though… cold and empty. Shark eyes.

He grins at me, showing off a mouthful of gold teeth. "Not very talkative, are we?"

I spit at the bars. It doesn't reach him, but the message is clear.

He laughs, his yellowed teeth glinting in the dim light.

"Ay, mudak! " the other guard barks from somewhere behind him. "Get back here. Boss will kill you if the bitch tries anything funny."

I can't help but sneer. "Aw, scared I might bite? Don't worry, I've had all my shots."

Spare Parts flips me off, then shuffles back to his post. I slump back down, my legs grateful for the break. The concrete's still cold as a witch's tit, but I've got bigger problems.

Time crawls by. The dripping water's still driving me nuts, but now there's a new smell cutting through the mildew—cigarette smoke. These assholes are having a fucking smoke break while my family's God knows where.

I strain my ears, catching bits of their conversation in Russian. Thank fuck for Grandpa Sergei's drunken lessons.

"The young girl in the next cell is a real beauty," one of the assholes says. "Blonde, right? A shame to waste her just sitting there."

My stomach drops. No. No fucking way.

"Em, I think they called her," the other one grunts. "Wonder how long until Zimniy or Elena give us the go-ahead. She'd be fun to break."

Red fills my vision. Em. My baby sister. These fuckers are talking about—

Breathe, Wren. Don't lose your shit. Not yet.

"Elena's too busy playing mind games with the boy," the first guard mutters. "But the minute she's done, maybe we'll get a turn with the little blonde."

I taste blood. Fuck. I'm biting my cheek so hard I might chew right through it.

"Hey!" I call out, my voice cracking like I've been gargling glass. "I… I can't do this anymore. I'll talk."

Silence. Then, the scrape of boots on concrete. I strain my eyes, peering into the dim hallway. Two shadows detach from the wall, moving toward my cell.

"What was that, princess?" Spare Parts calls out, his ugly mug coming into view. "You got something to say?"

Ugly's right behind him, hand resting on his holster. Smart boy. Too bad it won't save him.

I force myself to my knees, legs shaking. Not all an act; I've been sitting on this frozen fucking floor for hours. "I said I'll talk, you deaf prick. But I want… I need to know my family's safe."

They're both at the bars now, Spare Parts grinning like he's won the lottery. Ugly's eyes are narrowed, suspicious. Good. Let him be suspicious. Won't change a damn thing.

"Oh yeah?" Spare Parts leans in, his breath hot on my face. It reeks of onions and asshole. "And what makes you think we give a fuck about your family?"

I bow my head, shoulders slumping. The perfect picture of submissive defeat. "Because I know where D is. But if anything happens to them, you'll never find him," I lie.

That gets their attention. Spare Parts and Ugly exchange a look. Bingo.

"Where?" Spare Parts demands, pressing closer to the bars.

My fingers inch toward my boot, heart hammering so hard I'm sure they can hear it. "Closer," I whisper. "Can't risk anyone else hearing."

He leans in further, eager as a dog sniffing ass. "Tell me, bitch."

I look up, meeting his eyes. "Right here, motherfucker."

The knife flashes out, slicing across Spare Parts' face. He reels back, howling, blood spraying from the gash.

"Fuck!" Ugly shouts, fumbling with the keys. The lock clicks and the cell door swings open with a rusty screech.

I'm already moving. Spare Parts is on his knees, clutching his face. I dive past him as Ugly raises his gun.

The shot cracks through the air, missing me by inches. My shoulder slams into Ugly's gut, driving the air from his lungs. We hit the ground hard, the gun skittering across the floor.

Adrenaline's pumping through my veins like rocket fuel. Ugly throws a wild punch, but I'm faster. My fist connects with his throat. He gags, eyes bulging.

I scramble to my feet, grabbing a fistful of his hair. His head meets the cell bars with a sickening crunch. Once. Twice. Three times.

He goes limp, sliding to the floor in a boneless heap.

Spare Parts is still conscious, moaning on the ground. I turn to him, knife glinting in the dim light.

"That was for my sister, you piece of shit," I snarl, driving the blade into his gut. His eyes go wide, a choked gasp escaping his lips as I twist the knife.

I'm panting, covered in blood—some mine, mostly theirs. My hands are shaking, but I force them steady. No time for a fucking breakdown now.

I stumble out of the cell, my legs shaking like a newborn colt's. The hallway stretches before me, a maze of shadows and flickering lights. The stench of piss and fear hangs thick in the air, making my stomach churn.

"Fuck," I mutter, wiping blood from my face with the back of my hand. It smears across my skin, hot and sticky. "Get it together, Wren."

My ears are ringing from the gunshot, but I strain to listen for any sign of movement. Nothing but the distant hum of machinery and my own ragged breathing. I grab Ugly's gun from the floor, checking the clip. Three rounds left. Better than nothing.

I start moving, keeping low and close to the wall. Every step sends jolts of pain through my battered body, but I grit my teeth and push on. Alex needs me. Em, Lenny, even that sorry drunk John—they're all counting on me.

The corridor seems endless, doors lining both sides like tombstones in a graveyard. I try each one, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure it'll burst right out of my chest.

Locked. Locked. Fucking locked.

Then I hear it: a muffled sob. My breath catches in my throat. I know that sound. Em.

I press my ear against the next door, straining to hear. There it is again, followed by a low groan that could only be John.

"Em?" I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Lenny? You in there?"

"Wren?" Em's voice, thick with tears. "Oh God, Wren, help us!"

I jiggle the handle, but it's locked tight. "Stand back from the door," I growl, raising the gun.

The shot is deafening in the narrow hallway. The lock shatters, and I kick the door open, nearly falling into the room.

The stink of blood and sweat hits me like a truck. Em and Lenny are tied to chairs, their faces bruised and swollen. John's on the floor, moaning, his leg bent at an angle that makes my stomach lurch.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I breathe, rushing to untie them. My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely work the knots. "What did they do to you?"

Em's sobbing now, relief and fear mixing in her tears. "Wren, they took Alex. Elena has him.

Ice floods my veins. My vision narrows to a pinpoint, the edges going black. No. No, no, no.

"Where?" I demand, my voice a feral growl. "Where did that bitch take him?"

Lenny speaks up, his voice cracking. "I heard them say something about the main office. Up one floor, I think."

As soon as I touch him, he lets out a gut-wrenching howl that makes my skin crawl. His knee's a mess, bone poking through torn flesh, blood oozing onto the concrete floor.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter, trying to steady him. "John, we gotta move. Can you stand?"

He grits his teeth, tears streaming down his weathered face. "Don't think I got much choice, do I?" he grunts, his breath reeking of cheap booze and fear.

As I work on untying Lenny and Em, my ears prick up. Something's not right. "Where the hell are all the guards?" I ask, glancing towards the door. "This place should be crawling with Zimniy's goons."

Lenny shakes his head, wincing as the movement pulls at his bruised face. "Don't know. They all rushed out a while ago. Heard a lot of shouting, gunfire maybe."

As if on cue, a muffled explosion rocks the building, followed by the unmistakable staccato of automatic weapons fire. It's distant but getting closer.

"Jesus," Em whispers, her eyes wide with terror. "What's happening out there?"

I shake my head, focusing on getting the last of the ropes off. "Don't know, don't care. Our ticket out of this hellhole, maybe. Let's move."

We shuffle toward the door, Lenny supporting most of John's weight. Every step draws a pained groan from the old man, his face ashen and slick with sweat.

"Come on, John," Lenny urges, his voice strained with the effort. "Just a little further. You can do this."

Em hovers nearby, her hands fluttering uselessly. "Maybe we should carry him?" she suggests, her voice trembling.

I shake my head, peering out into the hallway. "No time. We gotta keep moving. Lenny, you got him?"

Lenny nods grimly, adjusting his grip on John. "Yeah, I got him. Let's go."

We make our way down the corridor, every shadow making my heart race. The sounds of fighting are getting louder, punctuated by screams and the occasional explosion. What the fuck is going on out there?

As we near the stairwell, a scream cuts through the air. High-pitched, terrified. Alex.

My baby.

My blood turns to ice, then fire. I shove John at Lenny. "Get them out of here," I snarl. "I'm going after Alex."

"Wren—" Em starts, but I cut her off.

"Just go! I'll find you, I promise."

I don't wait for an answer; I just take off running toward the stairs. My legs burn, my lungs feel like they're full of broken glass, but I don't slow down.

Momma's coming.

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