For the last couple of days—after all the details about the plan were finalized—he’s been working like a mad man. And in a terrible mood. Every hour of daylight is spent either making trips to get supplies or building something in the shed I now know exists next to the cabin, while after night falls, he’s constantly on the phone or the computer, reminding me of one of those frantic people you see on TV working the stock market at the closing bell. I understand he’s preparing for Vincent’s arrival, though I have no clue what that all entails, but surely, it can’t be that hard. The guy shows up thinking he’s being handed over a prisoner, probably in restraints, and possibly blindfolded or gagged, and I’m going to pull out a gun and shoot him. Then, they set it up to look like he was the one keeping me here, and that after I somehow managed to escape, I murdered him to get free. Then we all go home and return to our normally scheduled programming. Seems easy enough to me.
“I told you exactly what you were supposed to do, and you didn’t do it. I gave you a time, and you didn’t meet it. How fucking hard is it to follow simple instructions?” I hear Raze growl, obviously infuriated at whoever he’s talking to on the phone.
The cruelty in his tone I’ve only ever heard him use when speaking to those first guys who dropped off supplies, and I was afraid he was going to kill that man. Also, other than with me, it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him speak English besides that same day, and even then, I think he only did it on my behalf. My curiosity is piqued, so I push my ear harder against the door, hoping that’ll magically improve my hearing-through-walls ability.
“It doesn’t fucking matter; the damage is done. The Feds know, and it’s all a goddamn mess.” The anger continues to seep through his voice, and I bet if I could see him right now, his jaw would be locked tight as he paces the frozen ground.
A long pause ensues before I hear him snap, “Do not fucking move from where you are. I’ll be there in an hour and a half. Be ready.”
Thunderous footsteps from his heavy boots shake the front steps as I dash back to the couch, picking up my cereal just in time to see the door swing open, with an extremely pissed off Raze towering in the doorway, complete with a deep scowl etched into his face and his chest bowed up like he’s preparing to take on a daunting opponent. He’s radiating an energy so powerful that being near him may be lethal right now.
“Morning.” I force a cheerful smile and pretend to have no clue about his conversation outside. “Did you already have some coffee this morning? There’s a fresh pot in there.”
My heart pounds out a nervous staccato as I wait to see how he’ll reply. Will he tell me what’s going on? Obviously something has happened. Something bad. I hope everything is still a go for tomorrow. I’m really ready to put all this behind me. Now.
“I have to leave. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He crosses the floor without looking at me while he speaks then disappears into the bedroom.
I sit and wait, staring at my breakfast that no longer looks very appetizing, though I’m not sure if it’s because the cereal is now soggy, or because of the boulder of dread that’s weighing down my stomach. After several minutes of him digging around in the safe, he slams it shut and emerges from the room. Having finally built up the nerve to ask him directly what’s going on, unable to take the not-knowing, I open my mouth to talk, but before I can get the words out, he tosses me a small cell phone, which I miraculously catch mid-air.
“My number is the only contact programmed in there. I’m trusting you not to use this phone to call anyone else. Not 911. Not Madden. No one.” His piercing blue gaze pleads with me to comply. “I’m gonna be honest with you; a lot of shit got fucked up and things aren’t going down as planned. I’m doing my best to get my shit back on track before this whole thing blows up on all of us, but I’m gonna need you to trust me.”
Closing the gap between us quickly with his long, certain strides, he squats in front of me and lifts his brow expectantly, our eyes locking on each other’s on the same level. “Can you do that, kotyonok? Trust me?”
Nodding repeatedly, tears fill up my eyes for a reason I’m not really even sure of. It’s all just too much. Too many emotions wound tight, ready to snap at the lightest provoking. This strangely feels like goodbye, even though he just told me he’d be back shortly. “Yes, Raze. I can trust you.”
“Spasibo.” He reaches out to gently wipe away the few tears that escaped with the pad of his thumb. His demeanor is suddenly so polar opposite from what it was less than five minutes ago when he barged inside that I’m suffering from personality whiplash. “No more tears, sweet girl. This will all be over soon.”
“Wh-what am I supposed to do with the ph-phone?” I sniffle through my words.
Raze bounces once in his squat before extending his legs to standing straight, the solemn mask dropping back into place. “I will call you when I’m about five minutes away to let you know it’s me pulling up. If you hear an engine or the closing of car doors outside and I haven’t called, I need you to go in the bedroom and call me immediately. I’m not expecting anyone, but just to be safe.”
His ominous words do little to settle the sinking feeling in my gut, but I plaster a brave smile on my face and nod again. “Got it. I’ll be okay. Go do whatever you need to get done.”
Without another word, he slips out of the cabin, and seconds later, I hear his truck roar to life. I then spend the next three hours and twelve minutes on high alert, too scared to even go to the bathroom in case I miss the sound of my death driving up.
When the phone finally lights up with an incoming call, I stare at the screen jarring around in my trembling hand for a few seconds prior to answering it. “Hello?”
“It’s me. I’m a few minutes out.” The sound of Raze’s voice on the other end of the line prompts a heavy sigh of relief.
“Okay. Everything’s been quiet here,” I reply. “See you soon.”
“Wait!” he shouts, catching my attention before I hang up, then continues once he realizes I’m still here. “I need you to get dressed in something warm, hat and boots included.”
My first reaction is to ask him what in the world is going on, but I remind myself I promised to trust him. “I’ll change now.”
The line goes dead, and for a few seconds, I stand frozen in place, wondering what in the hell is about to happen. Then, making a beeline to where I keep my clothes in the closet, I hastily strip out of my lounge clothes and slip into a pair of jeans and a sweater then grab some socks, boots, and a knit beanie to put on in the living room while I wait for him to arrive.
Just as I finish double-knotting the second set of shoelaces, I hear the rumble of his truck pulling up, and I stand in the middle of the room, waiting for him to come inside. An apologetic expression flits across his face, but I’m not sure if it’s about being gone or what’s about to happen.
“Come outside. I need to show you something,” he commands, stretching his arm out to me.
It’s not without apprehension that I place my petite hand inside his monstrous one and allow him to lead me through the door into the brisk, late-morning fresh air. Squinting while trying to hide my face from a sun I haven’t seen in weeks, I stumble behind him over to the passenger side of his truck.
As we grow closer, I begin to make out noises that sound like grunts and screams, but they’re extremely muffled. Then, once we’re only a few feet away, as the ruckus grows louder, I notice the slight rocking of the cab of the truck, and immediately I know he’s got someone bound and gagged inside.
My first thought is it’s Madden, and the world closes in around me. I drop to my knees with a wail, but he doesn’t stop moving forward until he’s directly next to the passenger side door. With a forceful push of his thumb and pull of his fingers on the handle, the door flies open and my eyes lock on familiar baby blues.