I feel like I’m going to be sick. I glance down at my wrist and see the bruises Yelena left there. Five purple ovals marking my skin.
“Anything on there?” Andrey asks.
“Only one outgoing call on the contact log. It was placed about forty-five minutes ago.”
“Call the number,” Andrey orders.
Shura dials and transfers the call to speaker. The rings echo harshly, magnified in the taut stillness. And then, someone picks up.
“Yelena,” a deep, familiar voice hisses, “where the f**k are you? You were supposed to have delivered her by now.”
Shock and rage ripples across Andrey’s face as he takes the phone from Shura’s hand.
“Yelena!” the voice barks again. “Where—”
Andrey smashes the phone onto the floor and stomps it into pieces. “f**k!” he roars so loudly that Yelena’s eyes fly open. She
