He puts a finger in front of his lips. "Come on, we have to get out of here."

"They're looking for you," I say. I point to the man now standing guard by the gate. "Is there another way out of here?"

"No." He takes a deep breath. "Just stay behind me."

He goes running off into the night, and I struggle to keep up. He's keeping low, sticking to shadows formed by the enormous hanger, by parked airport vehicles.

In his tiny fighting shorts, he looks a bit ridiculous.

Without any warning to me he speeds up into a sprint, charges at the man by the gate and lands a punch so hard I swear I hear bone break. The man's body goes limp immediately. He's out cold.

"Hurry the f.u.c.k up!" he says, beckoning me urgently. I run through the gate, and he follows behind me.

"We need to get to my car, Pen."

He takes me hand and we run next to the road. There are potted trees and tall plants, as well as a hedge that obscure us from pa.s.sing traffic.

I hear the crunch of stones and twigs beneath my shoes, and know that he must be feeling it on his bare feet.

Some minutes later, I'm panting, holding onto my side. I've got a st.i.tch, and I'm regretting eating that lasagna before coming.

We get to his car, and he throws the door open, pushes me inside. He climbs in after me, guns the engine, and we scream off down the road, racing for the on-ramp to the highway.

"I don't think they're following us," I say, laughing with relief. "Holy s.h.i.+t." I pull my hair to the side, follow it with my gaze, and that's when I see the headlights.

All I hear is thunderous, screeching metal.

All I feel is my body being thrown into Pierce, his arms wrapping around me.

All I see is sprinkles of shattered gla.s.s glimmering.

Our car flips, rolls, hits a tree. Pierce is beneath me, calling my name, but his words are only a blur, a smudge in my brain.

The pa.s.senger door above me is yanked open, and two hands reach in and pull me out. My hair catches on the seatbelt, rips out of my head.

I'm too stunned to feel pain.

I'm being held from behind. Some man is lifting me up. My legs don't touch the ground.

A man walks up to me with a roll of silver tape. He snaps out a length, tapes my mouth. The smell of plastic and pungent adhesive floods my nostrils.

A bag is shoved over my head. Everything goes black.

I'm forced into a car, and there feel a zip tie tightened around my wrists, binding them together.

"Take her to the chemical plant," I hear. The voice is familiar. I've heard it before. "We'll finish this there."

Chapter Thirty Two.

The black bag smells like sweat and saliva.

It grosses me out to think that this bag has been over someone else's head before.

It terrifies me to think that that person, in all likelihood, is no longer alive. Swimming with the fishes. Sleeping with the daisies. Whatever the h.e.l.l it is they say.

The car slows, and I hear a metal shutter gate pulled up and open. It's rusty and squeaky... and that man's words ring through my head again.

Chemical plant.

What are they going to do to me?

All I can think is that they're going to kill us, but not before they torture us. Pierce ducked out of the fight, the Russian won by forfeit, and all these people who bet on Pierce lost their money.

They want their payback now, and if they can't get it in greenbacks, they'll get it in red blood.

I want to hate him, want to call him a f.u.c.king idiot, want to blame it all on him, but it's not all his fault. I know it's not all his fault.

G.o.d d.a.m.n it, why didn't he just tell me they'd threatened me? Would I have left? I think about it for a moment before coming to my senses.

Of course I would have f.u.c.king left!

I would never risk my life for a boy I just met. Even one I might be falling for... even one about to become my stepbrother.

I hear the car door open, and cool night air floods in. I s.h.i.+ver, and then one of the men grabs me by the wrists and pulls me out of the car. I keep my head low. I've got that image in my head where a policeman is pus.h.i.+ng someone he's arrested into a cop car, and he's got his hand on top of the perp's head.

I don't want to hit my head. It's so absurd to be worrying about this, but I can't help myself.

"Over 'ere, darlin'," one of the men says.

I feel his arms around my shoulders as he guides me, and I s.h.i.+ver again. I shake him off me.

"Suit yourself, love," he says. He gives me a small push in the back. I feel my blood begin to boil. G.o.d, I wish I could punch this a.s.shole.

"Stop," he says. I do, and turn around, heaving a sigh. He pulls the bag from my head, and I'm blinded momentarily by a single bright light hanging from the ceiling.

As my vision adjusts, I notice that I'm in some kind of office. There's supposed to be gla.s.s in the window in front of us, but the panes have long since been broken. Controls, b.u.t.tons, k.n.o.bs, and levers all lie rusty and dead. Everything is old-iron-brown and filthy, covered with a layer of dust.

Out of the gla.s.sless window I can see ma.s.sive vats, and on top of them are what appear to me to be gigantic whisks. They mix chemicals in those vats.

I swallow. I'm trying my best not to acknowledge how scared I am. I don't want to start panicking.

"Turn around," the man says. He sneers at me. I stare angrily at him.

"Turn around, love," he says, this time stepping closer. I shake my head at him.

"Darlin', behind you there's a chair where you can sit. Either sit in it or don't, I don't care. But no matter what, you're stuck in 'ere."

f.u.c.k you, I think to him. I flash a quick glance behind me and do see a chair, but I don't sit. Instead, I wait for him to leave the small office. I can hear him locking the door with a deadbolt from the outside.

I immediately go to the window, and look down. It's a long drop into some kind of pit. Maybe they used to keep a neutralizing agent in there, or maybe just water. All I know is that I'd never make it without breaking my leg.

d.a.m.n it!

I'm not even thinking about what they're going to do to me. I'm wondering what they're doing to Pierce.

I hear a gunshot, and my whole body jolts. The bang was so loud, my ears hurt, and I'm in a closed room. It came from somewhere nearby, somewhere in the same building I'm in.

Following the gunshot is a cry of pain.

I recognize the voice.

It's Pierce.

Chapter Thirty Three.

"f.u.c.k you!" I bellow. "f.u.c.k all of you!"

I wince, stare down at my foot. It's bubbling blood out of a gunshot wound. I move my foot to the side, see the bullet lodged in the ground, the concrete all around it cracked. It went straight through me.

"That's a handicap," Fallon says. "Because you f.u.c.king walked out of that fight, the only b.l.o.o.d.y way I could get that Russian c.u.n.t to agree to a rematch a double or nothing a is to handicap you. This is your fault, you stupid American c.u.n.t."

"f.u.c.k you," I growl. "I swear to G.o.d, Fallon, I'm going to f.u.c.king kill you."

"Listen to yourself, you idiot," Fallon barks, pointing a finger at me. "You still think there's a way out of this? If that Anton gets you, he's under instructions to break you. You embarra.s.sed us back there. You know how many people bet big money on you? You embarra.s.sed me back there by walking out. I vouched for you. In my world, there's this thing called face."

"f.u.c.k your face."

"So if you can't win, you'll be broken, Pierce, and we will leave you here to die. We're in the middle of f.u.c.king nowhere. There's no working phones. You will die."

"f.u.c.k you, you old motherf.u.c.ker."

"Well let me tell you something. I've got your pretty little thing locked up in the office. If you don't fight, we... encourage you to." He grins nastily at me. I imagine myself cracking his skull with a rusty pipe.

But I know I've got no choice. It f.u.c.king kills me that they've got Pen, that they're using her, that it's my fault she's in this position.

"You better bandage up my f.u.c.king foot, then," I tell him. "Because I can't fight if I lose all my blood."

I look down, and see a puddle of crimson beneath my foot. It hurts like h.e.l.l, but d.a.m.n if I'm going to show it.

"Micky," Fallon says to his goon. "You got some medical training, right?"

"Served in the army as a medic, boss."

"Ah, that's right," Fallon says, clicking his fingers.

Micky leaves and comes back with a first aid bag, and says, "This might hurt a little."

He lifts my foot. I grit my teeth together, but otherwise don't show my pain.

"Through-and-through," he says to himself. "Small fracture of the third metatarsal. Surprisingly, the ligament is still attached, I think. Bullet slipped straight through. Basically a flesh wound."

"Thanks for the medical," I growl.

"Boss?" Micky says, turning around.

"What is it?"

"Give him some morphine?"

"No!" I say, pulling his attention back to me. "Don't give me anything."

"It'll hurt when you put pressure on it."

"f.u.c.k off."

He grins. "Tough c.u.n.t, are ya?"

"Tougher than you."

"That right?"

"Why don't you untie me and find out?"

Micky the medic laughs. "Alright, alright. You'll get your chance to show off soon."

He pours iodine on my foot, and then begins to bandage it up. I do my best not to show that it hurts, but f.u.c.k if it doesn't burn to h.e.l.l and back. f.u.c.k if it isn't a shock to see the orange iodine fall through a hole in my foot.

When he's done, he looks to Fallon, who gives him a nod, and then he cuts my binds. I stand up, test the foot. I can barely put any weight on it.

"I'll fight that Russian f.u.c.ker," I say at Fallon. "On one condition."

"I don't think you're in any position to be making-"