“Of course,” Michael said.
Ty heard a car door slam from deep inside the junkyard. He eyed the razor wire at the top of the fence. It would be easy enough to get around. He had a feeling that was the only thing about this that would be easy.
“Let them know I’m already inside the compound,” he said.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Michael asked.
Ty’s head snapped up as he heard a sharp female cry.
Morgan.
“I don’t have a choice,” he said.
Ty threw his helmet on the ground, and cut off the conversation. He hooked his foot into a link in the chain and hoisted himself up, hoping that backup would arrive before it was too late—praying that it wasn’t already too late.
***
“Get your damn hands off me,” Morgan shouted as Barinov dragged her out of the car.
She pulled back hard and cried out in surprise when his hand slipped away. Her feet slid out underneath her and she crashed to the ground. Her hands scraped against the concrete when she tried to catch herself.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
Morgan thought about telling him to go to hell. What was the worst that could happen? He would shoot her now instead of in five minutes?
But Morgan reconsidered the second she looked at him and caught the glint of light reflecting off his gun.
Suddenly, those five minutes meant the world to her.
Morgan wiped her stinging palms on her jeans as she stood. She turned to Gregg who was only now getting out of the car. She’d watched him the whole way over here. With every mile his face had grown paler.
She wanted to believe that it was his conscience catching up with him, but deep down she knew it was just his selfish sense of self-preservation. He had to be thinking she’d been right all along. That Barinov was about to kill him as well.
“You know what’s about to happen, don’t you, Gregg?” Morgan asked.
He didn’t look at her. He kept his pale face pointed down, looking at his shoes.
A part of her hated to torment him. He looked scared to death already. But she was desperate for an ally. She alone didn’t stand a chance in hell of overpowering Barinov, but the two of them…
Maybe they could wrestle the gun out of his hand and then use him as a hostage to get out of this godforsaken place.
Morgan knew it was a long shot, but what other shot did she have?
“Your good friend Evgeni here is about to shoot us both in the head,” she kept going.
Barinov let out a little chuckle as he grabbed her arm again.
“Your sister has a vivid imagination,” he said with a sneer as he wrenched her close. He pulled her toward a metal shack a few feet away from the car. Morgan dragged her feet, grasping for any delay she could manage.
“Think about it,” Morgan cried out behind her. “Why else would he bring us both out here? Everyone knows the lengths he goes to avoid witnesses.”
She received another hard tug on her arm for the outburst. Not that it mattered. Chances were she wouldn’t be around for it to be sore tomorrow morning.
But at least it appeared as if her words hit their intended mark. Little beads of sweat dotted Gregg’s forehead. They glistened in the sun as he tilted his face distractedly up to the sky. He shuffled his shoes in the dirt under his feet.
“It would probably be better if I waited out here,” Gregg mumbled as everyone moved toward the shack.
Barinov stopped. “I think not, Mr. Kincaid. You will come with us.”
Punctuating the boss’ words, one of the suits placed his hand on Gregg’s shoulder and gave him a shove.
“I told you, Gregg,” Morgan said as Barinov’s fingers bit into her arm. Even underneath Ty’s thick leather jacket she felt the brutality of his grip. “This is what the Bratva does to people who are no longer useful to them.”
“Shut up, Morgan.” Gregg’s voice was shaky, but it wasn’t broken. There was still a shred of hope in him—hope that she was wrong.
“You would do well to heed your brother’s advice, Miss Kincaid,” Barinov growled as he hauled her through the door.
“Or what?” Morgan asked.
Barinov didn’t answer—not with words anyway. He whipped her in front of him and then let go. Morgan stumbled, and landed with a hard smack on the ground.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she said as she pushed up off the smooth concrete floor. In between her hands was a round metal drain cover.
For easy clean up.
Morgan struggled to pull her eyes away from the grate. Somehow the small hole drilled into the floor drove the reality of her situation home.
This was really happening. She was about to die. Barinov was going to shoot her and then wash her blood down that drain.
Panic surged through Morgan. She needed a distraction. If there was ever a time for a Hail Mary pass, it was now.
If quips and reason wouldn’t work, it was time to get desperate.
“You should have taken the FBI deal, Gregg,” she said through quivering lips. “None of this would have happened.”
That got through.
Barinov froze. His eyes, already a frosty blue, turned to ice. His head snapped to Gregg.