She wouldn’t survive. You wouldn’t even be able to identify her body.
My chest goes cold.
I look the two men dead in the eye. “Tell them to stop.”
“Put down the knife. You kill us? They kill her.”
Between the gusts of wind, I hear Nikolai step forward, his foot scraping against the concrete.
I sigh, feeling defeated for the first time in fucking decades.
“Fine.” I lodge the knife back under my belt and show them my two free hands. “Tell them to put her back down.”
One of the men snaps his fingers, and the two men holding Joy over the edge stop what they’re doing. They sit her back down.
I sigh with relief. For now.
She’s sitting on the edge again, legs dangling off. But I still feel the panic in her voice as she sobs.
She looks over her shoulder. The sheer fright in her eyes makes me want to kill all four of these men for allowing this to happen. But it’ll come at a cost to her life. And I’m not trading that for anything. Not even my own anger.
Generators buzz through the breeze. There are more air conditioning systems up ahead, the fans turning.
I take a step back, squishing some kind of wiring under my boot. There are all kinds of hazards up here. Siguard could have taken her anywhere. And of all places, he chooses to bring her to the top of my own fucking building.
I hear footsteps pounding on the concrete, getting closer. I turn around. Low and behold—there they both are, striding toward me like a double-act. Igor and Siguard.
“Now there’s a friendship I never thought I’d see coming,” I say as they approach.
Igor’s hair flies in the wind, shielding his eyes. I stare at him. He should know better than this. Of course, he doesn’t.
As his father, it’s my place to tell him, even though he hates me.
“Save your breath,” I say, keeping my hands at my sides. “I know how this will go.”
“Do you?” Siguard arches one of his eyebrows. They’re gray now.
He had brown hair before. Time erases everything, but that smug smile written across Siguard’s face looks like it stood the test of time.
The past flashes before my eyes as he stands in front of me.
I’m leaving the lawyer’s office.
Just when I think I’m about to win, he flips the narrative.
I feel a sharp scratching under my ribs.
“Igor,” I begin.
He screws up his lips. The wind blows around him, but he doesn’t budge. He’s wearing a suit, a pair of silver cufflinks sparking in the sun. He apparently wears those now.
I see the determination shining in his eyes. I haven’t seen this look before.
He sees me and the determination turns sour, transitioning into something that looks like resentment.
I clench my jaw. “I don’t think you know who you’re working with, son.”
“Oh, I think he does,” Siguard says.