“Shut. Up.” Grisha growls quietly, his voice eerily calm. “Now, I’m going to ask you once more. Do you know the two assholes who took my coke? And I swear to fuck, you’d better not lie.”
Tears start to trickle down my cheeks as I shake my head. “I don’t!” I sob.
Grisha’s lips curl.
“No? Well, you’re about to prove it, bitch.”
Before I can say anything, he grabs me again and starts to yank me toward a black Mercedes. Alicia screams and rushes to him, but he roughly shoves her away before barking something in Russian to one of his buddies. The guy grabs Alicia, holding her back even as she screams my name and Grisha and his two other goons drag me to the car.
My pulse is pounding like a drum in my ears as we drive through the city. I’m in the back seat with Grisha, his gun still aimed right at me as naked fear burns through my veins. We cross the Washington Bridge into the Bronx and drive deeper into the borough until storefronts and apartment buildings give way to old truck depots and derelict buildings. Suddenly, we come to a stop outside an abandoned warehouse.
The car shuts off.
“Get out,” Grisha snarls.
He’s going to kill me.
We’re parked in what may as well be Murder Central: a dark, abandoned street, with nothing around but the boarded-up warehouse and an older-looking Land Rover parked across the street.
I turn to Grisha, pure panic in my eyes as I watch him smile darkly.
“You say you don’t know those two fucks?”
I shake my head violently side to side.
“You sure?” he hisses.
“Yes!”
Grisha smiles malevolently. “Good. Prove it.”
He says something in Russian. One of his buddies passes him a bottle of what I assume is vodka, and a lighter. I frown, peering closer. Then the scent hits my nose.
Oh my God.
He’s not holding a bottle of vodka. It’s got a rag sticking out the top of it, and it reeks of gasoline.
Holy shit.
He’s holding a Molotov cocktail—a glass bottle filled with gas with a rag for a fuse, like they use in urban warzones.
My eyes go wide as Grisha turns to nod at the Land Rover across the street.
“Some of my people saw this car driving away from the scene the other night when you lost my fucking coke.”
I swallow a lump in my throat, trembling as he shoves the bottle into my hand.
“You say you don’t know those assholes? Prove it.” He points to the Land Rover. “I’m gonna light this Molotov, and you’re gonna blow up that fuckin’ car.”
My stomach drops along with my jaw. I twist my head, my stricken face staring at Grisha.
"W-what?!” I choke.
“You heard me,” he snarls as his buddies start to chuckle. “Blow it the fuck up.”
“I—” I shake my head, trembling. “I-I can’t—”
His eyes narrow. “Yeah, bitch, you fuckin’ can. And you will.” I gasp, sobbing out a cry as he grabs my hoodie again and shakes me. “You remember how much cocaine you lost!?”
“I—I can pay you back!”
I have no idea how, but if it gets me out of whatever the hell this is, I’ll figure out a way—
“You think I’m slinging 8-balls, you dumb bitch?” he snaps. “Those were bricks you decided to just run away from. You got four hundred grand on you? Because rest assured, I fucking will be collecting on that. But for now…”
I jolt, gasping, tears springing to my eyes as Grisha jams the gun against my neck.
“Light it.”
A hand reaches past me. The lighter flickers. Instantly, the rag stuffed into the bottle catches into a hungry blaze. Grisha and his buddies giggle and snort, springing away before Grisha points the gun at me again.
“Better throw that quick!” he snarls. “Else it’s gonna blow your fuckin’ head off.”
I turn to stare at the old Land Rover. My hand trembles as the heat of the flames ripples up my arm.
“And if you miss…” Grisha growls from behind me.
The cocking of the gun hammer tells me how that sentence ends.
