Sold to the Hitman(63)

He’s going to kill the man who’s forced us to hide here.

Underneath the pile of blankets, my left hand rests on my stomach, gently rubbing slow circles over the protruding bump there. These motions are just as much to soothe myself as they are meant to comfort the baby inside. He kicks every now and then, as if to remind me that he’s here with me still. And my right hand… well, it’s wrapped around the handle of a gun.

The safety is off and I dare not even approach the trigger for fear of accidentally firing the shiny little widow-maker. I wonder to myself if my unborn son can sense how frightened I am, how close he is in proximity to a powerful weapon. I hope with all my racing heart that he can’t tell where we are or what’s going on. I would never wish this kind of terror on anyone, much less my own tiny child. The laptop screen goes dark as it’s sat untouched for too long, leaving me totally blind. A shiver runs a cold trail down my spine.

“It’s okay, little one,” I murmur, my voice thin and shaking. “Daddy will be back soon, I’m sure. He’s going to make everything alright and we’ll get to leave this place for good. And as soon as he gets back I’m going to throw this stupid gun into a dumpster. Or a volcano.”

At first when Andrei showed me — carefully — how to use it, I told him over and over that I would sooner die than fire a gun. But then he reminded me that I’m not just carrying it to protect myself — it’s our son’s life I must protect, as well. He told me that once this is over, I will never have to so much as look at a gun again for the rest of my life. He promised me that this would be the end of the terror, the end of the war.

For that’s what it feels like right now. I am a fugitive, hiding in the dark. The forces of evil are stalking me, desperately trying to pin down my location so they can finally put an end to me and my baby. But I refuse to give in so easily. The old Cassandra would be cowering, completely inconsolable, totally hysterical with panic.

But right now I am surprisingly calm. Sure, my hands are shaking and my stomach is twisting in knots, but I’m done hiding. My strong, noble husband is out there somewhere, finding the big boss so he can chop off the head of the snake and put an end to this. He’s on the offense.

It is my job to maintain the defense here.

I know I’m in danger. Andrei has already explained to me that these men are totally ruthless, that they’ll do anything in their power to stop him — to hurt him. And he says that they know about me now. They know how to hit him where it really hurts: his heart.

That means me. And our son.

So I’ve got to be strong, for the three of us. I clench my teeth, staring into the darkness expectantly. I don’t know what is going to come through that door first: my husband, returning triumphantly from battle, or some lowlife criminal, hell-bent on using me and my baby as bargaining chips. Or as collateral. Or… just to kill us for the sake of killing.

I shudder to myself but won’t look away from the direction of the door. I must stay vigilant and patient while the war rages far beyond these walls.

“I swear I’m going to give you the happiest life any little boy could have,” I whisper, patting my stomach. “You’re going to have a toy boat, and a teddy bear, and a —”

Just then, a small sliver of light pierces the darkness.

The door is slowly, slowly opening. I hold my breath, too afraid to even blink. Under my left hand, my baby kicks. I pray silently, desperately, that it’s because his father is approaching. It must be Andrei. It has to be.

Still, I tighten my grip on the gun.

The shaft of light across the floor widens ever so slightly as somebody walks into the warehouse. I strain my eyes and ears, watching and listening for any hint, any trace of my husband. I listen closely to the approaching footsteps, hoping to somehow discern from their weight and rhythm whether they belong to Andrei. But it’s a futile attempt. In my current state of paralyzed terror combined with the pitch-black darkness, I have no idea who is walking in.

The footfalls are heavy, dragging. They don’t sound like my husband, who is surprisingly light-footed in spite of his size. But I could be wrong. What if it is Andrei, and he’s hurt? A limp of some kind would certainly account for the change in gait. My heart pounds so loudly that I worry the intruder might hear it and be able to find me that way.

The column of light suddenly dissipates, leaving the three of us in total darkness: me, my unborn son, and the mysterious, possibly lethal stranger walking slowly toward us.

My head grows fuzzy as it dawns on me that I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. My lungs are so tightly constricted in my chest that my body aches, from more than just pregnancy pain. I have to take a breath before I pass out.