man’s voice said something terse in a language Selene didn’t immediately recognize.
“Hide,” Luca breathed. “Let them take me and maybe they won’t—”
“Who are they?” Oscar’s low words rumbled with rage. After what he’d told her about his temper, Selene wondered if perhaps it was the men above them who should be frightened.
“I don’t know,” Luca said. “But they’re speaking Serbian or Croatian.”
Boots pounded down the stairs, and Oscar’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her beside him. In a line, their backs against the wall, Selene, Oscar, and Luca watched as eight men in anonymizing black riot gear spread out across the basement. Each held a gun, and three of the eight had their weapons trained on them.
One gun for each of them. How equitable.
Selene had never had a gun pointed at her before, and the feeling of helplessness was nearly overwhelming.
One of the men near the center stepped forward. Before he could speak, the man beside him snapped his gun up, twisting his hand palm down in a position that seemed at odds with his tactical gear. “You do what we want and we won’t hurt you.”
The speaker spoke American English with a Chicago accent, which, like the sideways gun, seemed at odds with the terrifying commando-unit appearance of the group.
The man in the middle, the one who’d first moved, shot the speaker a look. Their faces were hard to see through the tinted visors of their helmets, but whatever the expression, it made Chicago Henchman lower his gun.
The leader focused on Luca. “The plans.”
Before Luca could reply, Oscar jumped in.
“The plans to what?” Oscar demanded. “Also, who the fuck are you?”
“You don’t talk, motherfucker,” another of the men snapped. “You want me to shoot your bitch ass? Because I will. I’ll fucking shoot you in the dick.” This one also sounded American—with a flat midwestern accent—and young, his voice cracking at one point. It was almost embarrassing, listening to him attempt to intimidate Oscar. Even with the gun, this henchman had far less personal gravitas than Oscar or even Luca.
The leader, who she decided to think of as Boss Henchman, snapped something at Teenager Henchman. Then, ignoring Oscar, he refocused on Luca. “Give us the plans.”
Did Boss Henchman have an accent? She couldn’t tell. His terse sentences weren’t enough for her to make a determination. But there was a slight oddness to the way he’d said “the”—the th sound more of a z.
If he, like Chicago and Teenager henchmen, was an American, who spoke Serbian or Croatian, that would mean…something? She realized she was cataloguing this information as if it were vital. And maybe it would be, if they made it out of this situation alive and she could provide valuable information to…to who? The Trinity Masters? The Masters’ Admiralty? The FBI?
“No,” Luca said simply. He looked at Selene out of the corner of his eye as he said, “I’m the only one who has them, and I will not give them to you.”
I’m the only one who has them.
Luca was warning them not to say they’d seen and copied the plans.
Boss Henchman jerked his head at the man next to him—not Chicago, the guy on the other side—who started toward them. Oscar slid in front of her, the muscles of his back tense as he pressed against her front.
The man reached not for her, but Luca. Henchman Two grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him away from the wall. Luca stumbled, off-balance without the use of his hands. He glanced back at them as he was hauled away, and Selene’s heart clenched at the resignation in his gaze.
She dug her nails into Oscar’s back, wanting him to get out of the way so she could try to…to what?
They were in the middle of a deadly situation, which meant this connection she felt to Luca was nothing more than crisis bonding. At least, that was the logical reasoning to explain her sudden desire to protect Luca, a stranger, at all costs.
They forced Luca to his knees.
And then they beat him.
It was a night of horrible firsts. The first time she’d had a gun pointed at her. The first time she’d witnessed such cold and deliberate violence. The first few blows, delivered by Boss and the man who’d grabbed Luca, were cold and calculated—a punch that rocked his head back, then a knee to the chest that made him double over.
Then the others, including Chicago and Teenager, took over. They weren’t silent and methodical, the way the two