Chapter 1 - THE MAN ON THE OTHER END
Ryan twisted my wrist until the bone gave way.
The crack sounded louder than my scream.
My left arm dropped uselessly against my torn red evening gown as he shoved me backward through the bathroom doorway. My bare heel slipped on the marble. I struck the floor on one knee, then my shoulder, choking on the pain that tore through my body.
Ryan kicked the door shut.
The damaged lock caught for half a second before the frame split around it.
“Nobody’s going to come rescue a dog like you!”
His voice filled the hallway beyond the bathroom.
I pressed my back against the cold wall and wrapped a blood-stained towel around my broken arm. Every breath shook. City lights flashed through the narrow bathroom window, bright enough to make the room look beautiful from a distance.
That apartment always looked beautiful from a distance.
Outside, Ryan struck the door with both fists.
The wood jumped in its frame.
My purse lay beside the bathtub where I had thrown it earlier. With my right hand, I dragged it toward me and searched beneath the lipstick, receipts, and folded apron from my restaurant shift.
My fingers found the black card.
No logo.
No company name.
Only one telephone number printed in silver.
A customer had left it under his plate three weeks earlier after hearing Ryan threaten me over the phone.
“You may never need this,” the man had said. “But if you do, call once.”
I thought it was a joke.
Now the doorknob bent under another impact.
I dialed.
Ryan stepped back, chuckled, then drove his shoulder into the door.
The lock shattered.
The top hinge tore partly free.
The call connected.
A man answered immediately.
“Lena.”
He knew my name.
I covered the phone with my hand and whispered, “Please… save me.”
Ryan heard my voice.
His boots stopped moving.
The man on the phone remained calm.
“What happened?”
“My husband broke my arm.”
“Address.”
I gave it.
Ryan picked up his whiskey glass from the hallway table.
I could hear the ice turning inside it as he approached.
“No one would risk their life for an injured waitress,” he said.
His face appeared through the crack in the door.
He was smiling.
The man on the phone asked one question.
“Is Ryan Carter still inside?”
My blood went cold.
I had never told the man Ryan’s name.
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then: “Do not hang up.”
Ryan lifted his shoe to smash the door inward.
Three hard knocks struck the apartment’s front door.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Ryan froze.
The whiskey stopped halfway to his mouth.
I lifted my head.
The entire apartment fell silent.
Ryan stared toward the front entrance, then at me.
“Who did you call?”
I said nothing.
The knocks came again.
Slower this time.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
A man’s voice spoke from the hallway.
“Mr. Carter, open the door.”
Ryan’s confidence did not disappear.
It changed shape.
His eyes narrowed, calculating.
He set down the whiskey glass and reached behind his back.
A small pistol appeared in his hand.
I had never seen it before.
He leaned close to the broken bathroom door.
“If that’s the police, you tell them you fell.”
The man on my phone heard him.
His voice remained steady.
“Lena, get into the bathtub.”
I obeyed.
Ryan moved toward the front door with the gun pressed against his thigh.
Through the phone, I heard a second voice, distant and controlled.
“Team in position.”
Not police.
A team.
Ryan looked through the peephole.
His face changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
He whispered a name I had never heard.
“Vincent.”
The man on my phone answered.
“Yes.”
Ryan backed away from the door.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
The voice came from both my phone and the apartment hallway.
“You made that mistake once already.”
Ryan turned toward me.
May you like
For the first time, I saw panic.
Then the apartment lights went out.
