Page 207 of Dark Angel
“Go to hell,” Halston seethed now staring straight ahead. After a few seconds, she continued. “You searched for information on me. Verified the orphanage. You found nothing but a girl who spent her life surviving… mostly alone. A young woman who pulls herself from nothing, earns her way into the government. What bigger honor is there? Now, I serve at the direction of our ambassador. You couldnothave insulted me more, Natasha. You. Are. Dead. To. Me.”
She released those last five words in a controlled rage, turning the air tense. In that moment, she had everything to lose. Natasha might have learned the truth. Snitches and confidential informants weren’t loyal to others. Their loyalty was to themselves… to the cash, to the promised perks.
The vehicle slowed, made another turn, then drove on a deserted road toward an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere.
Adrenaline was charging through her but she remained motionless. Unlike earlier, when she’d learned that her mom and dad had been taken and she’d lost it.
Never again.
“You are right,” Natasha said. “I made calls. You are truthful. The ambassador trust you. We are good, yes?”
“We arenotgood,” Halston seethed. “I serve our government and our ambassador. I donotserve you.”
“We are here.” Natasha cut the engine, opened her car door, the cold air filling the warm vehicle.
Halston stared straight ahead.
Her abductor walked around, opened Halston’s car door. “Out.”
Halston exited. After Natasha closed the passenger door, she clutched Halston’s arm and led her to a metal door.
There, she made a call.
“Da,” answered the Russian.
“My zdes',” Natasha said.We’re here.
Seconds passed while the January frost bit into her cheeks, the chill rejuvenating her. The door clanged open, screeching on its hinges. Natasha shoved her inside. Halston slid on her spy glasses as the bulky guard stared down at her.
Ignoring him, she took in the space. They stood in what looked like an abandoned warehouse—a room, thirty-by-sixty. An unfinished space with high ceilings and bare bulbs hangingfrom rafters. Gray cement floor, three long conference room tables and several chairs. With a quick glance, Halston counted ten laptops, three or four per table. In the corner stood a large barrel-sized trash can.
“Eto Minka. Perevodchik,” Natasha said to the man.This is Minka. Translator.
Halston eyed the man who stood with his arms crossed, a pistol in his hand. Dark hair, bulbous nose, ruddy complexion. His beady eyes drilled into her. He smiled, revealing a gold front grill.
Charming.
“Ona govorit po-russki?” he asked.Does she speak Russian?
“Ty idiot?” Natasha seethed. “Konechno, ona znayet.”Are you idiot? Of course she does.
“Oni etogo ne delayut — tak kto teper' idiot?” he barked.They don't, so who's the idiot now?
“Zamolchi!” Natasha barked.Shut up!
The guard stood there glaring at Natasha.
“Perestan' tratit' moyo vremya. Otvedi nas k nim,” Natasha said.Stop wasting my time. Bring us to them.
A rumble ripped from his backside… the guard passed the most heinous-smelling fart. Forcing herself not to gag, Halston stopped breathing as they followed him toward a door on the other side of the building.
“Ty otvratitelen,” Natasha said.You are disgusting.
They finally agreed on something, but Halston wouldn’t give Natasha an inch. The saying, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’, did not apply to Natasha.
They were all her enemy.
Always had been. Always would be.
