Page 52 of Sing For Us

“No. Definitely not.”

“Then shut the fuck up and do the job you are told to do.”

“Yes. I’ll update you as soon as I know more. Do you want me to–” I shoot behind him and nearly miss the right side of his skull. He holds his steady posture, but closes his eyes. When they are open again, he sees that my gun is still pointed at him.

“Just. Fucking. Go.”

He moves so quickly that I’m pretty sure he pissed his pants.

Oh well.

I go to my IT guy, and we look at the footage from the surveillance cameras that were around the park. And there is fucking nothing on them. I’m going to make a rather sizable donation to this commune so they set up some working fucking cameras.

“So we have nothing?”

“Nope.” I swear to God, if Hana were here, I would have gotten footage from someone’s cell who was in that fucking park. Maybe I should kidnap her so she trains my IT guy.

“I’m going to be in my study. If you need anything else–”

“Wait. I have something. Look”–he points to the footage of another camera–“there isn’t a lot on it, but it taped half an hour before Emin arrived at the bakery and half an hour after.”

We look through all of the footage, and five minutes before my friend arrives, a tall figure appears. He sits down with his back turned to the camera. A couple of minutes pass by, and Emin arrives. He gets his order, and when he heads for the park, the tall figure stands up. My heart is beating fast because I would recognize that physique anywhere.

Noa.

He turns around and winks.

This motherfucker actually winks.

I grip the table, and my mouth hangs open.

But then I remember that I need to stay strong. I release the table, and the rage continues to simmer on.

My jaw clamps shut so hard that my teeth click. A hot, violent surge of adrenaline hits my chest, and my years of training kick in as I steady my breath. My hands ball into fists at my sides, and my fingernails bite into my palms until it hurts.

He is taunting me.

He wants me to bite back.

Luckily for him, I am a step ahead.

When I escaped Noa the last time we saw each other, I stabbed him. What he doesn’t know is that I put a tracker in him.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

I leave my IT guy hanging and race towards my study. I plug my phone into my computer and check Noa’s location. Fuck. He is at his home. I had hoped he was somewhere else. I text Marian where Emin and Noa are and that he shouldn’t attack. And that he’ll return him to us.

I am not afraid to attack Dario. I am afraid to attack Noa’s estate; that place is like a fortress.

He is doing this because of what I did to Hana. And the only thing I can hope for is that he returns my best friend to me.

I stand up and go to the window. The rain is falling hard, and it mirrors how I am feeling.

The storm outside is swallowing the mountains, burying the outskirts of Sarajevo in a suffocating shroud of slate and charcoal. Outside, the rain is lashing against my windows.

The determination to make Noa pay had kept me focused in the IT room, but it shifted into something I haven’t felt in a long time—despair. There is a cold, terrifying void behind my ribs. I can’t sit. I can’t pace. I am waiting for a car that still hasn’t come.

I close my eyes, and I do my best not to imagine the torture Emin is subjected to. If Noa is as good as I know he is, his payback will be in direct proportion to what I did to Hana. I know that he prefers physical torture, but he won’t do it. He has an anechoic room, and he’ll utilize that. The dread that follows is instant, just like the surveillance footage that flashed behind my eyelids—Emin, then Noa.