Crossing the room, I crouch down beside Regan, who is kneeling beside the bed, the gun clutched between both hands. I reach over and push the safety back on.

“What language were you speaking?” She looks at me with suspicion. Cradling her cheek in my hand, I search for the right words to say but before I can get anything out, the door is kicked in.

Regan lifts her gun, disengages the safety and shoots twice.

“Motherfucker!” yells Petrovich, who dives to the side.

I knock Regan’s hands upward and wrestle the gun away. It’s then I realize we are both nude and she’s probably sticky from my attentions.

“Fuck.” I pick a struggling Regan up in my arms and hustle her into the bathroom. Reaching into the shower, I flick the hot water on and then sit down on the toilet. Her body is shaking—with fear, not desire—but she’s not crying.

“That man out there . . .” She points a trembling arm toward Petrovich, whose moans of pain have stopped.

“You must have winged him, fighter.”

I try to lift her into the shower, but she’s all limbs right now. It’s like trying to handle an octopus. I get her inside the stall, but she fights the whole way. “We don’t have time to shower,” she screams at me. “We’ve got to get out right now.” And then understanding dawns on her as she stares at me under the spray of the water. I can’t tell if there are tears mixing with the shower water, but the expression on her face is killing me.

“You know him.” Her voice is dead. Zero inflection.

“Let me explain.”

She retreats until her back hits the tile wall. Her head is shaking back and forth, as if by sheer force of will she can make this knowledge away. “No. No, you are one of them.”

Her body is taut, and she looks like she’s about to retch. “I let you touch me. I trusted you.” Her last words are a screamed at me, but it’s not the volume that makes me wince, it’s the shredded pain underlying each sound.

“Regan, please.” I drop to my knees, uncaring that water is flooding out onto the bathroom door. “I know him only because he had a lead for me. He sent me to you. To rescue you. I promise.”

“How do I know you’re not part of a whole ring? Are you going to sell me too?”

“No!” I shuffle closer, but she holds out her hands as if I’m the devil come to steal her soul. “I’m Daniel Hays. I’m a former soldier from Texas. My sister was stolen. I haven’t lied to you. Not once, I swear it.” I raise my hands in the air. Her next words kill me.

“He sold me.”

And my heart breaks. I lean down and kiss her feet.

“I’m sorry, fighter. I’m so sorry.” With my face on the cold tile and my hands on either side of her feet, I wait for her to forgive me. I need for her to forgive me.

"Where's the other guy?” She’s shaking so hard with fury that she can’t stand, and she slides down the wall until she’s seated. Her voice is low and harsh. “He raped me before he handed me over to them.”

“I killed him. Broke his neck and left him behind a gas station. I should have made it more painful, now that I know that.” I climb in beside her. The hot water from the shower head is almost cool by the time it hits our feet. When she hears that Yury is dead, she relaxes slightly and that awful, brittle look washes down the drain with the water. But my heart is breaking for her.

Gesturing toward the outer room, she asks with incredulity, “Are you really friends with him?”

“Who? Nick?”

“No, the slave trader.”

“I know him. Met him a few months ago. Knew of him longer, though.” I tell her everything. “I’ve been searching for my sister, so I got involved with some guys who make money killing bad guys.”

“Hit men?”

“Mercenaries. Hit men. I needed a way in to find Naomi. I started watching people, reaching out if I thought that they had some personal code because I felt I might be able to trust them. Nick was one of those guys. He was very careful with the jobs he took on. He researched them, and he was very good at what he did, so I reached out to him. When you and Daisy were kidnapped, I knew it was my opportunity to do him a solid, so he’d owe me.” She’s listening to me, which I take as a good sign.

“The Petrovich Bratva is a powerful mafia, but the head of it was running the organization into the ground. Vasily Petrovich approached me. Said that he will help us if we kill the head of it and make sure it can’t be traced back to him. Nick, Daisy, and I take care of Sergei Petrovich. Vasily gives me your information and then hints that there’s been a long funnel of blondes from Russia to Rio. I think maybe Naomi is here, also. You know the rest of it.” I scrub my hand across my head.

“What’s he doing here then?”

“There’s something here he wants, too.” I have my fear about what that is, but I think Regan’s had enough revelations at the time.

"I don't want to be near him.” Defiance has replaced fear as her current emotion.

“That’s fine. I’ll take him down to the beach and figure out what he wants.”

She nods.

“Are we okay?” I ask.

There’s nothing but silence, and then her hand slips over mine. “I can’t go back.”

I rise up on my knees. “I swear on my sister’s life no more harm will come to you. Not if I have to lay waste to the entire southern seaboard to keep you safe. You will never go back.”

Regan’s lower lip trembles, but she bites back her emotion and then mirrors my pose. Her small hands creep up around my neck. “I believe you then, Daniel.”

I want to kiss her but know that would be very foolish of me to do at this moment. Instead, I squeeze one of her arms. Rising to my feet, I tell her to shower. “I’ll get you some clothes.” I tuck a towel around my waist and leave Regan to clean up.

Outside I find Vasily sitting on the sofa, a white cloth wrapped around his left hand.

“Is she okay?” He jerks his chin toward the shower. I stomp over to the packs and pull out some clothing for us.

“No thanks to you.” I hadn’t realized that Vasily was directly involved in her sale, even though I knew he had kidnapped her. He’d had to in order to sell the scheme thing to his uncle, but his ends justifies the means attitude makes me want to take the butt end of my gun and rearrange his face. Shaking it off, I head back for the bathroom. Regan is drying off, and I try hard not to watch her but even the bathroom is too small to avoid seeing a few glimpses of her fine body. My own body reacts predictably, and the towel around my waist lifts up.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“I’m going to take it as a compliment," she sighs. “My outrage meter is worn out. I’m worn out.”

We dress hastily, and I ignore my growing hard-on.

Regan leads us out of the bathroom but stops short with a gasp. Vasily has stripped off his shirt and laid a belt on the bed. He's kneeling with his hands laced behind his head.

"What are you doing?” she demands.

“Recompense.” Vasily does not turn around. He barely moves.

"He wants you to hit him with the belt,” I offer helpfully.

“He thinks that me hitting him is going to make up for selling me?” she shrieks.

“I guess?”

Regan goes over to the bed and picks up the belt. We wait. She runs the belt through her fingers and then juggles the buckle end in her hand, perhaps testing its bite.

“Wrap the small end around your hand and strike with your whole arm,” Vasily instructs. This is surreal. Vasily is giving Regan directions on how to best beat him. Looking around, I spy the sofa and head toward it. This whole scene seems like something out of a bad art house drama. Regan does as he instructs, winding the soft end around her hand. She whips the belt up and down a couple of times. I think I’m flinching, but Vasily is not. Her arm pulls back, and she whips it forward. We all hear the whistle as the belt flies through the air. Vasily doesn’t move an inch, and the buckle falls harmlessly. Regan tosses the belt onto the bed.