Page 22 of Devil's Retribution

I looked down at the paper. December fifteenth, almost three years back. The last Christmas I’d spent with my sister. By Easter, she would be dead and gone, leaving me with her two-year-old son to raise.

Strange that this big, scary gangster, the man who had kidnapped us, lost a sibling the same year that I had. “I’ll read through it all,” I promised, wondering why I was doing so. “But you said you were having trouble getting in touch with my Uncle Charles.”

“My intent was to have you call him on your phone so he would know it was you and hopefully, pick up. But we’ve been watching his penthouse and his online activity, and he seems to have gone very quiet for some reason.”

I felt a chill trickle up my spine. “I’m willing to try it anyway.” Why wasn’t he answering? Had something happened? Or was Viktor playing some kind of sick game with me?

“Just please let me try,” I said, and heard my voice crack on the last word, and hated myself for it.

He shot a sharp look at me, lips pulled into a thoughtful frown. “I see. Very well. Give me ten minutes.”

While he was gone, I started reading.

There were four sections to the papers he’d given me, records of financial transactions going through a bank account in Barbados, two online conversations, and the electronic paper trail that tied it all back to my uncle. It looked legitimate. Viktor had really shown his work. But I absolutely couldn’t believe this was real, and that disbelief only grew as I started reading through the conversation. My uncle, and the man he’d clearly hired to kill Viktor’s brother were talking about the details as easily as if he was ordering a new carpet for his office.

This can’t be my uncle, I thought, as I placed the print offs on the coffee table. I looked up at where Nick, sleepy from stuffing himself, was nodding off over one of the comic books he had found in a cabinet. Whatever was going on, Viktor had to be wrong. The man making these arrangements, whoever he was, had nothing to do with my family.

But how could I possibly prove that to Viktor?

Maybe there’s a way. I would start with the phone call. If I could just get my uncle on the phone, if I could just hear his voice and talk to him, I could get us one step closer to being safe.

I forced myself to keep reading. The more I did, the less I believed that the callous man behind the murder of Viktor’s brother could possibly be Uncle Charles. He had never exactly been affectionate or kind toward us, he was distant and very busy. But we had wanted for nothing. The man funded my doctorate, for pity’s sake, even though he hadn’t wanted me to leave and go to school. He was there for me. He always had been.

But then why was I scared of what would happen once I made that phone call?

Viktor tapped on the door again, then unlocked it and stepped inside. He had my phone, its sparkly lilac case looking odd in his hand. “Here you are.”

I wanted to snatch it away from him suddenly. His having it in his possession felt like yet another violation. Yet another reason to want to slap him across his aggravatingly handsome face.

Too bad that was a good way to get myself killed.

I took it carefully and checked it. It didn’t appear damaged, and it was still charged. I unlocked it while he watched me like a hawk, knowing I didn’t dare try anything. Not with Nick’s safety hanging in the balance too.

I called my uncle’s cellphone.

It rang and rang, and every time the little whirring noise in my ear felt like a violin bow dragging against my taut nerves. I started shivering. Come on, pick up! I disappeared out of my house! You’re always watching me! You must have noticed, pick up!

I heard a click and almost dropped my phone. “Uncle Charles?” I asked, my voice breaking with relief.

A second later his voicemail greeting started playing.

Oh no. No, no, no, come on, you never turn off your phone. Pick up!

Please pick up. You have to. Cold jags of terror tore through me as the calm computer voice droned on. Then the beep.

“Please, we’ve been kidnapped! They said they sent you a ransom demand. Uncle Charles, please, you have to talk to them, you have to get us out of this!” My voice was shaky, high with fear. I couldn’t help it anymore. “Please, please call me back!”

I sat down heavily, not quite sure there was a chair under me until I fell into it. My whole body felt numb. I stared at the phone.

Then I set my jaw and called again.

And again.

And again, grinding my teeth, feeling hot anger well up from deep inside of me. He had never ignored my call, not when I had been younger, nor decades later. He always, always picked up. This was the first time, ever, that a call from me had gone to voicemail.

And it was when I needed him the most. When Nick needed him the most.

“Is something wrong?” Viktor asked quietly.