The red dot settled on the toe of Derek’s leather shoe.

He didn’t move.

His fingers tightened around the heavy wrench until his knuckles turned white.

“You’re bluffing,” Derek said into the phone.

His voice shook, just a little.

The speaker crackled with static.

“Try me,” Vincent’s voice replied, calm and steady.

The red dot slid up Derek’s leg.

It traveled over his knee, up his thigh, and stopped directly over his heart.

I held my breath, the metal chair cold against my back.

My hands were tied behind me with thick nylon rope that bit into my wrists.

The warehouse smelled of stagnant river water and old oil.

“She has thirty seconds to give me the keys, Moretti,” Derek snarled.

He stepped back, trying to pull himself out of the laser’s path.

The red dot stayed fixed on his chest, moving with him.

“You don’t have thirty seconds,” Vincent said.

The call disconnected.

The screen of Derek’s phone went black.

The silence in the shipping terminal was heavy and thick.

Derek dropped the wrench.

It hit the concrete floor with a loud, metallic clang that echoed off the high corrugated tin walls.