My shoes scraped against the gritty concrete.

I stumbled, but his grip on my hair kept me upright.

“Please, Derek,” I sobbed.

“Let me go.”

“Shut up,” he spat.

He pressed the gun harder into my temple.

I could feel the circular edge of the barrel digging into my skin.

My vision blurred with tears of pain and fear.

The terminal was freezing, but sweat dripped down Derek’s forehead.

He was unraveling.

He had always been volatile, but this was different.

This was desperation.

“Your father owed people, Clara,” Derek muttered, his eyes darting from side to side.

“Dangerous people.”

“They want those keys.”

“And they paid me to find them.”

“You’re just a pawn,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

“You always were.”

He slapped me across the face with his free hand.

The blow sent a sharp pain radiating through my jaw.

I tasted copper.

“I said shut up,” he growled.

“I’m the one holding the gun.”

“I’m the one who decides if you breathe.”

He looked toward the dark corners of the warehouse again.

“Moretti!” he shouted.