I stumbled on a rusted metal track.

“Please, Derek,” I whimpered.

“Shut up, Clara,” he growled.

Behind us, I heard the steady crunch of boots on gravel.

Vincent was following us, flanked by the two guards.

He walked with a calm, terrifying confidence.

He did not look like a man with two rifles aimed at his back.

Derek stopped near a massive blue container.

The pulsing green dot on his phone screen was flashing rapidly now.

“It is inside this section,” Derek said, his voice shaking with greed.

He looked back at Vincent.

“Where is the key code?” Derek demanded.

“Let her go first,” Vincent said.

He stopped ten feet away from us.

“I don’t think you understand the situation, Moretti,” Derek said.

He pulled me tighter against his chest, the barrel of the gun digging into my skin.

“I will blow her head off right here,” Derek said.

“And then you will never get what is inside,” Vincent replied.

“I’ll take my chances,” Derek said.

He pulled the hammer of the gun back.

The metallic click was incredibly loud in the quiet terminal.