Rebecca presses the torn dress to her neck with one hand and fumbles for the sink with the other. The water rushes on, and she cups her hand and splashes it onto her nurse's face. The nurse coughs and splutters, and her eyes flicker open.

"Miss Arlington, what's going on?" the nurse asks. "Why am I on the floor? Oh my god—why are you bleeding?"

"I need to go to the hospital," Rebecca says, panting for breath.

"What about Avery?" the nurse asks. "Is she okay?"

"I'm going to be fine," Avery says. "But Rebecca isn't. She's losing a lot of blood. You need to get her out of here."

"Shut up," the lead kidnapper shouts.

Avery opens her mouth to scream for help, but a rough cloth covers her mouth and nose. She shakes her head back and forth, but the cloth smells sickly sweet, and it makes her head spin. The faces in front of her start to get fuzzy, and then everything goes dark.

When she wakes up, her entire body aches. Her shoulders are bent behind her back, and something sharp digs into her wrists. Groaning, she tries to move her legs, but they seem to be tied together. There's a dark, foul-smelling cloth covering her eyes and a sour, scratchy piece of fabric crammed into her mouth. The carpeted ground feels like it's moving beneath her, but she's not sure if that's a side effect of the drug they gave her.

"Looks like Sleeping Beauty woke up," a rough male voice says.

"About time," a Russian accented man says. "I don't think that another woman is actually getting the money."

"If not, we're screwed," says the first. "What are we gonna do with her?"

"Calm down—her husband is rich," says the leader. "Even if he leaves her, she's not too bad looking. I say we could have some fun with her and sell her to the nearest brothel when we're done. Anyway, we're almost there."

There's a rocking motion and then a sharp stop. Avery rolls sideways and slams into something hard and plastic. Are we in a car? She wonders. And where are they taking me? How long have I been unconscious?

The movement starts again, and then it stops. A car door opens and shuts, and then she feels cold, moist air on her face. Rough hands grab her by the shoulders and drag her forward.

"Don't bother with all that," the leader says. "Just untie her legs and make her walk."

"Are you sure?" the Russian asks.

"Look at her—she can't run away," the leader laughs.

Someone grabs her legs, and she feels the cold touch of metal against her skin as the man slices through the zip ties around her ankles. The rough hand pulls her to her feet, but her knees buckle and collapse. She slams onto a hard, wet concrete floor, and the breath leaves her lungs.

"Get on your feet and move it," the Russian growls.

He pulls her up and shoves her in the back. She flies forward and slams onto the ground again. Her rib aches, and her cheek stings, and she tastes blood on her tongue. The man growls and mutters something in Russian, and then he picks her up and carries her against his chest. He smells like sweat and cheap cologne and her gags.

"Shit, that other woman isn't answering her phone," the leader says. "I guess it's time to call this woman's husband. Let's hope for her sake that her husband likes her more than this friend of hers."

The men chuckle and start to walk. Their footsteps slap against the hard ground and echo into the distance. As they walk, the air gets colder and mustier. Finally, the Russian drops her onto a cold, metal chair. He jerks her arms behind the back of the chair and ties her ankles to the legs of the chair. A sweaty palm brushes her face, and one of the men yanks the gag from her mouth.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" the leader asks. "It's been a day, and your little friend won't even return our calls."

"She's not my friend," Avery says, her tongue feeling swollen and clumsy.

The leader chuckles and asks, "Isn't she?"

"No, she's dating my ex-husband," Avery says. "You idiots should have done your research before you took her word."

"Shit shit shit," the Russian says. "Why didn't we know this?"

"Listen," Avery says. "Call my ex. I don't mean a thing to him, but he might save me for the sake of his child."

"You're quite bossy," the leader says. "And surprisingly calm. I would have thought you'd be the screaming type."

"This isn't the first time I've been kidnapped," she says.

"Are you sure about calling your ex-husband?" the leader asks. "Think carefully, lady. We've already wasted a lot of time on you. If he doesn't pay, we're going to go to Plan B, and you're not gonna like Plan B."

"Do it," Avery says. "I'll give you his direct number."

She hears the buttons beep as the leader dials the number into his cellphone, and the phone rings once and then twice. She holds her breath, hoping that Evan or at least Robert will answer the call.

"Hello?" Evan's voice asks.

"Hello, Mr. Howel," the leader says, his voice garbled with a voice changer. "I have your ex-wife here. Listen!"

A hand pulls her hair, and her scalp burns, but she refuses to scream. She takes a deep breath and clears her throat.

"Hi, Evan," she says. "It's true—these men have kidnapped me."

"Do you recognize your ex-wife's voice?" the leader asks.

"What do you want?" Evan demands. "How much do you want?"

"Two hundred million dollars and not a cent less," the leader says. "We'll give you a few hours to prepare the money, and then we'll be in touch again."

"Okay," Evan says. "But you have to swear to me that she's not injured."

"She's fine," the leader says. "But one more thing—if you even think about going to the police, she's as good as dead."

"Understood," Evan says.

"Well, well," the leader says in his normal voice. "I hope your ex-husband still cares about you. Two hundred million is a lot of money, and he has plenty of time to reconsider."

"He won't," she says.

"We'll see," the Russian says.

The men walk away, and she squirms in the hard, metal chair. Her hands are starting to go numb, and her shoulder feels like it's been dislocated. The blood on her scraped cheek has dried into a painful crust, and her ribs ache with every breath. She stops moving and lets her head fall onto her chest. Everything goes black again.

Chairs scrape across the room, and her eyes flicker open under the blindfold. The men are whispering to each other, and there's the unmistakable sound of cards shuffling against each other. The kidnappers seem to be playing poker. She dimly wonders what they're gambling—money from the ransom, chances to take advantage of her—and then she hears a sharp slap. It happens again and then again. It seems the loser gets hit in the face.

She fades in and out of consciousness, waking up again as the men run across the room. Strong hands pull her head backward, and someone hits her across the face. A powerful foot kicks her in the shin, and she screams.

"Stop that," the leader shouts.

"What's going on?" Avery asks.

"Your ex-husband changed his mind about you," the leader says. "He called the police."

"How soon will they be here?" she asks.

"Ten minutes, tops," the leader says.

"Okay, listen, I can still get you the money, but you have to untie me," she says. "I can transfer the money myself, but it will take a few minutes."

"Why didn't you just do that from the start?" the Russian asks. "This woman is a liar—she doesn't have any money."

"I tried to give you my card, remember?" Avery asks. "Listen, this is your best bet now. You can't escape the police with me—they're already too close. And if you kill me, you'll get nothing for all your troubles."

A gun pressed against her cheek, and the leader says, "You better be telling the truth."

"I am," she says.

Someone pulls the blindfold off her eyes, and someone else cuts her wrists free. The leader shoves a phone into her hands, and her fingers shake as she types the password. She takes a deep breath before she presses enter. If I guessed it wrong, I'm screwed, she thinks.