No Woman Left Behind by Julie Moffett

push it out of his face. My eyes filled with tears.
    Focus.
    I have to focus.
    Broodryk was still talking, his voice cold, deliberate. “If you want him to stay alive, you will do exactly as I say. I do not care who helps you. You may involve the whole
fokken
US Army if you want. But you must come to me or your friend will die a very painful death. I assure you, I will take exceptional pleasure in doing it myself.”
    My hands were shaking uncontrollably, a sure sign of my anxiety, but I never stopped scanning the video.
    Elvis sat in a non-descript room with white walls. No furniture except for his plain wooden chair. A painting or picture of some kind hung on the wall to the right-hand side of the video, but it was mostly obscured. The flooring was light-colored wood. That was it in terms of visual cues. The digital forensic team would have little to go on.
    “There will be some who tell you not to engage,” Broodryk continued. “I would suggest not taking their advice. I do believe that you, of all people, will best understand what I can do to you, your family, your place of business and your friends. I’ve plenty of time—my time is entirely my own. Rest assured, I will make it my mission to destroy you if you do not come.
No one
you care about is safe from me.”
    A whip came out of nowhere, lashing Elvis across the cheek. I jerked, biting the inside of my cheek and tasting blood. Slash squeezed my hand so hard I winced.
    “You do what I say and we will deal. I’ll let him go, no questions asked. I am a man of my word. So, are you ready to play, my dear? Will you come to me like a lover in the night? We will be good together, yes?”
    I ignored the taunt and kept my focus on Elvis. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt spattered with blood. His feet were bare and looked dirty or bruised. His arms were tied behind his back and presumably to the chair. I swallowed hard and made myself examine his face. A blue cloth gag had been secured around his mouth and chin. His left eye had swollen shut. I couldn’t tell how badly hurt the rest of his face was because it was mostly smeared with blood. But he held his head up and the expression in his one good eye spoke murder. The tears I’d been holding back threatened to fall. I blinked harder.
    “You have until Friday at noon EST, to make contact after receiving your instructions from me. This video is your first clue. If you fail to find the method of contacting me, I’ll kill him and move on to the next victim until you get it right. I wonder who shall it be next time? A friend, a parent? Your new lover? No one you care about is safe from me. I sincerely wish you luck as I look forward to matching wits with you once again.”
    There was a pause and then a man dressed in black pants, a dark long-sleeved shirt and black ski mask walked into the video, his back to the camera. He approached Elvis and yanked the gag out of his mouth.
    “Say it,” he instructed Elvis.
    Elvis opened and closed his mouth for a moment. Then he spat on Broodryk’s shoe, glaring at him. “
Jou bliskem!
Don’t do it, Lexi.”
    Broodryk’s fist hit Elvis’s jaw so hard, it knocked the chair over with Elvis still tied to it. As I watched in horror, Broodryk strode across the floor and kicked Elvis several more times while he was down.
    I pushed my fist against my mouth to keep from screaming. I had never felt such hatred for anyone in my life. I wanted to rip Broodryk’s face to shreds with my fingernails. I wanted to shoot him a dozen times in the head. I wanted to drop to the floor and curl into a ball and erase these images from my mind forever.
    I could do none of them.
    “Let that be a warning to you, Lexi Carmichael,” Broodryk said, breathing hard. He turned to face the camera, his ski mask still in place. “Don’t be late, or else.”
    Mercifully, the screen went blank. Someone turned on the light. I blinked, then swiped at my wet cheeks with the back of my free hand. Despite my