Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Luckily, Frisky Denis liked to pat down people—didn’t matter who—so he wasn’t escorting me into the lion’s den. I wanted to pray. Yearned for belief in a higher power. The last time I let myself down while walking that road, I was sixteen, belly swollen with Rocket’s baby. And my knees? Just as shaky. I’d walked into a church for help. What a letdown.
Nope. Don’t go there, Jordyn. I continued putting one step in front of the other, past the dim sconces that led to the Russian’s office instead of hightailing it away from everyone. The door to the office stood open. I took one look at the back of Rocket’s wide shoulders as he sat on a tiny antique sofa next to another large man and froze. Had his shoulders broadened over the years? He’d grown his blond hair too. What was with the suit? The thug I knew—
I have no desire to reacquaint myself with him!
Aleksandr grinned like a proud father, hand outstretched, as if he’d planned the arranged marriage of the century. “Ah, here she is now. Come. Come.”
At that precise second, I took off running. My fate was uncertain—death or thrown back into Rocket’s sadistic arms—but the freedom of that run, however long it lasted, would be intensely sweet.
An argument ensued in the room. A supernatural light burst from behind me, so strong it seemed to move like the sound of light and reflected on the dark walls in front of me. What was that?
Didn’t matter. It momentarily lit my path to freedom. I darted for the kitchen when a hand clutched into the tender skin at the side of my shoulder. Ouch! I spun around. Drove my knee up. Aimed for my escort’s privates. The tight dress stopped my momentum.
Aleksandr’s man grinned.
Jerking my head forward, my forehead slammed into his nose. “Grrr!”
Elrick, Denis’ second in command, rushed into the hallway near us, gun in hand. The barrel of his semiautomatic weapon swept over me, my escort, and around. I stood rooted to the ground, waiting for someone to shoot me, but then my eyes flicked up to Elrick’s tensed features. He couldn’t … see?
Despite groaning, my escort reached toward me as more shots rang out in the room. I sidestepped the man. The borscht in my stomach—the last meal Aleksandr and I shared a few hours ago—soured more than when I forced it down. I spun toward the kitchen. Even with dark European wood cabinetry, the room wasn’t so gloomy, thanks to the sensor lights outside the French doors. I reached for a door handle, then stopped. Outside the bulletproof glass, two West Siberian Laikas charged like they would tear the door—and me—apart.
I stumbled back, grabbing a knife from the butcher block. The largest one.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The man who I’d injured, his nose twisted to the left, stalked into the kitchen. He planted his hands on the long island as if prepared for a game of cat and mouse. I backed toward the door again, the knife behind my back.
“Milaya,” he said in Russian. His square jaw tipped toward the glass, drops of blood stained his tie. “I see what’s in your hand. Better watch out, or I’ll use it on you.”
I glanced over my shoulders, not too concerned about the eight-inch blade in my hands but the dogs, whose enormous paws scraped at the glass. “Listen, how about you fix your nose? And nobody has to know that a big Russian like you got your nose broken today by a girl.”
“Nice try, b—”
I gripped the door handle and swung the door open toward me, trapping myself behind the glass. The two Laikas leaped from their hind legs. One’s vicious teeth clamped his neck while the other went for his arm.
The Bratva thug’s pleas for help, like my own unanswered cries, went unheard. Soundless, I slipped outside and closed the door. The night air bit into my skin, and sensor lights flickered on as I stalked around the freshwater pool, blade fisted upward in my hand. My eyes adhered to the massive sliding doors that led into Adrian’s home. Aleksandr’s twenty-year-old lived like a king in his own pool house. He’d better be asleep or out tormenting another girl at CalTech who had yet to sign an NDA for his behavior, or he’d be tasting steel.
I kicked off these stupid stilettos and kept my head on a swivel, looking for Adrian, the guards, and the two other dogs.
My heart sank as I passed by the Laika’s kennel. Empty. The knife in my hand shook when I rushed by the shed—my last prison. I had more land to cover in my escape. A few minutes later, the shootout seemed to lull. I approached a low wall of branches that surrounded a garden at the farthest side of the property. Farther out still was a fence, jagged edges at the top. Climbing that fence would be my next concern.