Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
She drives her free elbow toward my ribs, landing harder than I expect. I absorb it, but don’t give her any other reaction. I’ve seen her fight and I know that she’s not leaving here without one. My only option is to let her tire herself out.
She tries to hook my leg to take me down. It’s efficient, but her foot doesn’t land right, so my knees don’t buckle. She sighs in frustration as she realizes that she physically cannot take me.
“I’m really not,” she spits, using her words when her physical assault yields no results. “What’s your plan here, Viktor? Do you think you can use me for leverage against Mikhail? Do you really want to start a war you can’t win?”
I consider her words for only a moment. I definitely don’t want that, but there’s no chance in hell I’m leaving her here. There’s already a car approaching. I can see its headlights in the distance. There’s no time. I pick her up easily around the waist and throw her over my shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses into my ear, struggling against my grip. “Let me go, or I swear to God, I’ll murder you.”
“With what weapon?” I shrug, laughing to myself.
She continues to hurl insults into my ear on the short walk to the car. I open the passenger door and set her down inside before she gets another chance to argue. She pivots toward the opening instantly, but I close the door firmly and keep hitting the lock button on my remote so she can’t get out. I circle around to the driver’s side, keeping my eyes on her the whole time.
By the time I get in my seat, she’s already trying the handle. Unfortunately for her, I flipped the child lock on. She has no way to get out.
“Enough,” I say patiently. “This is happening.”
She turns toward me slowly, seething. “This is kidnapping.”
“The way I see it,” I say casually, “I’m doing you a favor.”
Before she can argue any more, I pull away from the street and zoom out into the street, getting us as far away from the scene as possible. The sooner this incident is behind us, the better.
“A favor?” she fumes. “You’re out of your mind if you think Mikhail is going to negotiate with you. He’ll kill you and everyone you’ve ever loved just to prove that he can. You’re a foolish man, Viktor.”
“Maybe.” I shrug, giving her nothing else to argue about.
She folds her arms over her chest and glares at me for the entire drive to Bay Ridge. I don’t mind her anger a bit.
4
ANYA
The first thing I register before my eyes even open is how damn quiet it is in this place. There’s no traffic bleeding through thin Brighton windows or distant music from Neptune. This isn’t some cheap apartment in Brooklyn. Viktor has gone through a lot of trouble to find a safehouse in a very rich district.
I don’t get up immediately. I stare at the ceiling and count my breaths, trying to control my anger. One breath in. Hold for eight counts. One breath out. Repeat.
It’s not horrible for a prison. The bed is comfortable and the sheets are a high thread count. I’m under no illusions, though. This definitely is a prison. Viktor Kovalev didn’t rescue me last night from Mikhail’s thugs.
For what reason, though? Does he have a death wish? Mikhail won’t stop coming for me, which was something I was ready to handle. It would have been easier to disappear on my own. I didn’t have a plan, true, but whatever was going to happen after Viktor killed Mikhail’s men could have involved me disappearing into the night.
There’s no logical reason for Viktor to have brought me here. That makes him dangerous. Logic, at least, makes men predictable. I could reverse engineer whatever the hell he was thinking and figure out his motives. Without it, I’m left completely in the dark.
I turn my head slowly and take in my gilded cage. The room is clean but impersonal. The walls are painted a neutral beige, and there are no pictures or artwork. Not even the stock photos you’d see at a hotel. The furniture is also minimal. There’s a bed, a nightstand, and a wardrobe. Nothing else. The room also has a slightly musty smell, like it hasn’t been aired out in a while. Whoever owns this place doesn’t live in it.
I sit up and force myself to actually wake up and figure out my next move. There are no weapons in the room. I check the nightstand, and of course, it’s empty. The wardrobe as well. All I have are the clothes I came in.
I walk over to the window to see if, maybe, it’ll open. Not that it would matter since the room is on the third floor of the brownstone. Even so, the window is sealed shut. There might as well be bars on it, though they would stand out in this neighborhood. I try to figure out where we are. Brooklyn Heights? Williamsburg? Maybe Bay Ridge or Red Hook. We’re definitely not in Brighton Beach.