Page 7

CHARLOTTE

I hammer my fist on Misha’s door, the sound loud enough to shake the frame.

“Evan!” I shout, banging harder.

We have cover names for this operation. Evan and Brittany. Brother and sister.

I shiver, just the thought of being related to this buffoon makes my skin crawl.

Stepping back, it creaks open, and there he is, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, water streaming down his skin, a white towel precariously covering his modesty.

He gives me a slow smirk, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and leaning casually against the frame.

“Can I help?” he mumbles, and I frown.

“I was going to the grocery store to pick up stuff for my room. Want anything?”

“Evan! Get back here, tiger!” a squeaky female voice shouts over the noise of the shower.

“Oh.”

His creepy gaze rakes over my body. I slipped into a sleek, black bikini top and a flowing skirt earlier. I regret my decision.

His tongue darts out and licks his bottom lip.

“Condoms,” he replies.

“I meant water, food. You know, stuff we didn’t pack ourselves,” I spit back.

God, he’s vile.

And how the hell, in the matter of an hour, did he get a woman in his room?

Probably paid her.

As I turn, the rasp of his throat clearing stops me. A silent roll of my eyes is my only response.

“You know, you can always join if you’d like. Alice would be more than happy to service you too. So would I, gorgeous.”

Spinning to face him, I slam my foot down, the force rattling up my spine, fury pulsing through every vein like wildfire.

This motherfucker knows he can get away with it because I am Vlad’s property.

He knows I’m kept in line. That I can’t kill him, but holy shit, do I want to.

My fists clench tight, the pressure building in my forearms.

“We are here on a job, Misha. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again. I. Am. Not. Fucking. Interested. Grow up before you get us killed.”

His laughter, a cruel booming sound, fills my face as he jeers.

“Such a stuck-up princess. I guess Vlad must be giving it to you good, for you to not stray,” he growls.

Disgusting.

Just mentioning it, I can feel my husband’s disgusting hands on me.

Before I erupt and blow our cover, I flip him off with a sarcastic grin and stomp down the hall, taking my anger out on the elevator call button.

Fuck him. Fuck Vlad. Fuck men.

I take a deep breath and calm my raging thoughts, primarily of strangling them both to death and watching the life drain out of their eyes.

My dream.

As the elevator doors slide open, revealing a smiling couple, cooing over their fussy baby in a pushchair, I step in, pressing myself against the cool metal wall.

Looking at the buttons, the ground floor has already been pressed.

“Isn’t she so sweet?” the woman whispers to her husband.

“Just like her momma.” He kisses the side of her head almost proudly.

It’s like the walls are closing in on me. My chest is heavy with sadness.

A grief over a life I’ll never have.

A dream that I won’t ever get to pursue. Because when I escape, it will never be safe to have a child.

I’m not even sure I’ll find love, or if I even know what it is, for that matter.

As the elevator dings, I shake my head and let out a breath.

I just have to keep fighting and surviving.

That is enough. It has to be.

I gesture for the couple to go first. They give me a smile as they exit, and I hug my purse closer against my side.

Drago told me it’s a “safe-ish” area, but to keep my wits about me. Like I ever let up.

I’m constantly in fight or flight. Usually fight.

Rushing through the bright white marbled reception area, I head out into the street. I look left and right, nothing.

I frown. Maybe the shops are on the other side of the resort.

I open up my bag and slide my hand in, rummaging for my cell.

There’s a tug on my shoulder. I look up, and I’m staring into a set of unfamiliar, bloodshot eyes, his stale breath ghosting my face.

Probably mid-forties. Scruffy as hell.

I gaze down and find both of his filthy fingers on my bag. Dirt coats his nails and dried blood covers his skin.

I tug it back, but the thief doesn’t let up, only tightening his grip.

“Lady. Give me the bag and I won’t hurt you.”

I bite back a grin, doing a quick scan of his body.

I don’t see any weapons and both hands are on my belongings.

“You have three seconds to back the fuck up. If you don’t, I’ll show you what real pain is,” I say, looking him dead in his dark eyes.

I am not afraid of him.

He should fear me.