Page 16

My heart hammers in my chest. I press the gas down to the floor and check my phone again.

A dot blinks on the map. Anya’s location.

Yeah, I put a tracker in the sole of her sneakers and everything else of hers I could find because I’m not about to risk her trying to take off again.

Turns out, I was right not to trust her.

It took me all of two minutes to realize she was gone once my brothers left. Zephir, her shadow, was pacing in the entry by the door. After checking her bedroom, I jumped in the car and opened the app. She’d gotten pretty far—three miles on foot.

Part of me wondered if I should just let her go.

After what happened in the car, maybe she wanted nothing more to do with me.

I could hardly blame her for that when I was still disgusted with myself.

The other part of me was worried sick about her trying to make it back to her family on foot, with no phone and no money.

It was completely reckless. I pity her brothers for having to spend their lives trying to keep her out of trouble.

The dot is getting closer. I veer off the main road onto a side street and start scanning. About a hundred feet down the road, a black SUV is pulled over. Two figures stand beside it. Is one of them Anya? I speed up.

As I get closer, I realize there are three figures by the side of the road, and one of them is Anya. One man is pointing a gun at her while another is manhandling her, trying to shove her into the backseat of the car. She’s kicking and fighting like a wildcat to get away.

Fuck. I draw my gun and aim through the windshield as I hit the brakes, praying the one-way ballistics glass does its job.

The bullet hits the gunman in the shoulder, knocking him down, and the man holding Anya drops her to grab his own gun.

His first shot hits the windshield, and I fire back, skidding to a stop right beside their car.

The shot takes him in the gut, and he sprawls back against the side of the SUV, clutching at the wound.

Everything moves in slow motion. I fire another shot as I step out of the car, right to his head, and another at the man with the shoulder wound before he can aim again. Two down. Is there a third?

Anya sprints for my car, and the SUV guns it, taking off down the road. I fire a few shots at the back of it, but I’m distracted, focused on Anya and whether or not she’s hurt. The bullets hit the back of the car, but it keeps going, and I let it, turning to catch Anya when she reaches me.

She trembles in my arms. Sobs rack her delicate body.

“Are you okay?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight. She presses her face into my chest and nods, but she’s still shaking like a leaf.

Relief washes over me. It’s twice in as many days I’ve had to watch her nearly die, and I’ve had enough of it.

Each time, it feels like a noose tightening around my heart.

The next man that touches her is going to die a slow, bloody death, nothing like the quick ones I just let these motherfuckers have.

“Who were they?” she stammers, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and looking down at the bleeding bodies. “Shevchenko?”

“Maybe,” I say, looking over the men. “Come on, get in the car. We need to get out of here before someone else drives by.”

I’ll have to call the boys to get this cleaned up and see if they can identify the men, but I’d bet it’s Shevchenko work. I get her into the car and wrap my jacket over her. Despite the heat of the day, she’s still shivering.

I get in and start driving. There’s no way I’m going back home until I know it’s clear, so I head in the opposite direction, up the coast toward the home I grew up in. Anya tugs her legs up to her chest and presses her head onto her knees.

“I thought I was going to die.” I can barely hear her over the roar of the engine.

“I’m not going to ask what the fuck you were thinking just yet.” I reach over and take her hand because I just need to feel her heat, to know she’s here and safe. “But we’re definitely going to talk about it.”

She laces her fingers through mine and nods mutely.

My heart slows to a pace that doesn’t resemble a heart attack, and I dial Timofey, giving him the location of the bodies and a brief summary of what just happened. He promises to clean it up, then meet us at the house. Forty minutes later, we pull up the drive to the bungalow.

“Where are we?” she asks when she finally looks up from her knees, blinking at the sunlight. “This isn’t your place.”

I put the car in park. “It’s my family’s.”

The place is a pink stucco structure half-hidden by the jungle foliage planted around it. We duck beneath a particularly aggressive palm to reach the door, which swings open before I can grab the doorknob. Valery pulls us inside.

“Timofey called and told us what happened,” she says, still moving tenderly around the wound in her side. It took five stitches to patch her up after the window glass shattered next to her. “Everyone else is on their way over. It’s just me and Nikita here now.”

“Fucking Shevchenkos,” I mutter, leading Anya into the house. She’s still pale, but she’s stopped shaking at least. “Here, sit down.”

I get her seated on the well-worn leather couch and turn to Valery. “Do we have any tea?”

“What is with you and the tea?” Anya asks, shaking her head a little.

Valery arches one plucked brow. “Tea? I’ve got vodka.”

“I know Mom had tea somewhere around here.” I leave her and Anya to search through the kitchen, rummaging in the drawers until I find a box of tea bags.

There’s a copper kettle on the stove that probably hasn’t been used since my mother was around, so I wash it and turn the water on to boil.

“He’s really doing it.” I hear Anya say to Valery. “Why does he become British after a crisis?”

“Honestly, he’s never done that before. I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Valery replies. “Do you want some vodka? I think it’s a better fixer than tea.”

“I don’t want him to think I don’t appreciate the tea.”

“A splash of vodka and a cup of tea, then.” Valery appears in the kitchen a moment later, and I try to look like I haven’t been eavesdropping.

She grabs a bottle of vodka from the counter and three glasses, giving me a bemused look before heading back into the living room.

When the kettle starts to scream, I pull it off the heat and fix Anya a cup of tea. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing either. I just have to do something.

I bring it to her in the living room and set it down beside the cups of vodka. “Did you two start without me?”

Anya eyes the steaming cup of tea skeptically, but there’s a smile on the edge of her lips. She takes a tentative sip. “Actually, it’s not half bad. Not sure it’ll steady my nerves like the vodka, though. How many times am I going to get held at gunpoint in a week?”

“Probably a few more if you stick around.” Valery pours herself another splash of vodka.

Car tires crunch on the driveway, and she peers around me to the window. “There’s Oleg and Diomid. Oh, and Timofey is just behind them. That was quick.”

My brothers spill into the house, and Nikita pokes her head down from upstairs. “Oh, everyone’s here.”

She smiles at Anya and comes around to hug me. I take my spot beside Anya on the couch before anyone else can claim it and breathe a little easier when she presses her leg against mine.

“Don’t let your tea get cold,” I remind her.

She laughs and picks up the cup again. “Tastes a bit… stale. But I appreciate the effort.”

“Ah, the vodka’s out.” Diomid grabs the bottle and takes a swig straight from it, earning groans of protest from the rest of us.

“Gross. I don’t want to drink anything that’s touched your mouth,” Valery whines. “Now I have to go sanitize that.”

“Hang on,” Timofey says, snatching the bottle and swallowing a glug. “Here you go.”

“Brothers,” she sighs, with a knowing look at Anya.

“They’re hopeless,” she agrees.

Having her among my family feels good in a way I didn’t expect. Warm, somehow. Right. I put my arm around her shoulders and pull her against me. She lets out a soft sigh and snuggles closer.

“Right, everyone else in the kitchen. Give these two a minute,” Timofey barks, shepherding the family out of the living. “And we need some food.”

A lump sticks in my throat, but I force it down. I don’t want to bring her back to the scene and her terror, but I’m still pretty pissed about her running off again after she swore she wouldn’t.

“You ready to tell me what that was about? I thought we had a deal, princess.” Maybe she’ll tell me I’m an asshole for the way I treated her in the car. I deserve it.

She twists to look at me. “Yeah, and then I overheard you planning to hit an operation that we’re a part of. Everything was about to get messed up beyond repair. I needed to get home to explain what’s happening before it blew up.”

I run a hand over my face. I definitely did not mean for her to hear that.

“Shit. I should’ve told you what we were planning.

But you should’ve told me what you were planning.

Not just run off without a word. I was so sca—.

” I bite the word off before it comes out.

I’m not ready to admit that, even if it’s getting harder and harder to deny what I’m feeling for her.

“Maybe, but I didn’t think you’d listen to me. After what happened in the car you’ve wanted nothing to do with me.”

Is that what she thinks? That there’s something wrong with her? “It wasn’t like that. After the car, I felt like a complete monster. You’re so young. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Her voice heats. “You didn’t do anything. Don’t take my choice away. I wanted it. I wanted you. And I don’t regret it.” She reaches up and cups the side of my face tenderly.

“Hate to interrupt whatever this is,” Timofey says, coming into the living room and holding up my cellphone, “but this thing has been ringing nonstop. Someone really wants to talk to you.”

Reluctantly, I peel myself away from Anya and take the phone, stepping out into the front yard to answer the next call that comes in.

“Hello?”

“Matvei Abashin, you have my sister.”

I glance over my shoulder at the house. “I take it this is Anton Milov.”

“Heard through the grapevine that Anya is with you. Listen up, Abashin. Bring her to the Hotel June tonight, at half past ten or we’ll blow your fucking operation out of Miami by the end of the week.”

Hotel June is right here in Miami. But Anya said Anton wasn’t in town; he was traveling. Just when I start to trust her, just when I start to think this marriage between us could turn into something real, she lies to me again.