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If I thought I was scared before, I was wrong. I didn’t know what fear was until Rurik’s hands were wrapped around my throat, his eyes completely devoid of any human emotion. I believed I was going to die as I struggled to breathe around his vice grip, heartbroken that my last sight on earth was going to be this evil man’s hatred.

Not Dima. I’d never see Dima again. And that was a pain I wasn’t prepared for, almost surpassing my terror. But not the sadness. That remained when I opened my eyes again. My throat was raw, and my neck felt like it had been… well, choked by a crazed fiend. My hands were still firmly bound in front of me, but I slowly brought them up to rub the tender area, certain I’d be black and blue. If I lived long enough for the bruises to show up.

It didn’t seem like I was out too long this time, just a few minutes to recuperate and refill my lungs with air. I decided the best course of action was to not say anything else that might upset my captor, but the longer I lay there with my eyes closed, the angrier I got.

It felt good. Better than quaking with fear, anyway, and it dulled the sorrow I didn’t understand. Was I actually longing for Dima? And not just to rescue me, though I fervently wished he would, but because I just wanted to see his sky-blue eyes again. Hear his voice, even if what he was about to say would surely annoy me. Then we’d argue, then we’d make up…

I was delirious. It had to be that. I’d been dosed with chloroform, beaten, tied up, threatened, and now choked. Anyone would be trying to disconnect from that reality and trying to slip into a slightly better one.

I finally opened my eyes, unable to stand the suspense of not knowing where Rurik was. I could almost feel him looming over me, and my skin crawled, thinking he was about to lick me or something equally horrifying.

He sat on the worn armchair a few feet away, blocking the space between the bed and the wall. If I rolled over and tried to get off the bed the other way, he’d be on his feet before I hit the dirty carpet. I turned from my side where he’d left me in a heap and got propped up against the headboard again, feeling slightly less vulnerable when I was sitting up. It was a complete illusion. I was at his mercy, and he knew it, looking up from his phone to smirk.

Don’t antagonize him.

That was easier said than done, because hatred bubbled up inside me like acid, scorching my stomach and making the pain in my throat burn like hot coals. He didn’t seem that interested in torturing me again, either with threats or his fists, so things could have been worse.

It was bad enough, though, since he kept staring at me in between tapping out messages on his phone. I tried not to look away and show my fear, but I couldn’t meet those eyes.

If I didn’t know who he was and passed him on the street, I might have thought Rurik was handsome. Not in the stunning, disarming way that Dima was. Dima had a charm about him, and was so easygoing that it didn’t matter how gorgeous he was. Everyone ended up liking him because of that. His eyes were full of light and life and sometimes mischief.

Rurik’s had nothing behind them. It was like sitting three feet away from a shark. The blank emptiness made cold ripples run down my spine and damp, clammy sweat break out along my sides. Despite my vow to remain silent, I longed to ask what was going to happen next. The suspense was going to kill me, even if his plan was to keep me alive a little bit longer.

“We’re waiting on my friend with a private jet,” he said when I couldn’t stop an impatient huffing sound. He lowered his phone and laughed. “You know him. He owed Dimitry a favor and flew both of you down here.”

“I guess he owed you a bigger favor,” I said. You really couldn’t trust anyone.

“That’s right,” he said. “And he knows who's going to be in charge soon enough.”

I couldn’t help it and rolled my eyes, clamping my mouth shut to keep from telling him it would be a cold day in hell before he brought down the Fokins. I was Dima’s favorite toy right now, but even if Rurik killed me, it wouldn’t destroy the entire family. Once they got their revenge, and they would, Dima would move on.

Wow, that hurt. It shouldn’t have, because I had been running, trying so hard to get away I’d walked right into this trap. And here I was, feeling morose at the thought of Dima forgetting all about me.

“So where do you think you can go so he won’t find you?” I asked, perfectly reasonably and not at all taunting.

“We’ll jump around for a while, but I plan to eventually set you up in Moscow. Ever been? You’ll like it there.”

His sarcasm didn’t touch me because I was holding in my bitter laughter. I was about to end up in Russia after all, and now with someone so much worse than my father. With my father, I knew what to expect, although I’d already been wrong to believe he’d paid off his debt.

“I’m sure that Dima will pay you whatever my father still owes,” I said, desperation beginning to claw at me. I had to get out of this before that plane arrived, not liking how confident he was in thinking he could really keep me hidden.

Rurik set his phone down in his lap and looked at me for way too long and much too intensely. “It is a lot of money,” he said. “But I like it better this way.” His head tilted like a bird sussing out a worm. “I think you’re very pretty, and I’ve taken a liking to you. You’ll be a nice addition to my life, especially knowing how much rage your husband will feel when I send him a picture now and then to remind him of who won.”

The wheels in my brain spun like they had never spun before. So he had no immediate plans to kill me, but what he described sounded so much worse. I had to think of a way out of this.

“Will it really be winning, though?” I asked. “You’ll never be able to set foot in California again. All your work will be wasted, and you’ll lose what little power you have.”

Okay, I shouldn’t have said little. His stony mask switched to visible anger in a blink, and I braced for another attack. He got himself under control and didn’t lunge to choke me again, or beat me into oblivion. The slow smile that curled his lips was almost worse.

“Don’t you worry about that. I have plans in place, and it’s just a matter of time before every last Fokin is under my heel. Then there will be no place I can’t go.”

Now, I was no longer just fearful for myself. Could he mean it, or was he just blustering about destroying the entire Fokin family? My chest twisted. They were my friends. Even if I didn’t want to live the same way they did, they’d shown me nothing but kindness. Aleks had taken my father under his wing and given him job after job despite his flakiness. They saved my cousin’s life once and set him up with a business of his own in Russia where he’d be safe.

Dima had kept me out of this creep’s hands for as long as he could, and it was my own fault I was there for trusting Zoey. I thought he was being controlling and overstepping boundaries by running a background check on her. I called him paranoid, but I should have been on high alert.

I had been blind, fighting Dima at every turn, even when all I wanted to do was give in. The fight was stupid and pointless, and I’d wasted so much time with the man I had always admired, secretly had a crush on, and had grown to love. Yes, love. The realization was like a sunbeam after days of storms, but was quickly blotted out by an even bigger dark cloud rolling in.

Too little too late. I was only figuring out my feelings when the clock was ticking down on really losing my freedom. Oh my God, how did I ever think Dima had been my jailer? The things he hadn’t allowed me to do were to keep me from the very situation I was in now. Sure, he had been bossy, he had always been bossy, but controlling?

Everything seemed different now, in the shadow of Rurik Kuzmin leering at me. Too little, too late. It was enough to make me want to sob, but there was no way I’d let Rurik think it was because he was getting to me.

Which he was. He continued to talk about his plans, his taunting voice grating on my last nerve and decimating the last bit of my courage. Apparently, he had a bunker on the outskirts of Moscow, and hundreds of people there willing to cover for him. He’d barely lose any freedom, but I’d never see the light of day again. I’d be under his complete and utter control.

No pretty garden to tend, no jungle paths to explore, no quaint town full of friendly people. People I really wanted to get to know, not just use them as a possible means to escape. That was lost, too. The place I could have thought of as home if I didn’t have such tunnel vision, was being ripped away from me. Everything was being ripped away from me.

“Yes, I’ll put you in some very revealing outfits,” Rurik continued, the glee in his voice dragging my attention back to him. “Or maybe nothing at all for some of the pictures Dimitry will receive? Would he hate that or like it?”

Did he really think I would answer? It took all my effort and control not to puke at his plans.

“We could even stage a wedding,” he continued dreamily, excited about making his arch-enemy miserable. “Not that I’d ever marry someone like you. But it would certainly make his head explode.”

He snapped another picture of me, probably because my mouth had dropped open in horror and disgust. He finally shut up for ten seconds to send it to Dima, and I wished I was untied just so I could snatch the phone out of his hands and throw it across the room. The thought of Dima suffering on my account was too much.

“Yes, speaking of heads exploding,” Rurik cackled. “I don’t think this last picture packs enough punch. Let’s get you undressed and—”

In the next instant, the only thing exploding was the door. It burst inward, slamming into the wall. Before it could bounce back, Dima rushed in, looking like an avenging angel brandishing a gun in each hand. Ivan was right behind him with his gun drawn, sweeping the room to make sure no one was hiding in the corners.

Rurik jumped up, and I heard a loud, shrill noise. It was me, screaming, because just as Dima lunged forward and knocked Rurik across the side of his head with one of his guns, Rurik shouted. The adjoining door on the other side of the room flew open, and two men burst in, pulling their weapons.

“Dima, behind you!” I screamed, throwing my body forward. I landed hard on my tied hands, between the wall and the bed, and unable to see what was happening.

“Stay down,” Dima bellowed as a gunshot rang out, nearly deafening me in the small room.

Another gunshot quickly followed, and then my ears were ringing too badly to make out who was shouting. My heart was in my throat, pounding so hard I got dizzy as I slammed my wrists onto the side of the bed and pulled myself up. There was no way in hell I could stay down there cowering and not knowing who just got shot.

Please don’t let it be Dima.

Had he been so distracted by my scream that Rurik’s men got the drop on him? What if his brother had been killed? He’d never forgive me for that. I’d never forgive myself. My head popped up above the side of the bed, and for a moment, all I saw was Rurik, slumped over on his chair, dazed from the blow to the head.

“Dima,” I said, unable to get enough air to scream again.

He stood up from where he was crouched over one of Rurik’s men, blood coating his palm. Ivan stood up at the same time.

“Mine’s dead,” Ivan said.

Dima nodded and turned to me, looking as terrifying as anyone I’d ever seen. There was so much anger brewing in his eyes, it seemed to overflow and coat him like bubbling lava. He fairly shimmered with rage. His eyes cut from mine to Rurik, who stirred in his seat.

“Gun,” I managed, but it wasn’t necessary to warn them that he was armed.

Ivan had Rurik’s weapon out of his hand in the blink of an eye and was about to bash him over the head again when Dima stopped him.

“No,” he said, voice hard as steel and colder than ice. “He’s going to suffer, and I want him to be awake for every second of it.”

Ivan whipped some zip ties out of his pocket, getting Rurik under control as Dima hurried over to where I was still wedged on the floor. He lifted me up and half settled, half dumped me on the bed, pulling out a knife as he loomed over me, still looking like the face of hell itself.

Grabbing my arm, he slid the knife between my wrists and sliced through the scratchy ropes. Not saying a word, he moved to free my ankles, placing a hand on one of them as his eyes traveled up my body. They settled on my throat, and he made a low, growling sound as he continued to search for more injuries.

“Where’s Zoey?” Ivan demanded, stalking desperately toward the adjoining room with his gun drawn. “If you believe in anything, Kuzmin, you better pray she’s not hurt.”

Ivan reached the door to the other motel room and smacked it open, easing his gun around the door frame as he looked inside. Even knowing he had lost, and with blood running down his face, Rurik laughed.

“Come on out, Daria,” he called.

I was stunned. Daria? Not as stunned as Dima and Ivan, who seemed to recognize the name, when it was completely new to me.

Ivan stepped aside as Zoey—Daria stepped in, clutching her hands together and keeping her eyes downcast.

“What the actual fuck?” Ivan asked.

“You two don’t remember my sister?” Rurik asked, still laughing like a damn clown.

I already hated him with the fire of a thousand burning suns, but even more when I saw the pain and confusion on Ivan’s face.

“There’s no way,” he said. “Your sister died eight years ago.”

“She was killed,” Rurik snapped, pointing at Dima. “Murdered. By you.”

Dima looked thunderstruck, shaking his head. “No one was supposed to be in that building when it blew. We checked.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before. But you didn’t check well enough to see that someone was actually in there. Maybe they weren’t supposed to be, but they were, Fokin.”

“That bomb was in retaliation for burning down three of our buildings,” Ivan said in Dima’s defense when he was clearly too distraught by the painful memory to speak up for himself.

Dima may have been a killer, but he wasn’t a murderer, and he didn’t kill innocent people for no reason.

“She wasn’t killed, though,” I said. “She’s right there.”

“Our cousin was with her,” Rurik hissed. “Killed for the crime of skipping school and hanging out in one of our warehouses where they wouldn’t be found. Daria made it out, but Fyodor never did. Only fourteen years old. What?’ he asked at my look of dismay. “Didn’t know your husband was a child killer?”

I shook my head. “He’s not. It was an accident. It was—”

“Shut up,” Rurik howled.

Dima hit him hard enough to snap his neck back, and his head dropped to his chin, conscious but dazed enough to stay quiet for the moment. I looked at Zoey, no, Daria, to see if any of this was true. She refused to look up, her face an unreadable mask. She didn’t make a peep to confirm or deny, so I turned to Ivan. His glare was locked on her, his hands clenched into fists. He was pissed, but more than that, he was hurt. He could act like his flirting meant nothing, but he was starting to really like the traitorous woman. He’d been just as fooled as I was.

Rurik shook his head and laughed again, sounding drunk when he spoke. “I bet you did a background check on her, didn’t you?” he asked. “But you found nothing but the past I carefully constructed for her, you—”

Ivan strode forward and popped him in the mouth, giving him a look that dared him to speak again. Rurik finally seemed to gain some sense and shut the hell up. Dima had been silent at my side, looking tormented by the past. He turned to me and pulled me into his arms.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I should have asked if he was, but all I could do was hold on, awash with gratitude that this was over.

Except, it wasn’t. Not yet. I pulled back, making Dima look at me. “We have to get out of here, and fast. He has a pilot on the way, and maybe others, too.”

He gave me a curt nod, his face still wracked with anguish and fury. Picking me up, he cradled me close to his hard chest and carried me out of the motel room.

“Take care of them,” he threw over his shoulder to Ivan.

Whoever Zoey really was, she made a small, fearful sound, and by the look on Ivan’s face, I would have felt sorry for both of them if I didn’t hate them both so much. Yes, even Zoey. Especially Zoey, for her betrayal. I was a little bit sorry not to be able to stay and watch what Ivan had in store for them.

I guess I was every bit as ruthless as my husband when I came right down to it.

Outside my dingy prison cell, the warm night air drenched my clammy skin, and I melted into Dima’s embrace, as satisfied as a house cat on a cushion in front of a fire. This was where I really wanted to be, and now that I had the chance again, I’d be damned if I let go anytime soon.

I was worn out, and every place I’d been hit began to throb, my sore throat absolute agony and making it hard to speak, even if I could find words to explain myself.

Dima remained silent as well on the long trip home, and every time I peeked at him, a muscle worked in his jaw as he kept his eyes firmly on the road. When we got there, he carried me into the house again, as tender as he ever was. But the look on his face was dark and cold, and had the chill of fear rising up my spine all over again.

He paused in the front hall, looking down at me and searching my face before he spoke.

“Did you go with Kuzmin’s sister on your own?” he asked, voice hollow. “Were you really trying to leave me?”

Oh God. How could I possibly explain?