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I didn’t know if I was more shocked or furious, but either way, I wasn’t able to speak for a long time. I had spent a solid half an hour of our silent, tense drive to God knew where, and once I finally worked up the power to express how much I couldn’t stand this situation, I was shut right down with a heavy dose of ice-cold reality.

I couldn’t move, frozen to my bones at what Dima told me my fate might have been. My father would have sold me to Rurik Kuzmin? A man even the most ruthless kingpins didn’t mess with unless they had to?

It shouldn’t have been possible, but my heart was just about broken. My father had always held me in disdain, considered me a nuisance at best and a waste of space at worst. If it weren’t for me constantly sweeping up his messes and his need to have a punching bag when he was in a sour mood, he would have forgotten he had a daughter long ago.

But did he really hate me so much that he would have sold me to the Kuzmins? It was bad enough that he’d sold me to Dima, but at least I knew him.

Or did I? Did I know him at all, even a little bit, if he was capable of this? I’d thought of him as a friend and even confided in him, and he’d already used that knowledge I imparted against me. Or did he use it to save me?

The small plane that Dima had wrangled arrived and as a crew began to go over the flight check and top off the fuel, I began to seriously panic. That wasn’t good. I needed my wits about me because I had no idea where we were headed. Or even why.

Why was he doing this?

After we parked, we sat in his car for a few minutes, then he said he was stuffy and wanted some fresh air. I stayed behind out of stubbornness as the car slowly turned into an oven, finally getting out to sit as far as possible from him without him thinking I was trying to make a mad dash. As if that would work.

Now, I turned to him, and he immediately looked away from his phone to raise a questioning brow. His complete awareness of my every move even when he didn’t appear to be paying any attention to me, made my skin ripple with goosebumps. He was like a lithe tiger, ready to pounce.

I didn’t like the feeling of being anyone’s prey, especially not someone whose sky-blue eyes could make me melt. I crossed my arms as if that was any protection at all.

“Are you just doing this to get me out of a bad situation?” I asked, ignoring his mild smirk at boiling down the risk of ending Rurik Kuzmin’s plaything as merely a bad situation. “You don’t really mean to make me go through with this marriage, do you?”

Infuriatingly, he only rolled his eyes and got up to speak to the pilot, who was heading our way.

This was it. Time to go to the terrifying unknown. Panic began to close in on me, and I glanced around wildly. The airfield was surrounded by high fences, and the few gates were manned by guards who would slow me up if not outright stop me. It was laughable to think I’d make it ten steps anyway. No, there was nowhere to run, no one who’d help me, and even if I miraculously managed to get away somehow, there would be nowhere to hide.

I might not have known Dima the way I thought I did, but I knew the Fokins. If they wanted you found, you’d be found.

It was better to accept things—for now. Anything was better than being sold to Rurik Kuzmin. Thinking about my close call brought a fresh rush of anger toward my father. It was easier to be mad at him than consider the very real possibility that Dima had jumped in and made his own offer out of pity.

He knew Kuzmin far better than I did, and what I knew made me shudder with disgust and terror. So, of course, it had to be pity on Dima’s part.

What else could it be? I absolutely refused to think he was doing it for noble purposes because I didn’t want to have any kind of warm feelings for him at the moment. Wanting to marry me out of attraction had me snorting with bitter laughter. The man was rich, powerful, and freaking gorgeous. Models and socialites clambered for his attention, which he freely gave. At least, he used to. It seemed like the past few months, he’d been too busy to date much, something I shouldn’t have noticed, but I did.

Pity was the only logical answer, and it made my skin crawl. I hated pity, hated charity, and I hated not knowing what was going on.

Anger was better; it kept me from collapsing into a heap. I glared at Dima’s back as he continued speaking to the pilot, probably telling him our destination, something he refused to tell me.

He hadn’t answered my question at all, but I had to believe the marriage nonsense was all bluster for my father’s sake so he wouldn’t try to drag me back into his problems if Kuzmin wasn’t satisfied with mere repayment and found out about the lost shipment of guns.

Dima would never really make me go through with such a thing. Despite hating being the object of his sympathy, him having it showed he was the kind man I believed him to be. I’d seen him go out on a limb for his friends many times before.

He waved me over and I kept my distance during the flight, along with a stony silence. I had already asked a question and I wasn’t saying anything more until he answered it. We were in the air for only a couple of hours, which meant the mystery location wasn’t Russia, at least.

As I disembarked on the small staircase, I was greeted by a blast of much hotter and steamier air than LA. The tiny airfield was surrounded by tropical flora, with a vast jungle threatening to encroach on the tarmac. Mountains rose from the acres of lush green foliage, giving off the feel of a huge wall blocking us in.

“Welcome to Mexico,” Dima said, holding out his hand to help me down the last few steps where I’d stopped to gawk at the scene before me.

I gasped, looking around for the customs office that had to be nearby. “I don’t have my passport.”

I didn’t have anything, not even the suitcase I’d left in my car at my father’s house. Dima had dragged me away with only the clothes on my back. He rolled his eyes, as not having identification was ever going to be a problem for someone like him.

Sure enough, we were driving away from the airfield in a rugged Jeep before I knew it. Dima turned the air on full blast and aimed it at me, but I refused to act even slightly grateful. I was still refusing to speak to him on principle, but during the flight, I’d managed to calm down from panic mode.

What I figured was going to happen was Dima was going to hide me in one of the Fokin’s many safe houses for a few days or weeks at most, until everything was settled with the Kuzmins. His family was their biggest rival, and they were always scrabbling to take a chunk of the Fokins superior power and territory. Dima was trying to keep me off their radar so nothing would lead back to them and kick off a war.

I could handle a safe house where my biggest worry would be that there’d be something to read. Since I’d grown up on the fringes of this life and had been exposed to so much since working for Max, having to go into hiding sometimes wasn’t too crazy. I’d even been in charge of outfitting several safe houses in my time. I knew the drill.

But we didn’t end up at a house at all. Instead, we drove into a quaint little village that appeared out of nowhere as we passed some farmland that had been carved out of the jungle. Despite its small size, the village seemed to be pretty vibrant and bustling, with a little motel next to a cantina at the outskirts. We passed a couple of markets and a coffee shop and finally pulled up outside an ancient adobe church with a steeple housing a big iron bell.

Any other time I would have thought it was all utterly charming, and if I had my phone, I would have been snapping pictures left and right. But the sight of the church and the ramifications for why we might have been there in the first place hit me like a brick to the face.

A man in priest’s robes ran over to the driver’s side, and Dima greeted him as if they knew each other. A young woman pulled open my door and urged me to come with her using hand gestures and a few words of English. Dima was deep in conversation with the priest but as soon as I looked at him in complete confusion, he turned my way and nodded that it was okay to go with the girl.

Okay, this could have meant anything at all. The girl introduced herself but her name immediately flew from my mind as she helped me change into a pretty white cotton dress with brightly colored embroidery at the hem. She worked like a whirlwind, brushing out my hair and swiftly twisting it into a knot on top of my head, then dabbing at my cheeks with blush and my lips with a pink gloss.

Nothing registered and I let myself be turned and moved like I was her favorite doll, and in no time at all, she tugged me from the back room of the church to the foyer where Dima waited.

He had changed into a dark suit that fit him as well as any of his bespoke designer suits he wore to work. His normally tousled, golden hair was smoothed off his brow, and for a split second, it looked like his blue eyes actually sparkled when he set them on me.

No. This wasn’t really happening.

He reached over and tapped my chin. “Better close your mouth before you catch a fly,” he said.

Was he joking right now? This whole thing had to be a joke, because I had already laid all my worries to rest. But why was he in a suit, why was I in a white dress, and why were we at a church instead of the damn safe house?

And, oh God, the priest was back, smiling at both of us and urging us to head inside the chapel.

I gripped Dima’s arm to keep from sinking to my knees. “Are—are we really getting married?” I stammered, forgetting that I wasn’t speaking to him.

He laughed. He actually laughed. “Did you ever doubt it?”

It was official.

I hated Dima Fokin.