By the time I check to be sure the front of the building doesn’t have anyone waiting for us, she has her shoes and coat back on. Her hair is still wet, but we don’t have time for her to dry it.
After I throw her things into the trunk and she’s buckled in the front seat, I speed off through the city toward my apartment. I’m only a mile away from her place, and she’s a little shocked when I pull into the parking spot.
“Won’t he find you as easily as he found me?” she asks, climbing out of the car.
“No.” I reach for her hand again, but she holds it back.
“You still haven’t told me what we’re going to do. I’m not going back home yet, so if that’s your plan, you can just take me to a train station.”
Every muscle in my back tenses.
“You think you’re going to go off on your own? After I had to save you from getting yourself killed tonight?”
“I think I didn’t ask you to do that. I think I don’t need a babysitter. I think you’re acting like an overprotective ass.”
The temptation to rip off my belt and show her what an ass I can actually be is overwhelming, but I manage to tamp down the beast. For now, at least.
“We need to go back to you not talking.” I jerk my head toward the entrance. “Let’s go.”
With a huff, she takes a step toward the door to my building. She’s still acting like she’s the one in charge here, like she’s the one deciding her next moves.
I wrap my hand around hers, lacing my fingers through hers and tugging her toward the door. At least she doesn’t fight me.
I lead us through the lobby of the building to the elevators.
“I think I have a right to know what you’ve been doing here this whole time, and what you think we should do next,” Elana says once we’re alone and tucked away in the elevator.
I hit the button for my floor, squeezing her hand again.
“Right. No talking.” She sighs and tries to pull free of my hand, but I’m not ready to let go.
The images of the blood splattering across her still burns in my mind. The sight of that asshole’s finger touching his trigger echoes. She has no idea how close she came to having a bullet in her brain.
My phone vibrates as I open the door to my apartment.
“We didn’t get my bag from the trunk,” Elana says once we’re inside.
I ignore her and answer my phone instead.
“Artem. We have a problem.”
I should have learned Russian. My brothers spoke it enough when I was growing up; I could have picked up the language if I’d tried.
But it was one more way to keep me separated from the real Volkovs. Another rebellious act of my youth that has come back to bite me in the ass. I know a few phrases here and there, but Artem is talking too fast for me to pick up anything more than random words.
His brow pulls tight as he talks. One hand rests on his hip, making him look like an impatient father.
I’ve seen him in this mode before. He’s conducting business. Giving orders, telling people what to do, where to go. All to cleanup a situation or prevent one from happening. He’s a one-man security team.
While he’s on his call, I wander through the apartment. It’s small. Or maybe it’s only that way because he’s in it with me.
He takes up so much space, not only with his enormous build, but his personality. There’s always been less air in any room he’s been in with me.
Or maybe I just had a hard time catching my breath when he was around.
Everything gets turned upside down whenever I think too much about him. Every word and gesture gets analyzed until I remind myself he’s out of reach. He works for my brothers. Looking at me too long could cost him his job, or knowing how easily Alexander overreacts—his life. He’d never chance that for me.
I’d come to accept he and I could never, would never happen. Then I’d made the worst decision in my whole life.
