I glance at the street once more. There are no witnesses around now, but drunk people have a way of wandering into places they don’t belong. The scene on the street will be discovered, but not immediately. By then we’ll be gone.
“You can’t stay here,” I tell her. “And there’s nowhere for you to hide on your own.”
She steps toward the mouth of the alley as if testing that statement. I move into her path without touching her.
“Move out of my way,” she demands.
“Or what?” I challenge.
Her jaw tightens. She knows she’s trapped here. She has no car, no weapon, and nowhere to hide. But I do.
As soon as the thought forms, I know I can’t leave her here. Worse, and most troubling, I don’t want to leave her here.
I look at her wrists. They’re raw and red and already swelling from the rope. She’s no victim, of course. She won’t complain about a little pain.
“You’re coming with me,” I tell her, definitively, grabbing at her wrist, above where the welts are forming.
She twists against my grip, trying to break free. She’s strong, but I’m much stronger. Her eyes narrow at me, and hate fills her rich, brown eyes.
She drives her free elbow toward my ribs, landing harder than I expect. I absorb it, but don’t give her any other reaction. I’ve seen her fight and I know that she’s not leaving here without one. My only option is to let her tire herself out.
She tries to hook my leg to take me down. It’s efficient, but her foot doesn’t land right, so my knees don’t buckle. She sighs in frustration as she realizes that she physically cannot take me.
“I’m really not,” she spits, using her words when her physical assault yields no results. “What’s your plan here, Viktor? Do you think you can use me for leverage against Mikhail? Do you really want to start a war you can’t win?”
I consider her words for only a moment. I definitely don’t want that, but there’s no chance in hell I’m leaving her here. There’s already a car approaching. I can see its headlights in the distance. There’s no time. I pick her up easily around the waist and throw her over my shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses into my ear, struggling against my grip. “Let me go, or I swear to God, I’ll murder you.”
“With what weapon?” I shrug, laughing to myself.
She continues to hurl insults into my ear on the short walk to the car. I open the passenger door and set her down inside before she gets another chance to argue. She pivots toward the opening instantly, but I close the door firmly and keep hitting the lockbutton on my remote so she can’t get out. I circle around to the driver’s side, keeping my eyes on her the whole time.
By the time I get in my seat, she’s already trying the handle. Unfortunately for her, I flipped the child lock on. She has no way to get out.
“Enough,” I say patiently. “This is happening.”
She turns toward me slowly, seething. “This is kidnapping.”
“The way I see it,” I say casually, “I’m doing you a favor.”
Before she can argue any more, I pull away from the street and zoom out into the street, getting us as far away from the scene as possible. The sooner this incident is behind us, the better.
“A favor?” she fumes. “You’re out of your mind if you think Mikhail is going to negotiate with you. He’ll kill you and everyone you’ve ever loved just to prove that he can. You’re a foolish man, Viktor.”
“Maybe.” I shrug, giving her nothing else to argue about.
She folds her arms over her chest and glares at me for the entire drive to Bay Ridge. I don’t mind her anger a bit.
4
ANYA
The first thing I register before my eyes even open is how damn quiet it is in this place. There’s no traffic bleeding through thin Brighton windows or distant music from Neptune. This isn’t some cheap apartment in Brooklyn. Viktor has gone through a lot of trouble to find a safehouse in a very rich district.
I don’t get up immediately. I stare at the ceiling and count my breaths, trying to control my anger. One breath in. Hold for eight counts. One breath out. Repeat.
It’s not horrible for a prison. The bed is comfortable and the sheets are a high thread count. I’m under no illusions, though. This definitely is a prison. Viktor Kovalev didn’t rescue me last night from Mikhail’s thugs.
