Page 84 of His Contract Queen

Home?

I stare at the man sitting beside me as the SUV pulls smoothly away from the storm cellar and continues down the snowy road ahead. Then I glance out the windshield where flakes continue to rage across the dark countryside.

A knot tightens slowly in my chest.

Where the hell am I going?

22

KATERINA

The drive is silent except for the low growl of the engine and the occasional crackle of comms murmuring through the small earpieces both men wear.

A voice will murmur something indistinct, followed by a short acknowledgment from the driver or the man beside me, then the silence returns.

Neither of them speaks to me.

Not even a glance in my direction.

I keep my arms wrapped tightly around myself, trying to hold onto what little warmth has finally returned to my body now that the heater has been running for several minutes. The cold still clings to my skin like a second layer, making my teeth want to chatter every time a gust of wind rattles the car, but at least I’m not at any risk from dying of hypothermia anytime soon.

My eyes stay locked forward. Partly out of stubbornness, partly because I’m painfully aware that even if I tried to bolt now, it wouldn’t end well. Even if I managed to throw the door open andhurl myself onto the road, risking whatever broken bones the pavement might give me, the cold outside would finish the job within the hour.

So, I stay put.

Trees blur past on either side of the road like black ghosts. Eventually, the overwhelming darkness begins to thin. Streetlights appear one by one along the roadside as buildings slowly replace trees. The distant glow of city lights spreads across the horizon like a low-burning fire.

The streets are empty, snow piling along the sidewalks beneath silent apartment blocks and dark storefronts. The few traffic lights we pass blink lazily between colors, their glow reflecting off the snow-slicked asphalt.

Eventually, the overwhelming darkness gives way to city lights as we finally arrive back in civilization. I take note of the streets we pass and realize we’re heading to the opposite end of Moscow. No one is out this time of night, but even if they were, I doubt I’d be able to flag anyone down to help me.

The longer I sit trapped in this car, the more one thing becomes painfully clear. These men are not FSB. At first, I thought the lack of uniforms meant they were simply operating covertly. But now the details are starting to not add up.

Neither of them have any visible identification. Nothing marking them as government agents. And the gun resting at the hip of the man beside me?

That’s the real giveaway.

My gaze drifts toward him again, studying the weapon at his hip carefully. The faint scuff marks along the metal catch myattention. Right where the serial numbershouldbe. FSB would never bother removing the serial numbers from their firearms. There would be no point. Government-issued weapons are tracked meticulously. If anything, removing the number would create more problems for them, not fewer.

Which means this gun didn’t come from a state armory, it came from somewhere else.

Somewhere unofficial.

A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold.

So if they’re not FSB…

Then who are they? And the more terrifying question… Who sent them?

The tires crunch over unplowed fresh snow as the SUV turns off the main road and glides down a quieter residential street lined with towering stone walls and wrought iron fences lining both sides of the road.

My body tenses instinctively.

This is it. Wherever they’ve been taking me, wherever this ends, we’re almost there.

The SUV eventually rolls to a stop in front of a tall set of iron gates. For a moment the headlights illuminate nothing but black bars and the snow drift. Then the driver presses a button somewhere on the console, causing the gates to hum softly as they begin to part.

I lean forward just enough to see through the windshield. What I see makes my stomach twist in confusion. Because it isn’t a government facility like I’d expected when my home first gotraided. There are no concrete barricades or armed checkpoints to pass through protecting a sterile government building that waits for us just up ahead.