Page 111 of Mile High Ruin

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“It sounds like kidnapping.”

“It’s protection.”

“That distinction generally depends on whether the person being protected is allowed to leave.”

Marek looks down at his coffee again, clearly enjoying this far more than he should.

Vadim ignores him and keeps his eyes on me. “You are safer with me than you would be alone in a city where you know nobody, especially while we still don’t know whether whoever planted that device intended to use only your bag or intended to use you.”

I hate that he’s not entirely wrong.

I hate even more that he knows it.

I straighten. “And if I decide I’m leaving anyway?”

Vadim’s expression remains unreadable. He doesn’t answer, and the silence between us stretches long enough to become its own answer.

I look at him for several seconds, waiting for something reassuring, something that would make this sound less like an order delivered by a man accustomed to obedience, but he gives me nothing.

Fine.

I walk toward the table, pull out the chair opposite him, and sit with enough force to make the porcelain rattle slightly.

Marek’s mouth curves. “I take it breakfast has won.”

“I would like to be close enough to stab him with a fork if necessary.”

Anton glances down at the place setting. “There are no proper knives.”

I look at him. He’s right. Everything within reach is designed for butter and pastries.

I look back at Vadim. “Did you arrange that?”

“No.”

Marek says, “We probably should now.”

Vadim gives him a warning look, and Marek immediately reaches for the fruit.

I pick up a piece of toast, mostly because my hands need something to do, and discover after the first bite that I’m much hungrier than I intended to be.

Vadim is still watching me. There’s a faint satisfaction in his expression that makes me regret eating at all.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I said you should eat.”

“That doesn’t make this a victory.”

“You are eating.”

“I can stop.”

“You won’t.”