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“Which apartment?” he asked.

“Why?”

“So I can make arrangements for her to not expect you at home.”

I frowned, tilting my head to the side so I could see his face more. “Arrangements?” Having someone tell her that I wasn’t watching her boys sounded like a blessing. “Why can’t she expect me back home?”

He turned to glance at me slightly as he turned off the highway. “Because you’ll be at my home until I have all that I need and want from you.”

I reared back and wished I could sink into the cushions to hide. “What do you need from me?”

“Answers.”

He pulled up to a house that was probably ten times the size of my apartment. Instead of following up and asking him what answers he wanted, I gawked at the gorgeous house. It had a walled-in yard. Trees and cacti and other ornamental effects. Lights shone a clear path to the large front porch, and I lost track of all the clues that this would be like a stay at a mansion for me and my son.

He parked, and the slight rock of the car stopping jarred me back to the present.

This dangerous, wealthy man needed answers from me. That had to mean he was after answers about that video.

I stayed put, watching as he got out of the car and opened the back door. He reached for Brady and I reflexively kept my arms around him.

“You plan on carrying him in?” he asked.

I wanted to scowl. I was so short, but Brady clearly had gotten his height from Kaleb. I struggled to hold my baby anymore and I was so shaky and worn-out from the rollercoaster of fear all night that I doubted I could get Brady out of the car and make sure he stayed asleep.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, hating how small and quiet my voice was.

He gave me a long, intense look that I couldn’t decipher. Forgoing a reply, he simply slid his arms around my son and effortlessly carried him out of the car.

I hustled to catch up, pausing only to quietly close the door and rush after him. With Brady’s backpack in my grip, I met them at the front door.

An older, grandmotherly woman opened the door for us and I did a double-take at her.

“The guest room is ready for them,” she whispered to him.

“Thank you, Paloma.” He nodded and led the way toward the back of the enormous house. I’d have to gawk later. All I could do was trail after Nikolai carrying my son.

He didn’t stagger in his step. He didn’t pause in carrying him. And he wasn’t careless, toting him like he was just a thing to move.

After the brutal tackle he’d done to get me down to the floor at my place, and the ruthless strength he’d shown in holding me back then in shooting those men, I wasn’t ready to perceive him like this. Like he was capable of being gentle, too. He was a stranger, a complete unknown to me. All I was aware of was the weight his name carried. The Volkovs were wealthy members of the upper crust of society in Las Vegas, but that was nothing more than common knowledge. A snippet of who was who.

Witnessing the shift between the broody, dangerous killer and this patient, gentle man who’d treat my son as if he deserved the utmost consideration, I felt more lost than ever.

Who are you?

And why are you in my life like this now?

Do they know who was in that body bag?

Am I in more trouble?

More than the war of debating whether I could trust him, I had to accept the idea of someone helping me at all. I wasn’t used to it, and I wasn’t experienced with letting go.

“How long⁠—”

He shushed me as he lowered Brady to an enormous king-sized bed. In this fully furnished, spacious guest room, my son looked so small. Like a prince in some fantasy world with thick carpet beneath our feet, not the stained, threadbare junk in our apartment. With framed artwork hanging on the walls, not the bare spackled-over patches on old paint. With thick curtains darkening the room, not the annoying lights from the neighboring building glaring in.

I can’t… we don’t belong here.