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To Konstantin’s credit, he doesn’t ask any questions. “I’ll get my guys right on it.”
“Call my phone when you have it. I’ll be in the car.”
He nods and disconnects.
I call my guards next. “Get Kirilov and come up to the house,” I order when Arkash picks up. “Full gear. We’re going on a road trip.”
I don’t expect to run into trouble retrieving Chloe, but only an idiot doesn’t prepare for the worst.
“Be there in ten,” Arkash replies.
As I hang up, a knock sounds at my door and Pavel comes in.
“The girl?” he asks tersely, and I nod, already striding toward the wall in the back.
I press my palm to a hidden panel, and a section of the wall slides away, revealing a small room full of weapons and battle gear—the main armory in the house.
“Gear up,” I tell him, stripping off my shirt. “We’re going to get her back.”
I put on a bulletproof vest and button my shirt over it to avoid looking conspicuous. Pavel does the same, and we each strap on several weapons.
If we do run into trouble, we’ll be ready.
Kirilov and Arkash are already pulling up to the house in an armored SUV when we step outside. Pavel and I jump into the backseat, and we tear down the driveway, gravel flying. I don’t have a concrete destination in mind, but there’s only one road leading down the mountain, and wherever Chloe is by the time Konstantin calls me, we’ll be closer to her than if we stay here and wait. Besides, we can start with the nearby gas stations as well, see if someone might’ve spotted Chloe at one of them.
“What happened?” Pavel asks quietly as we clear the gate. “Why did she leave?”
My upper lip curls. “Alina.”
“Ah.” He falls silent then, staring out the window, and I do the same, trying to ignore the heavy thudding in my chest—and the growing pain of betrayal spreading through it.
My zaychik ran.
She left me.
Just like that, without so much as a goodbye.
It’s unreasonable to feel this way, I know. I am the kind of man she should fear and despise. Whatever my sister told her in her drugged-out state must’ve painted me in the worst possible light, but that doesn’t mean Alina’s story is untrue.
I did kill our father in front of her.
Still, Chloe’s desertion hurts. She gave herself to me. She came willingly into my arms. Last night was so much more than sex, our connection so deep I feel it in my bones. But she must not. Because if she did, she would’ve known I’d never harm her; she would’ve trusted me to protect her. The fact that she’d rather be out there, facing mortal danger, speaks volumes about her opinion of me.
She’s afraid of me.
She thinks I’m a monster.
My jaw hardens, a dark resolve settling in as the car picks up speed. I should’ve kept those keys in a safe, not my nightstand—and I definitely should’ve warned the guards not to open the gate for her car. It didn’t occur to me that she’d run after last night, but it should’ve—and I won’t make that mistake again.
When I get her back, she’s not leaving.
I won’t let her.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
* * *
The first gas station we stop at is manned by a pale, pimply twenty-something with a hint of a beer belly.
“Nope, haven’t seen her,” he says after peering at Chloe’s picture. “Cute chick, though. What’s her deal? She part-Asian? Latina?”
“What about a blue Toyota Corolla circa late nineties?” I ask softly, and whatever the guy sees on my face causes him to lose what little color he possesses. “Any car like that stop by?”
“No, sorry, man.” He gulps. “I would’ve seen it. I’ve only had two other customers today.”
I glance at Pavel, and he jerks his chin toward the exit.
Like me, he doesn’t think the guy is lying.
The next closest gas station is the one by the town. A white-haired cashier looks up from a newspaper as Pavel and I walk in, her rheumy gaze sharpening as she takes in our appearance.
I approach the counter and pull out Chloe’s photo. “Have you seen this girl? Or a blue Corolla circa late nineties?”
The old woman puts on a pair of glasses and carefully examines the photo before looking up at me. “You two cops or something?” she asks in a croaky voice.
I rein in my impatience with effort. “Or something. Have you seen her this morning or not?”
“Not this morning, no.” She squints up at me through her glasses. “Would you look at that pretty face… just like one of them magazines. And so nicely dressed, too. You her boyfriend, dearie?”
My hand tightens on the edge of the counter. “When did you see her?”
“Oh, about a week ago. She stopped by to get gas, asked about a job listing in the paper. I haven’t seen her since, and I told them that.”
