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Nicholai’s head tilts to the side. “We do.”
“Good. I expect Anna within twenty-four hours. As soon as I have her, you can use the port.”
He smirks. “I will be in touch about your delivery.” He turns away, getting back in the car. Una simply turns away and gets in the car as if we’ve never met. Is her loyalty really that easily swayed? Or is she playing a role? Role or not, she cut off her sister’s finger. That’s fucked up.
Two days, and I’ve heard nothing. I sit at the dining table in the Russian house, swigging on a bottle of Russia’s finest vodka. I sent Samuel back to Russia last night, with half the men. The rest of them remain in the house, but as usual, they avoid my presence. I drink myself into a restless sleep, and jolt awake at the sound of squealing tires right outside the house. I must have passed out. Voices drift down the hallway followed by the front door clicking open. I get up and make my way into the hallway. Two of Samuel’s guys are standing in the open doorway, guns in hand.
“What’s happening?”
One of my soldiers steps into the light of the porch, a small figure clutched in his arms. Anna. I’m moving towards him and shoving the other men out of the way before I can truly process what’s happening. He hands her to me, and I clutch her tight to my chest. Her eyes are closed, her head lolling to the side.
“They dumped her out the front and drove away,” he says in a clipped voice.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Probably drugged.”
I back into the living room and lay her on the couch. Her pulse is steady and strong when my fingertips touch her throat. I stroke my fingers over her cheek, barely able to believe that she’s real after what feels like an eternity of trying to get her back. Golden lashes cast a shadow over her cheekbones, and she looks almost peaceful in her deep sleep. I wonder if she’ll be so peaceful when she’s awake? What did they do to her in there? Two months is a long time. I press my lips to her forehead, waiting for the raspberry scent of her shampoo to hit me, but it’s absent.
“Sir?”
I glance over my shoulder at the man who brought her in. “We need to move. They know where we are.”
I frown. They dropped her off here. Nicholai has known exactly where we were this entire time?
“Pack everything up. We leave immediately.” I look at Anna. “We’re going back to Mexico.” Back where I can keep her safe. I might never let Anna Vasiliev out of my sight ever again.
42
Anna
I can hear voices. Low murmurings coming from somewhere in the room. Warmth dances along my skin, and it’s been so long since I felt anything but cold. My body feels weighted down, or perhaps it’s just my mind, unwilling to rise to consciousness and greet whatever awaits me.
“She’s been out for twenty-four hours. There must be something wrong.” I recognize the deep timbre of that voice.
“The doc says she’s fine. They probably just dosed her too high.”
I blink my eyes open and instantly wince against the bright sunlight streaming through a nearby window.
“Anna?”
The mattress dips next to me, and I glance at the man now looking at me. Rafael. There’s this little tug in my chest, but it quickly dissipates.
His face breaks into a smile, relief crossing his features. “You’re okay.” I say nothing and his smile slowly falls. “Aren’t you?”
Okay. It’s such a non-descript word. Am I okay? I’m alive. “Yes.”
His brows pull together, and he reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away. I don’t want to be touched. Ever. Pain morphs his features, and there’s that little pull in my chest again as though something is trying to get out, but it can’t because it’s so buried. I know that I once wanted his touch. I know that I loved him, but that feeling…it’s distanced, as though I once read it in a book and can imagine what it’s like, but not actually identify with. I know I should feel something, but I just…can’t.
I’m in my safe place, and nothing can touch me here. Not even him.
43
Rafael
I walk out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me. As soon as I’m outside, I drop to a crouch, dragging my hands through my hair. I thought when I got her back, this unbearable fucking pain would ease, but it’s worse than ever.
They didn’t just break her. They destroyed every last vestige of what she was. Rage and heartbreak blend together until I’m fighting back tears and wanting to tear everything apart. When I close my eyes, I can still picture that completely devoid look in her eye. I didn’t get to her fast enough. I didn’t do enough, and I couldn’t save her.
