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Gritting his teeth, the driver turns back to the road, and the sudden increase in speed jolts me forward—but he’s not fast enough. A dark shadow swerves from a curve in the road up ahead. A quickly approaching van—but it’s not one of Mischa’s.
I only have a second to make out the blurred faces beyond the tinted glass before everything explodes into noise. I’m spinning. Falling…
Crashing.
Pain licks lazily at my throbbing limbs as I feel out with my hands, desperate to get my bearings. It’s dark, barring a faint glow of moonlight that illuminates nothing in particular. But I can get my bearings, at least. I’m lying on my side, caught between the front and middle seats of the van.
“Hello?” I call out, but the driver doesn’t answer. Groaning, I manage to climb to my knees only to find the man slumped over the steering wheel. I don’t think he’s breathing.
And then I hear them: footsteps crunching over grass and dirt, racing toward me.
The van must have stalled rather than crashed. It’s still upright, and someone grunts as they wrench the door open. Blinking, I struggle to take them in. A pressed suit and gleaming headset affixed to his ear confirm the worst: He’s not Mischa’s.
Frowning, the man observes me. “It’s her,” he grunts into his headset. “I’ve found her. She’s alive.” He tucks his gun into the pocket of his coat and extends his hand. “Come with me, miss. You’re safe.”
Safe. Safe. Safe.That word echoes hauntingly as my ears ring and broken glass crunches under my fingertips, a painful reminder. This man will take me to Robert.
“We need to hurry!” The man stoops to my level and reaches for my arm.
Robotically, I reach out in return, letting him guide me to the door.
A hiss escapes him as he observes my legs. “She’s injured,” he barks into his headset. “Our location is—”
“Help me up!” I command over him.
He frowns but assists me to my feet. In the distance, Mischa’s home glows, engulfed in flames, and shock renders me speechless. All those secrets I’ll never uncover. The memories Mischa obviously holds dear. And the people…
Vanya. The little girl.
Mischa.
“We need to move, miss.” The man beside me loops an arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the sleek, black vehicle idling paces away. He must have driven it himself. There’s no one else inside as he sets me on the passenger’s seat.
Faintly, I can hear shouting in the distance. Screaming.
“What’s happening?” My voice comes out a dry croak.
The man shoots me an odd look and once again fidgets with his headset. “Have medical standing by,” he mutters. “She’s injured—”
“What’s happening?” My heart races as the man takes the steering wheel. Rather than head toward the house, he turns down the road. Toward Robert.
“You’re safe now, miss,” he explains, his voice terse. “Mr. Winthorp decided to put an end to this little game once and for all.”
That damn word—safe.From who? Mischa? With Robert?
“Stop the car.”
“What?”
“Now!” It’s like another woman is speaking, not me. One who sounds so damn cold. Determined. She sounds like Mischa. “Now!”
“Miss?” The man narrows his gaze and the van seems to move faster. We’re nearing a bend in the road. One that will take us beyond Mischa’s property and into the unknown. “We’ll be there soon enough—”
“I said stop the car!”
I lose my mind; that’s the only way to describe it. It’s like my consciousness detaches from my body. I can see myself lunging for the wheel, batting the man’s hands away. I can sense the vehicle swerve dangerously. Then a violent jolt as everything comes to a sudden stop.
But it isn’t until I’m blinking up at an impassive night sky that I register the pain flooding my body. I taste blood. My ears ring so loudly that I can barely hear the telltale crunch of footsteps racing toward me. Something is still in my hand. Sharp. Jagged. Broken glass. Dazed and broken, I somehow manage to lift it, brushing the tip against my collar.
Do I really have what it takes? Maybe I do. Anything to avoid returning to Robert…
“Easy!” someone shouts, sounding nearby. “Easy…”
I inhale sharply at the familiar accent and try to focus my vision in the speaker’s direction. “Vanya?”
“Don’t speak.” Darkness descends as he drapes something over me. A coat? It smells like him: musk and smoke. “Just hold on to me. Hold on to me.”
