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From there, I manage to pull onto a narrow country road just beyond the driveway without prompting. If he’s surprised, he says nothing.
But that distracting pressure is never withdrawn. I’m forced to contend with the silent threat it conveys while struggling to make sense of our surroundings—desolate, empty wilderness and a lone gravel road. Just where are we?
And where exactly is he taking us now?
“Why me?” I ask without taking my eyes off the road. We’re traveling at a snail’s pace, and Mischa nudges my shoulder in another silent command: go faster. Warily, I press the gas only to slam on the brake a second later as the van jerks forward. “Why aren’t you driving?” I rasp, hunched over the wheel, my heart racing.
“Why?” He sighs like he’s thinking over his answer. Then he scoffs. “Use that brain of yours, Little Rose.” Again, he taps my skull with that threatening, heavy object. “Take a guess. Who do you think is watching you right now?”
“Robert?” I risk taking my eyes from the road long enough to scan the desolate fields and copse of trees beyond us. A second’s appraisal reveals nothing. No long-lost husband lurking in the bushes. None of Robert’s men, either.
“Don’t be so naïve,” Mischa hisses into my ear as if reading my mind. “He’s not hiding in a tree, Little Rose. But he is watching. Yes.” He inhales as if sensing the fear wafting from my skin. “And you know it—”
“I could have left the other night, you know...” I swallow hard as his eyes cut in my direction. I’m not sure why I’m confessing this now. “One of his men found me. I could have left.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I try to look at him directly, but that pressure on my skull grows.
“Look at the road,” he snaps as I swerve to stay on the thin strip of gravel. “Let’s just hope your husband keeps his distance now. Go faster.”
Again, I hit the gas too hard and the car jolts forward. This time when I hit the brake, a small moan comes from the back seat.
“Easy!” Mischa snaps. Suddenly, a shadow flickers from the corner of my eye and a wall of heat maneuvers into the seat beside me. “Look forward,” he commands as a heavy touch lands over my thigh, guiding how much pressure I apply. “Keep going straight until I say so.”
He’s crouched low, trying to hide as much of his bulk as he can—which is very little. His head is near my shoulder, his gaze intent. I feel it burning through my thin clothing to scorch the flesh and bone underneath.
“Faster,” he warns before applying more pressure to my thigh, sending the speed gauge even higher.
At this speed, my fingers struggle to keep the vehicle straight. It’s like I’m controlling my heartbeat more than four wheels and a metal carriage—with every touch, it strains against the bounds of my control.
Though maybe Mischa isn’t even the cause. For the first time, I glance at the rearview mirror and Mischa has to grab the wheel in my stead, shouting as the car careens off course.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hisses.
All I can say in response is, “We’re being followed.”
The sight of a black van in the distance isn’t what triggers the panic building in my chest. It’s a feeling. A deep-seated knowledge in my bones.
With every inch the approaching van gains, a part of me squirms in grim acknowledgment.
Robert didn’t send just his men this time.
“Fucking focus!” Mischa grips my chin hard enough to reinforce his presence. “When I say so, you take your hands off the wheel and slam on the gas. Don’t fucking let up. You got it?”
A hard swallow robs me of speech. All I can do is nod.
“Good.”
I wait, but he doesn’t increase the pressure on my leg, not even as the black van drifts closer and closer…
“Not yet,” he scolds when my foot twitches against the gas unprompted.
The van is still too far away to make out the figure in the driver’s seat—not that I need to. Robert never drove himself; he was always surrounded by his retinue of bodyguards. But he’s here. I feel it. I can taste it—the fear that chokes me whenever he’s near.
Like blood and ash. I’m suffocating on both.
“Now!”
