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As soon as the door is shut, I drop my arm from Holly’s shoulders and put some distance between us. She darts her eyes around, looking at anything and everything that’s not me before carefully making her way down the stairs. I push the memory aside of how good her body had felt against mine when I’d carried her up these damn stairs not all that long ago and instead focus on not falling on my ass. At the bottom, instead of turning right to go to my truck, she makes a quick turn to the left, zipping down a tiny, dark hallway.
“Holly!” I yell, but she doesn’t turn back to look at me, just walks faster until she’s pushing open a door I hadn’t noticed was there. “What the fuck?” I growl at her, forcing my way into the dark room behind her. When my eyes adjust enough to see the black cat she’s holding and the hopeful look in her eyes, I say, “No, fuck no,” assuming that’ll be that.
She straightens her spine, gathering up all her height, which isn’t much at all, and glares at me. “Look, I’ve gone along with everything you’ve said so far, but I’m not leaving Nutmeg to freeze to death, so either he goes or I’m not.”
I bark out a harsh laugh, equal parts pissed and impressed because it’s been a long-ass time since anyone has dared to talk to me the way she just did.
“The cat is coming with me.”
She holds the scraggily-looking thing even tighter against her red, down jacket and juts her chin out at me in a defiant unspoken fuck you. Seeing it has my cock giving an annoying twitch of desire, which just pisses me off.
When I continue to silently stare at her, she starts to fidget before finally giving in and saying, “I took him to the vet when I first found him and got him neutered and up to date on his shots. If I don’t take him, he’ll freeze to death or starve.”
“I should care about this because why?”
She lets out a soft sigh, petting the cat again like she’s trying to make up for my harsh words.
“Shoot me if you want, but I’m not leaving without him.” She takes a shaky breath and keeps her eyes locked on mine.
Well fuck.
Chapter3
Holly
Aleksandr’s green eyes bore into mine, but I hold my ground and hope like hell he doesn’t actually call my bluff. I don’t want Nutmeg to be left behind, but I also really don’t want to get shot in this nasty stairwell. While he keeps me in suspense, I shift my weight from foot to foot and try my best to not piss my pants. I don’t know if there’s a hitman school that teaches how to give a deadly scowl, but Aleksandr’s got it down pat. Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, making it seem like I’m the world’s biggest burden for walking in on him while killing my boss, and says, “Fine,” before grabbing my arm and pulling me towards his truck.
I hold Nutmeg even tighter and let him drag me to his vehicle. I should probably be kicking and screaming and trying to get away, but I know he has a gun and he obviously knows how to use it, and I’m guessing I’d get about five feet before I slip on the ice and come crashing down on my ass. Besides, if he wanted me dead, I’d already be dead, right? I’m assuming he’s going to just keep me with him until he leaves the country and goes back to Russia or wherever the hell he’s from.
When we’re back in his truck again with only a small bit of space between us, I can’t help but remember that kiss he’d given me. I know it had just been for show to keep Shelly from becoming suspicious, but there’s no denying how much I’d enjoyed it. My face heats up when I think about how I’d responded by parting my lips even more for him and moaning like the sex-starved woman I am. God, how embarrassing. I’m pretty sure Stockholm Syndrome is supposed to take longer than sixty minutes.
“So, how’d you get into the hitman business?” I ask to fill the silence.
He shoots me a quick look before turning his attention back to the street. “I’m not talking to you about that.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word. “Mind if I turn on some music?”
“Yes.”
I give up and stare out the window, petting Nutmeg and wondering how long this kidnapping is going to last. Tomorrow’s my day off, but the next day I’m due to be in at eight. When Aleksandr pulls into a quiet subdivision and parks in front of a cute, craftsman-style house, I start to think that maybe I’ve gotten myself into more trouble than I originally thought.
“This is like a safe house, right?” I ask, turning to look at him. “A place for you to lay low until you can escape back to Russia?”
“You’ve clearly watched too many movies,lisichka. This is where I live.”
“Well, this can’t be good,” I mutter, making him sigh again before he opens his door.
“Don’t scream. My neighbors have no idea what I do for a living, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
I can’t get a good read on him. He’s obviously capable of murder, but he could’ve shot me as soon as he saw me. He didn’t, and I can’t help but think that’s a good sign. Maybe he’s a hitman with a code: No women, no children.
“Do you kill women and children?” I ask, inwardly cursing my inability to keep my damn mouth shut.
“No children,” he says, getting out of the truck and ignoring the other part of that question. That can’t be good.
I follow him, noticing that all his neighbors have Christmas lights strung up along the fronts of their houses and big, lit-up trees in their windows, but Aleksandr’s house is noticeably dark. When I step inside, it isn’t much different. We hang up our coats on hooks by the door, and I kick off my shoes, wishing I’d worn a more mature pair of socks instead of my dancing Christmas moose ones. They look fantastic on top of my green-and-white tights. Looking around, I see that the house is clean, cute even with all the built-in shelves and comfy, leather furniture, but there isn’t a Christmas decoration in sight.
“You don’t celebrate Christmas?” I ask, setting my bag down but keeping a firm grip on Nutmeg.
