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“Fine, but if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming after you.”
I leave in and kiss his whiskered cheek. “Don’t worry.”
I walk away, gripping my purse like a lifeline. I duck into the restroom and take out the envelope with his name on it. An apology letter. One that broke my heart to write, but this has to be done.
I prop the note against the mirror and quickly leave the room. The emergency exit is just ten steps away. Ten steps that seem like a million miles. I straighten my spine and open the door. Within minutes, I’m in the back of an Uber that I arranged while on the way here. Jasper thought I was texting with Darlene. One white lie seemed unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
Almost five minutes to the second my phone rings with Jasper’s number. I send the call to voicemail. Immediately he calls back. With tears in my eyes, I send him to voicemail again. No more calls come through, and it’s like a dagger through the heart. Is he going to give up on me so easily? I mean, it’s what I need him to do, but the reality kills me.
We pull up in front of the Iris hotel and I take a deep breath. Exiting the car feels like the wrong thing to do. I shouldn’t have done this. But it’s the only way to keep everyone I love safe.
“Are you okay?” the driver asks.
“Yeah, fine. Sorry,” I say, opening the door and stepping out of the car into the heat of the day.
I drag my feet towards the door. Just as the doorman opens the door to what might as well be the doors to Hell, not a posh hotel a text comes through that sends both fear and elation through me.
I’m coming for you.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” The doorman asks kindly. It’s the second time in less than a minute someone has asked that, and I just want to scream no. No, I’m not okay. If I were okay, would I be stopped in the middle of the doorway, frozen in place like a statue?
“Oh, yes. Sorry,” I lie, taking a few quick steps inside.
My eyes quickly scan the lobby and land on two huge, foreboding-looking men in suits. They walk towards me, and every instinct says to run, but I can’t seem to move. It’s silly to be afraid. We’re in a busy hotel lobby, they can’t touch me here. But my fight or flight instincts are on high alert. And running sounds great about now.
“Miss Winthrop, you’re late,” the behemoth on the left growls. “Mr. Sokolov doesn’t appreciate tardiness.”
“If you could send my apologies to Mr. Sokolov, that would be great. I won’t be able to stay for this meeting. I’ve changed my mind.”
The man on the right reaches out and grabs my arm. Without a word, he starts marching me right out the front door. The doorman looks like he’s about to pee his pants when the men storm past him with me wedged between their hulking bodies.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss Winthrop,” the man growls in accented English. “Mr. Sokolov has been more than patient with you, and now your time is up.”
“Let me go,” I shout, trying to pull away. He just grips my arm tighter.
I look to the doorman for help, but he just turns the other way. Obviously too afraid to do anything but cower. Then I’m shoved in the back of a huge SUV and locked inside. The brute brothers climb in the front seats while I scramble against the door handle, trying to escape. The child safety locks must be engaged because no matter how hard I try the door won’t budge.
“This is kidnapping,” I say, reaching for my phone. “I’ll call the police.”
Before I can dial a single digit, the phone is yanked from my hand and tossed out of the window of the moving car.
“You can’t do this!”
Neither man responds. They just speak to each other in harsh-sounding Russian. I fruitlessly try the door again.
“Let me out!” I scream, hitting the back of their seats. My frantic heart beats out of my chest as I desperately try to get them to let me go.
“Shut up, bitch,” the man who was previously hadn’t spoken to me barks.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask. When neither of the men answers me, I ask again, louder. “Where are you taking me?!”
The man in the passenger seat whirls and grabs my wrist before I can hit the back of his seat again. “Watch yourself. He told us not to fuck with your pretty face but said nothing about a broken wrist.”
I tug my arm hard, trying to release his grip, but he squeezes even tighter until I cry out with pain. “Now sit back and enjoy the ride,” he says, sounding almost jovial as he releases me.
I sit back in my seat and rub my wrist where red marks are already forming. I’m in so much trouble.
I’m coming for you.
