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One of my cheeks presses against the cool leather while the other feels the warmth of his large body as he covers me like he did at the wedding. He raises the gun in his other hand as the window lowers. Then his arm jerks with each shot. The roar of the gun is deafening, and Andrei braces his arm—the one that I patched at the wedding—against my shoulder to keep me down.
I grip the seat and bury my face into the leather as I squeeze my eyes shut. A light sweat dampens my forehead, and I try my best not to move. I feel his body moving over me. My other hand grips the front of his shirt, and my whimpers are masked by the wind rushing into the car.
The pressure of his body calms me even though I know damn well I could die. But I’m not as scared as I should be. His hard muscles flex against me as I lower my hand to his taut stomach. I take long breaths and smell the sweat forming on his heated skin. I feel the strength of his muscles and the steadiness of his body as Andrei shoots again.
I’ve never felt protected in my life, not like this.
Eventually, the soothing hum of the car replaces the confusion and chaos. Andrei pulls me upright, and I’m unsteady as my eyes readjust to the sunlight. Before the window closes, I notice a Rover cruising beside us as we merge onto the thruway.
Andrei’s fingers catch my chin, and he pulls my face toward his.
I inhale sharply as his breath tickles my nose. I stare into his appraising gaze as his hand cups my chin. We’re so close, but Andrei wouldn’t dare kiss me?
“Are you all right?”
Disappointment and relief flood through me at the same time and I nod. Andrei grins mischievously, as if he didn’t just have a shootout in broad daylight with the entire city as his witness. He sits back in the seat, tugging my body along. Casually, he drapes his arm over my shoulder as if we were on a date. I’d applaud him if my hands weren’t clenched in fists.
I fold my arms and hate the fact that I don’t have the desire to pull myself off him. I sit quietly, annoyed, wrapped in his arm, feeling the built muscle coiled behind my head. He may look calm on the outside, but I can sense the tension.
Is it from the shootout? Or something else?
“Where are we going?” The city thins out as the buildings spread farther apart and trees start to fill in the spaces.
“Somewhere safe,” he replies with certainty.
Safe is the last word I would ever use to describe Andrei. Dangerous. Bold. Cocky. Mobster. Those are better words. Andrei saved me again, even though he’s the reason why I need to be saved in the first place. I let out the breath I’d been holding this entire time.
The man who tempted me in my dreams is now pulling me into a living nightmare.
The Rover veers off toward a service road. It’s almost unnoticeable, and easy to miss. We drive down a long road deep into the woods until the dirt gives way to gravel. After a distance, the path turns into smooth pavement as we approach a massive ivy-covered gate almost as tall as the oak trees that surround it. A chill tightens my scalp and creeps down my spine toward my ice-cold feet as the gate slowly begins to open.
Realization dawns on me as we drive through the open gate.
No one will ever be able to find me here.
Chapter 8
Andrei
As soon as I step out of the car, I motion to a waiting guard, who opens the door to Paige’s side of the car. Without words, he grips her upper arm and pulls her out of the car. She stumbles as she is dragged out. Her mouth opens in protest, then she decides it’s smarter to keep her mouth shut.
So, she stares daggers at me as the guard starts to drag her into the house.
When the guard looks back, I tilt my chin upward toward the grand staircase. Despite what Paige must assume, she is not a prisoner. So, there’s no need for her to be treated like one.
Unless she wants to act like one.
The guard smirks as he hauls her up the stairs.
Paige aims another nasty look at me—one that might hurt if I wasted my time caring about what people think. She stumbles again, and the guard grips her arm tightly when she reaches for the railing. I almost want to say something, to remind him that he doesn’t need to be so rough. But I don’t.
A little fear can go a long way. And there are many things I want to know from Paige Reyes.
Dmitri waits alone in my late father’s office. His hair is gelled back off his forehead, showing the scar he received in a knife fight. He tells the newer guys he earned it in the old country. He was born in America, just like me.
“Would have been easier to go to the club, Andrei Vasilyevich,” he says as soon as I close the door behind me. “The car would’ve taken fewer bullets, and the girls would’ve been far more willing.”
“I’m not interested in that,” I reply coldly. “Or in the club.”
