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“Please,” he replies, “We don’t have to make small talk.”
“Good,” I reply tightly, feeling relieved.
The GPS directs me toward Poughkeepsie, New York, and we pass the train station as the car climbs the hill. Unfortunately, we seem to have made it to the town, but I can’t find the street with the lawyer’s office. My frustration starts to show as I circle around, looking for it, and now, I’m way off track on the top of a narrow, winding road.
An alarm signal goes off in my head, and my instincts warn me of danger. I look into the rearview mirror and see a black SUV coming up behind me. It’s too wide to pass us, and I’m forced to drive with the SUV on my tail.
With sickening certainty, I realize the driver’s intention is to force me off the road.
“Shit,” Viktor stares into the side mirror. “Do you want me to shoot them?”
“No, check the address.”
A surge of cold anger shocks my system as I press my foot down on the gas. The car lurches forward, and its tires squeal on the rutted pavement, which is even more slippery because the wind has blown a slick layer of leaves onto the concrete. I begin a desperate downhill race with the morning sun in my eyes. I can hardly see the road.
“Are you sure that was the right address?” Viktor struggles to keep the panic out of his voice.
“Less time talking and more time googling!”
“That wasn’t the address,” he says. “You had the wrong address.”
That was the address I was given. And now I’m fighting for my life again. Viktor struggles with his gun as we hit every pothole on the hill, and each bump shakes the car. I take sharp curves without slowing down, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t outmaneuver the massive SUV behind us. My heart sinks at the thought of the distance we still have to go before we reach safety. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes as I feel cold sweat drip down my forehead.
“Will you put that gun away before you accidentally shoot one of us?” I shout at Viktor.
“I’m calling for backup!” he shouts back.
“No, don’t you dare. Andrei can’t know where I was going.”
“Would you rather die instead?” He stares at me, but I don’t answer.
I grip the steering wheel so hard that my hands ache. At high speed, I take each hairpin turn, grinding my teeth as the wheels whine. As I make it to a straight stretch of road, I feel waves of relief wash over me—only until the next bend in the road. The SUV is still following us, its headlights blinding me through the rearview mirror.
“Just let metryand shoot them!” Viktor shouts.
“No, I don’t need them shooting back!”
He lowers his gun and braces his hands against the dashboard as we hit another bump.
At the risk of crashing into an oncoming car, I stay in the middle of the road. It’s a chance I have to take because I know the SUV will send us hurtling into space if I let it get beside me. Finally, I see a large intersection, and there are other cars around. The light changes to red, and I speed through it before the traffic moves, leaving the SUV behind.
“We made it,” Viktor laughs and then lets out a yelp. “Holy shit, we made it! That was fucking amazing!”
“Let’s not get too happy just yet,” I warn him. “Put the correct address in the GPS.”
I’m pissed when I park the car in front of the lawyer’s office. It was in the opposite direction of where we went. Kenney set me up again, and he is going to get it this time. I debate calling back up as Viktor suggested, but I don’t.
I’m so angry that I feel as if I could beat an army of a thousand into the ground with my bare fists.
Viktor looks over at a parked Rover and nods in its direction. “That’s odd,” he says. “It’s one of ours.”
I stumble a little as I approach the door; my shoe catches on the sidewalk. Viktor notices and quickly reaches for my arm. He holds it gently but firmly and smiles kindly in a reassuring way.
“You can do this,” he says. “I know you can.”
At first, I was wary of Viktor, distrustful if I could rely on the wild kid I saw drag Emma into the mansion. But as we catch our breaths, he seems to be entirely different. Suddenly Viktor seems to care about the people in the mansion, which makes me feel sorry for him and Emma. Although I try not to show it, some of me still can’t help but doubt his intentions. The Bratva means more to him than anything.
“Thank you,” I reply as I keep my other thoughts to myself.
