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When I find Nikolai again, he has a handful of gummy bears, chocolate bars, and jelly beans. “Did I say ‘a few’?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
He looks sheepish. “Sorry, Miss Scarlett.”
I sigh, giving in with a smile. “Alright, but you have to hide them from your father.” He’ll have a shitfit when he finds out we went out. Though it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission. Certainly around him it is.
Though with Anton, I wonder what forgiveness will involve. My skin tingles and I’m clenching my thighs before I realize where my mind’s headed.
Nikolai dumps his loot into our basket and we head to the checkout. As the cashier rings us through, I scan the headlines of the newspapers, wondering if I’ll see any recognizable faces peering back at me. Like a band of dangerous-looking guys I saw in that photo in Anton’s room. Thankfully, I don’t.
Of course, I don’t.
What the hell am I thinking?
After paying, Nikolai and I head out to the parking lot. Something makes me glance behind me. I freeze as I catch sight of Hector still loitering.
What the fuck does he want now?
My heart stutters as I realize he’s no longer alone. He’s talking to the pair of surly-looking guys I’d noticed earlier. Dark-suited, dark glasses, hair slicked back. That’s definitely a fucking earpiece; my instincts hadn’t failed me. One of them has a tattoo on his neck. As I’m looking at them, one glances up and catches sight of me. Then they’re all looking in my direction, expressions predatory in a way that makes my stomach churn.
Shit!
I tighten my grip on Nikolai’s hand and steer him away from the gleaming black SUV. As I look toward it, I see a third big guy walking around it, peering into the tinted windows.
Shit, shit, shit!
I should have known the thing would stand out like a sore thumb in this place of battered jalopies and Mom-mobiles.
“Time to go, kiddo,” I say lightly. He frowns as I push the grocery cart briskly in the opposite direction, toward the back of the rows of cars.
“But our car—” he begins.
Damn thing’s too obvious.
“Wanna play a new game?” I change the subject. His eyes brighten. My “new games” invariably involve some sort of mischief.
“Sure,” he nods eagerly.
“Cool!” I say, looking around. “Today’s game is called ‘Let’s find a little gray car,’” I invent.
“What?” He frowns.
“It’s easy. You look around till you spot one, then you get to keep it.”
“Keep it? But it’s not ours.”
The kid has a moral compass.
Interesting.
His father clearly doesn’t.
Although who am I to talk? I don’t have one either.
“Don’t worry. We’ll bring it right back. It’s just a game, remember.”
Shit.
I’m going to hell.
