by Rosie Somers
I’m struggling between a rock and a hard place, torn between two decisions, and they both suck. I still don’t know why the journal is so important to Petrov. But I can’t risk my mother’s life or even potentially risk it just to keep the book in my possession.
“It’s downstairs, in the courtyard,” I finally tell him.
“Good, now be a good girl and untie Vasil for me.”
I try to work on Vasili’s bonds quickly, but my fingers are clumsy and Will has tied a gazillion knots in the cord. By the time I finally release the last knot, Petrov’s impatience is so strong, I feel like I could reach up and pluck it out of the air.
“Vasil, go check downstairs for the book. Niko, you guard the door—and this time, don’t let these kids get the better of you, yes?” The Suit looks suitably ashamed, gaze to the floor and shoulders slumped as Vasili marches out of the room without making eye contact with anyone. Niko follows close behind. I’ve thought of him only as The Suit all this time, and now his real name seems foreign to me. As soon as he’s gone, Petrov holds his hand out, palm up like he’s expecting me to place something in it.
“What?” I already told him where the book was. He doesn’t think I actually have it on me, does he?
“Come now, pet, you can’t be that stupid, can you?” My expression must be as blank as my mind because he follows that up with, “Of course you can. Your phone, pet. I’m going to need your phone. Can’t have you calling for help, now can I?”
Not that I have anyone left to call. I pull my phone out of my boot and toss it across the floor. I’m not going any closer to him than I absolutely have to.
Petrov doesn’t bat an eyelash and just kicks the phone through the open doorway into the next room.
“Now check her for weapons,” he instructs Uncle Samuel.
My uncle looks apologetic but approaches me anyway. Will steps fully in front of me, and for a moment, I think my uncle might actually back down. Until Petrov clears his throat loudly. That one simple gesture spurs my uncle into motion and gets Will to move out of the way. Uncle Samuel makes short work of relieving me of every single one of my weapons—and I’m not surprised. He’s the one who taught me how to conceal weapons on my person when I was twelve.
When he’s certain I’m disarmed, he returns to Petrov’s side, and Will immediately steps back in front of me.
Petrov smirks at Will but doesn’t comment. Then he turns on his heel and leaves the room. Uncle Samuel is slower in leaving and throws an unreadable, but loaded, look in my direction as he shuts the door.
I relax, but only slightly, because now Will and I are alone, and the tension between us is taking on a life of its own.
Chapter Twenty
I turn my back to Will, but not out of desire to shut him out. At least that’s what I tell myself, that I’m only moving away from him to test the window as a possible escape route. But bars block any potential exit. I push lightly up on the bottom windowpane, hoping it will slide open easily. When it doesn’t budge, I push harder, putting most of my weight into it. Nothing. They’re stuck solid. But instead of admitting defeat and returning to Will, I press my forehead to the glass and stare through the bars, down to the street below. It’s basically deserted—there’s no one I can call out to for help. But I stay in the window. The cool glass against my face is a tactile distraction from the stormy wildfire of emotions dominating my thoughts right now.
“I wanted to tell you.” His voice is whisper soft and so close, I can almost feel his breath on my neck. When did he get so close? I’m really off my game tonight.
“Then why didn’t you?” I chew on the words for a moment before asking the question, considering them, considering possible answers I may not want to hear. Then, as an afterthought, I add, “Are you working for him?”
Will’s sharp intake of breath is answer enough, but I wait for his words anyway. “Never. I wouldn’t ever, flower. Please believe me. Petrov Rosinsky will never get his claws in me.”
His voice is earnest and pained, and I can’t help but believe him. But too many questions remain. I spin to face him. He’s barely a step away, and I have to press myself back against the windowsill to keep enough space between us to maintain my bravado. “How did you know who he was?”
“I know of Petrov because my family’s…in the business.”
The business? “As in…your family are thieves, too?” In the weeks since I met Will, the idea that he could be involved in the same type of illicit lifestyle I’ve been trying to leave behind never occurred to me.
He drops his gaze toward the floor and looks suitably ashamed when he answers me. “Grifters, actually.”
“So you’re a con.” It all starts to make sense—the immediate interest in spending time with me, the air of charm, the fact that no matter what I threw his way, he was cool as a cucumber. “And all this time, you’ve been running a con on me.”
He swallows hard, and his gaze remains somewhere south of my knees. I know he heard my question, but he doesn’t answer.
His betrayal has left me cracked and vulnerable, and my own anger is beginning to fester in the wound. “So, what was the con? Were you after the book, too? In on the plan to bring me to Petrov? Or did you have your own endgame?” The venom in my voice is potent and threatens to seep into my soul.
Before I even finish speaking, his gaze swings up to my face; his stormy eyes are wide and red-rimmed with overflowing emotion. “No, nothing like that! Please just let me explain.”
Something in his expression softens the hardest edges of my anger—maybe it’s the hint of tears pooling in the inner corners of his eyes. Against my better judgment, I motion with a dramatic wave for him to get on with it.
“My father grew up with yours. They were friends a long, long time ago. When I was a kid, my mom gave him an ultimatum: us or grifting. So he went straight. For the most part. For her. But he stayed in contact with your father. I guess when he heard that your dad had…” He pauses and scans my face, maybe for a sign that he’s about to cross some sort of line by mentioning my father’s death.
I miss my father a lot, but he’s been gone for years, and I’m not in denial about what happened. “Died?” I offer.
Will nods, then continues. “So he kinda looked out for your mom after that, I guess. Just, you know, kept informed on how you guys were doing and helped out whenever he could. When you came back to New York, she came to us and…”
He doesn’t have to finish. I know my mom, and I know exactly what Will’s about to say. “She asked you to keep an eye on me.”
“Yeah.” He drops his face ashamedly and takes a step back.
“That’s why I couldn’t shake you.” Here I’d thought he was just some high school lothario, and in reality, he’s a con and I was his mark. “You weren’t really into me. You were just doing a job.”
“That was true at first, but then I started to care about you. Really care about you. You’re so different from any girl I’ve ever met, strong and brave and kind, and you don’t take any crap from anyone. I never stood a chance.” He clasps his hands in front of him and squeezes until his knuckles turn white.
His admission deflates my anger like a balloon, and I’m able to see the situation clearly for the first time since Will recognized Petrov. I can’t really be mad at him for lying to me. After all, I was lying to him, too. I wasn’t honest with him about who I was.
And the whole time I was trying so hard to keep my secret, he knew everything. My world is suddenly spinning on its axis, and I’m not sure whether to laugh or cling to my anger.
The door slams open, pounding into the wall behind it, and Niko strolls in. Petrov follows, then Uncle Samuel, and finally Vasili. They stop in tandem, forming a jagged line from the center of the room to the area just inside the doorway.
Petrov holds my diary clasped neatly in one hand and pressed to his midsection like a prized possession. “I do hope you kids have had a chance to kiss and make up. It’s time to go.”<
br />
Will turns slowly to face Petrov and company, and though his stance is casual, arms at his sides and feet askance, his posture is tense. He takes a half step to the side so that he’s standing mostly in front of me.
Petrov takes notice of Will’s attempt to shield me and smirks at him. “It’s okay, you don’t need to protect your girlfriend. I’m not going to hurt her. I still need her.”
“For what?” Will’s question is more of a demand.
Petrov’s smirk spreads into a charming grin, and something in his expression leaves me feeling like a mouse once the cat has caught it and is about to start toying with it. I shudder involuntarily, then try to hide the action by crossing my arms over my chest.
“I’m so glad you asked,” Petrov says as he slides his forefinger into the top of the journal’s spine and rips the loose binding away from the book. Then he hands the journal, sans spine, to Niko and focuses on the strip of cloth binding in his hands. He fiddles with it for a moment, separating layers, and finally produces a small, folded paper and a long, paper-thin metal key. He drops the tattered remains of my journal to the ground like so much useless garbage.
All these years I’d been writing in that book, opening and closing it and handling it almost daily, and I never suspected there could be anything hidden in it. “What is it?” I can’t keep myself from asking the question that’s got every part of me focused intently on the note and key in Petrov’s hands.
“This, dear Marisol, is directions. Your father hid something very important from me, and now you’re going to retrieve it.”
“Why would I do that?” I challenge, even though part of me is considering agreeing just so I can find out what was important enough for my father to hide. Is it possible this was the reason he was killed?
“Because I have your mother,” Petrov reminds me. His voice is bland, devoid of emotion. Like he’s discussing the weather. But his words set every muscle in my body on edge and my pulse racing. Would Uncle Samuel really betray my mother? I look at him, try to read him, but his expression is inscrutable. He did betray me to Petrov, after all.
“I don’t believe you.” It’s a lie. I do believe him, but I’m not about to admit it.
“I had a feeling you’d say that.” Petrov’s voice is smooth and rich and filled with amusement at my expense, like I’m a child he’s condescending to. He raises his hand and motions with two fingers for Vasili to leave the room. The smaller man is quick to obey, and he returns just as quickly dragging my mother, bound and gagged, along with him.
My stomach drops, or maybe the floor drops out from under me; it’s hard to tell at this point. The situation is hopeless, and I have to fight the urge to collapse to the floor and agree to anything Petrov wants, beg for our release, our safety. But then I look into my mother’s eyes, and I see fire in them. She’s burning with fury and determination. Her mettle is contagious, and the strength to remain steely in the face of Petrov’s intimidation begins to seep back into my veins.
“What do you want?” I practically growl the words at Petrov, but I glare at my uncle as I speak. He averts his gaze, refusing to look me in the eye.
“You’re going to find something. Something your father hid from me a long time ago.”
“And if I don’t?” I challenge. Whatever my father hid from him was obviously important, or why go to the trouble of hiding it in the first place? I’m sure my father wouldn’t want me to just hand it over.
“Because if you don’t…” Petrov signals to Vasili, who is all too eager to brandish his gun and set it to my mother’s temple.
I throw both hands up and wave them emphatically in an effort to get everyone’s—Vasili’s—attention on me instead of on shooting my mom. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. You win. Where am I supposed to look for this thing you want me to find?”
“I will tell you only when you need to know,” Petrov answers, then turns to his henchmen. “Tie them up and have them in the cars in five minutes. Call ahead and make sure the jet is fueled and waiting for us. I want wheels up as soon as we get to the airport.” He spins on his heel and strolls out the door, head held proudly like a king who’s just conquered a new land.
Where the heck is he taking us that would require a jet?
Chapter Twenty-One
We’ve been in the back of this SUV for so long, I’m beginning to wonder if we’re even still in New York State. We’re certainly not in the city anymore and haven’t been for at least an hour. I sit so close to Will I’m practically in his lap. Partly because I’m almost desperate for anything I can draw a sense of security from, but also because it allows me a better view out the rear window to the SUV trailing behind us. The one my mother and Uncle Samuel are in. With Petrov. We got Vasili and Niko, and as intimidating as they are, they don’t hold a candle to their boss. In fact, they’ve barely acknowledged us the whole ride.
Eventually, we pull off the main highway and onto a dirt road illuminated only by the headlights. Niko flips the high beams on but doesn’t slow. Dark fields fly by outside the vehicle, and there isn’t a speck of light anywhere on the horizon. Every bump and divot in the road sends me jostling against Will, and I press myself closer to him for comfort. Never mind that I’m still a little pissed at him. He’s the closest thing I have to a safe place right now. His hands are bound at the wrists, but he lifts them to encircle me in his arms, pulling me tighter against him. My back is pressed to his chest, and I wear his arm like armor in front of me, clinging to it like a security blanket.
I’m unprepared when the SUV lurches to a stop, and I almost slide off the leather seat, but Will’s hold on me keeps me mostly in place. Vasili and Niko hop out as soon as the engine cuts off, slamming their doors behind them. They stand guard outside our doors as the other SUV slows to a stop behind us. I hear more car doors and male voices. I try to look out the rear window for any sign of my mother, but the other car’s headlights are blindingly bright, and all I can make out is the occasional silhouette moving in front of them.
When Vasili moves away from my window and Niko away from Will’s, I relax just the slightest bit. “Do you think they’re far enough away that we could successfully make a break for it? Try and get help or something?” The minute I ask the question, I know it doesn’t matter how he answers. I’m not going to run away and leave my mother in Petrov’s clutches. No way, no how.
Will shakes his head. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. We don’t even know where we are, and it’s been ages since we’ve seen any hint of civilization. We could get lost out here in the middle of nowhere, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. It’s better to wait until we have a real opportunity with a real chance of success.”
I nod my agreement. He’s right, and I know it. Even if I didn’t have to worry about leaving my mother behind, running right now wouldn’t be smart.
After that, Will and I sit in silence. I strain to try to hear what the voices are saying outside the SUV, and maybe he’s doing the same. The minutes stretch. Finally, Vasili returns to the SUV and yanks open my door. He settles a strong grip on my forearms and pulls me out so hard Will has to lift his arms out of the way quickly to avoid choking me.
After all that time sitting, my legs aren’t quite ready to bear my full weight, and I crumple to my knees. By the time I right myself and stand in front of Vasili, Niko is rounding the back of the SUV with Will in tow.
“Where’s my mother?” I demand, forcing the words out with venom and more bravery than I actually feel right now.
“Already on the plane,” Vasili answers, and grips my arm at the elbow. I look all around me in the small circle of light provided by the car headlights, but I don’t see any evidence of a plane. Have they taken her somewhere else? He drags me away from the car, out into the darkness of the surrounding fields. As my eyes adjust to my new surroundings, I catch a glimmer of something huge looming in the distance. It must be the plane.
Renewed by the idea that my mother is here, I let Vasili
pull me through grasses that come up higher than my waist with no light to guide us. With every crunching, plodding step, I try not to think about what kind of wildlife we might be disturbing. Hopefully nothing that will come lashing out at me with sharp teeth or venom. Somewhere behind us, I hear Will and Niko traipsing through the same thick brush. A hundred or so yards later, the field of tall grass levels out to flat ground, then merges into faded blacktop.
The closer we get, the more solid the plane becomes in my line of sight, until we’re standing almost underneath it. A set of metal stairs leans against the fuselage, leading the way up to an open door. Dim light seeps through the opening, illuminating the top of the stairs.
“Up.” Vasili shoves me toward the bottom step, and I stumble over it; my knee slams hard into the third one up. I grit my teeth against the pain and try to right myself. By the time I’m back on the move, Vasili is already impatient over the pause and shoving me again. I scramble up, doing my best to balance with my hands tied in front of me in an effort to avoid being pushed again.
Inside, the plane is brighter, lit from multiple angles, including accent lighting behind the wood-grain molding surrounding the windows. I’ve never seen the inside of a private jet before, but this is every bit as luxurious and rich as I would have imagined…if I spent much time imagining the inside of private planes. On one side, four gray leather captain’s chairs face one another in pairs across a polished wood table with a metal chessboard inlaid into the top. Glass chess pieces top the board out of order, evidence that someone is in the middle of a game. I’m halfway tempted to knock all the pieces to the floor in spite as I pass. But I don’t.
A bench seat upholstered in the same buttery gray leather as the captain’s chairs runs the length of the opposite wall until it meets a gray-veined black marble wet bar at the other end. Glasses are suspended on racks on the underside of a cabinet above the bar, which is topped with more bottles of liquor than there probably are people on this plane at the moment.