by Zoe Blake
She remained silent.
Stroking my thumb across her jaw, I pushed. “Otvet' mne.”
Her blue eyes lit with fire. She knew what I wanted to hear. I watched as she licked her lips. The dark, dusky pink now glimmered, practically begging to be kissed.
The room was so still I could hear her delicate indrawn breath.
“Fine,” she acquiesced.
“Good girl,” I asserted as I gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead and resisted the urge to wrap my hands around her head to hold her steady for a kiss which I knew would consume us both.
Leaving her to dress, I returned to the kitchen to talk with Vaska.
He had helped himself to a cup of coffee. I poured myself a fresh cup as well, wishing it was scotch. I needed something bracing to cool the heat in my blood. Tossing the handcuffs and key onto the table, I reached for her backpack which I had brought in earlier from the car.
It was filled with cash, jewels, several passports, and IDs, as well as a small revolver.
Tucked in with all the valuables were several small plastic toys. Sifting through them, I found one I recognized. The small Hello Kitty toy she had gotten in the Happy Meal I'd bought her all those years ago. She had not only kept it but placed it among all these items of greater value and apparently had continued collecting the silly toys. Who knew my angel was so sentimental? I felt my cold core thaw even further; if I wasn’t careful, I was going to find myself not only obsessed with her but in love as well.
I shook my head. That could never happen. It would be the ruin of both of us. History was filled with the tragedies that ensued when angels and demons dared to tempt fate and fall in love.
Placing the toy back inside, I zipped up the bag and pushed it toward Vaska with a decided shove. “Can you hold onto this for me?”
I knew better than to keep it with me. It only increased the chance my little escape artist would run again — only this time, she would get further. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I would have caught her so easily at O’Hare if she'd had her go bag with money and IDs on her at the time. Even then, I'd barely caught up with her. If she had reached that escalator, she would have been close to the main floor of the airport where there was significantly more security than there was at the Metra station.
Disguising a sleeper hold as a hug from an over-exuberant lover, I only just managed to literally sweep her off her feet and carry her back to my car. The whole thing just drew longing looks from the female passersby wondering why their boyfriends and husbands didn’t greet them as passionately. If they only knew!
Vaska pushed away my empty plate and sat down. “Gregor wanted me to tell you he’s moved up his plans with Samara. There’s trouble with the Novikoffs. He wants to know if you’ve secured Yelena, and if your plan for her was moving forward.”
I looked over my shoulder, searching the hallway for any sign of Yelena. Straining to see a shifting shadow or hear a creak of a floorboard. There was nothing. For once, she had obeyed me. “Tell him yes. Everything is going to plan. What’s the issue with the Novikoffs?”
We rarely if ever did business with that family. They were too unhinged. Too prone to violence for violence’s sake. It was bad for business.
Vaska took a sip of coffee before answering. “Boris Federov made a second side deal with Egor. Sold his daughter out from under Gregor.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Gregor’s future father-in-law was a real piece of work, but I never thought he was stupid enough to double-cross us. No one fucked with our family, especially not someone who took millions of dollars in cash for his daughter’s hand and then let her slip away right from under his nose. Boris had balls betraying Gregor after my brother had spent the last three years tracking down Samara.
“There’s word he sent a crew to Chicago to try and grab her.”
“Am I needed?”
Vaska shook his head. “Gregor’s handling it. Besides, he says you have your hands full with Yelena.” His mouth twitched.
I pointed at him. “Don’t you fucking dare, asshole.”
He raised his arms, his palms up in a placating gesture. “What? I wasn’t going to say anything.”
I leaned back in my chair.
Vaska continued. “On a completely different topic, if you need them, I can get you an extra first aid kit and maybe a bulletproof vest for the wedding night.”
I laughed. I should have known Gregor wouldn’t keep his mouth shut about my encounter with Yelena. “Fuck you. Besides, you’re one to talk.”
“What?”
“I hear Dimitri’s new wife has a friend who's been giving you a run for your money. “
It was Vaska’s turn to look disgruntled. “That woman will be the death of me. Speaking of Mary, are you still using these?”
He lifted up the discarded handcuffs.
“They’re all yours.”
He rose and tucked them into his suit jacket front pocket. “By the way, Dimitri put a stop to the police investigation over what happened at O’Hare earlier, and the cleaners have been to her condo. There’s no trace she was ever there.”
I nodded. “Good. We can’t afford to have anyone ask too many questions. We need to keep a lid on this. I can’t have anyone wondering about her or Samara’s disappearance.”
Vaska picked up the backpack full of money and jewels and headed toward the door. “I guess congratulations are in order. Will you wait to return to D.C. to marry her or will you marry here?”
I slapped him on the back and smiled. “Haven’t decided yet. Probably whatever’s fastest. I want the word out as soon as possible that Yelena is under my protection. I don’t want to worry about this mess with the Columbians if we have trouble with the Novikoffs brewing.”
Vaska nodded. “In all seriousness, stay safe, my friend. We Russians may be crazy fucks, but the Columbians...” He shook his head. “Shit with them gets… messy.”
Russian crime families like ours were known for meting out swift and brutal retribution, but it was only with men and always about business. The Columbians didn’t operate by the same code. Everyone was fair game, women and children included. They also favored kidnapping and torture, something I never had the stomach for. The idea that a crew might be at this very moment trying to track down Yelena made me sick with anger and fear.
After Vaska’s departure, I relocked the door and went in to speak to Yelena.
Her time had run out.
It was time to inform her of my plans to marry her and that I had no intentions of taking no for an answer. Frankly, she didn’t have a choice. She could give me what I wanted the easy way or the hard way. My hand moved to rest on the thick metal of my belt buckle.
As I neared the bedroom, I could hear a hair dryer running. Pleased that she had obeyed my instructions and had just continued to get dressed while I talked with Vaska, I turned the knob and swung open the door without knocking. Half hoping she liked to dry her hair naked.
The room was empty.
The running hair dryer was on the floor, abandoned.
Lifting my head, I immediately saw the open window.
I ran over to it and stuck my head out to survey the side of the building. There wasn’t any sign of her on the wall or ground. Turning my shoulders, I looked up to the roof for evidence of any rope. There was none.
Slamming my fist against the sill, I let out a roar of frustration.
When I caught her this time — and I would catch her — I would make sure she regretted ever disobeying me.
The time for games and a light touch was over.
My angel was about to learn it was dangerous to defy a demon.
Chapter 22
Yelena
Married!
Married to Damien!
Oh my God!
Married to that man!
After I turned another block and confirmed I wasn’t being followed, I began to breathe easier, but I still needed to hustle.
If he
hadn’t already, Damien was about to learn I had escaped and I just knew the first place he would come looking for me was the airport. I needed to beat him there and get past security where I’d be safe in the terminals.
The conversation I had overhead just kept spinning over and over again in my head.
Married.
He expected me to marry him!
And not some pretty wedding of a girl’s dreams. There would be no flowers or Vera Wang wedding gown or ring from Tiffany’s. Nope. If Damien had his way, he’d probably drag me by my hair to the nearest courthouse and have a judge marry us at his desk over his half-eaten bologna sandwich at lunchtime. And why not? It’s not like it would be a love match. I was a means to an end. A business deal. A way to get the Ivanov family deeper into the horse racing racket with less risk and higher returns. Oh, and bonus for him, he’d get to fuck me.
My hands curled into fists. Here to protect me, my ass. I should have known better.
I was actually lucky Damien hadn’t seen me creep along the hallway. There was a moment when he'd turned and practically stared straight at me.
After hearing all I needed, I'd headed back to the room and set the stage. I opened the window and started the hair dryer. I then hid behind the door. When Damien entered and saw the discarded hair dryer and the open window, he did exactly what I thought he would. As he raced across the room to see if he could catch me escaping along the wall, I snuck around the door and down the hallway. I knew the sound of the hair dryer would mask the sound of my steps. I was out of the apartment and headed toward Lakeview before he'd even left the bedroom.
Seeing a yellow car approach, I raised my arm high. After jumping into the backseat of the cab, I gave the driver an address along Montrose Avenue.
Leaning back in the seat, I pulled the wallet out of my back pocket and opened it. I took out the driver’s license and studied it.
Damien Aleksandre Ivanov
Born November 11, 1993
Eyes Blue
Hair Black
Height 6’3
I knew he was a Scorpio! I smiled as I fanned myself with his license. He was going to be so pissed when he realized I'd lifted his wallet. I thought for sure he'd heard the soft thud when I dropped it to the floor among my pile of clothes.
At least I’d had one helluva goodbye kiss.
A goodbye kiss.
Forever.
Why did that idea hurt?
I needed to get a grip. Sure, he was hot as fuck. Sure, the whole prospect of rough, mind-blowing sex with him turned me on. But he was dangerous, and I needed to get as far away as possible from him. The fact that he intrigued me and challenged me like no other man was of no consequence.
But seriously?
Damn him for that.
Damn him for being charming and fascinating.
Damn him for being the type of man who gave as good as he got.
I crossed my arms in a huff. And damn him for even knowing his t-shirt was designed by Varvatos!
It was a little thing, but it really irritated me that I had finally found the holy grail of men. A man who was masculine and aggressive but also appreciated designer clothes and looking good.
Peeved, I dug through his wallet to see what else I could learn. I pulled free an American Express black card. Impressive. I stared at the titanium card with the laser etched numbers. Only the massively wealthy got an invitation for one of these. I wondered if it was true they would send a helicopter for you anywhere in the United States? Unfortunately, I would not find out. There was no way I could get away with buying so much as a coffee with this card. It was so rare it would definitely cause a stir, and they would very quickly realize I didn’t look like an over-six-foot-tall Russian.
Curious, I picked up his driver’s license again.
No.
Don’t do this.
Don’t start believing what he said just because you’re falling for him.
Falling for him?
Where the hell had that come from?
I wasn’t falling for him! That would be the height of stupidity. So what if he was sexy and funny and it was super fun pushing his buttons. And it really was fun pushing his buttons! Despite all the danger, I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I'd felt such a rush of energy as I had with that big, angry Russian chasing me half-way around Chicago. If I were brutally honest, I was just a tiny bit disappointed that I'd probably managed to escape him for good this time.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Shaking off disturbing thoughts of falling in love with a man who only wanted to use me to launder his dirty mafia money, I continued to sift through his wallet. Tucked behind a few other credit cards and a gym membership card was a photo. My heart sank. It was a beautiful woman. She had gorgeous green eyes and black hair which made her pale skin glow. I flipped the photo over.
To Damien XOXO Natasha
Natasha. Even her name was elegant and beautiful. A stab of white-hot jealousy pierced my heart.
Well, this was proof he was only playing with me as part of some sick and twisted game of revenge. Forgetting that the entire scenario was in my imagination, I immediately assumed this was the model he had taken to the Rachmaninov piano concert. At least her name wasn’t Fifi.
“We’re here,” said the cab driver.
I opened the cash flap of Damien's wallet. There was probably about three grand in hundred-dollar bills. I took out three bills and paid the five-dollar fare.
“Keep the change.”
“Lady are you sure?” asked the cab driver as his eyes widened at the sight of three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.
I gave him a wink and left the cab.
Having cash was nice but if I was going to catch a flight out of the country, I needed a passport and some better clothes and a suitcase. Showing up in the airport with no luggage and a wad of cash was a great way to get yourself strip searched in some dingy backroom by a TSA guard named Larry.
As I walked down Montrose, I snatched a baseball cap off the back of a chair as I passed an outdoor cafe. Twirling my hair into a loose bun, I shoved as much of it as I could under the cap and pulled it low over my eyes. I then leaned down and swiped a jean jacket resting over a gym bag as the guy’s back was turned while he punched in his pin at an ATM. I put the jacket on over my black hoodie.
I was grateful that whoever Damien had sent to my condo to pick up some clothes had actually pulled them from my bureau drawers and not the closet. The closet was where I kept all my designer labels. The bureau was where I kept my workout clothes, and truthfully the clothes Samara and I wore whenever we hightailed it out of a city for fear Damien and Gregor were closing in.
Flexible fabric for easy movement, nondescript, all black. Mostly yoga pants and hoodies. Nothing that would stand out or be memorable… in other words none of my preferred designer clothes.
Montrose was on the edge of the Ravenswood neighborhood. It was an affluent neighborhood filled with large houses.
Careful to not draw attention to myself, I made a left onto Winchester as I casually strolled down the street, occasionally checking my wrist as if I were checking a fitness tracker. No one would think anything of a woman walking around the block to get her steps in.
I looked for signs that a homeowner was not at home.
I was lucky. It was probably around noon, so it was the perfect time to break in. It was funny how most people were led to think that burglars only attacked at night. A very silly Hollywood invention. Why would you break in at night when it was almost guaranteed that the residents were home? No. It was far more effective to do it during the day when most of the neighborhood was out and about at work or running errands.
Samara and I had had to borrow things occasionally over the last three years when we got jammed up or had to hightail it out of a city without the proper amount of cash on hand in those early months before we got smarter. It had been a few years, but I think I still remembered how.
As
I walked past each house, I looked for the signs.
Was there evidence of a dog?
A car in the driveway?
Signs of a security camera?
Finally, I spotted my perfect target. The home was set slightly back from the road. Empty driveway. A large tall fence in the backyard and a massive oak tree in the front. Great for concealment. There were flower beds and dainty curtains in the windows which meant there was probably a female in residence.
Looking around to make sure I wasn’t observed, I opened the mailbox of my target house and removed a few letters.
Boldly, I walked up to my target. I would knock on the door and use the excuse that I had received some of their mail.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my fist and knocked.
I waited.
Nothing.
I listened.
No barking dog.
No television.
Perfect.
Tossing the mail on the front porch bench, I made my way around the side of the house.
Grasping the edge of the fence, I easily hauled myself up and over.
The fence was at least five feet tall and provided the perfect cover from any prying eyes from the street or next door. I made my way to the back door. I tried the doorknob just in case I got lucky. Nope. Locked. I didn’t have my lock picking kit with me so I would just have to improvise.
The sound of shattering glass carried much further, as it was much more of an alarming sound than a dull thud. When people heard glass breaking, they knew something was wrong. When they heard a strange loud bang and then silence, they just wondered if something was wrong but in the absence of any other loud noises, they tended to move on with their day without another thought.
Knowing this, I took a step back and kicked the door just to the right of the doorknob and lock. The door sprung open with a loud bang. Just to be certain, I stepped to the side and listened for any cry of alarm from inside of the house.
Silence.