20. Brooke
For twenty-four hours, he lets me stew in my anger, and I don’t see or hear from him.
An older woman brings me food on a tray. At first, I don’t eat, so every time she brings me a new tray, she has to take the untouched one away with her.
But eventually, my protesting stomach wins, and I decide I might as well not add hunger to the growing list of things I hate about being kidnapped.
So I eat and I spend the next few hours dreaming about all the different ways I could kill Lev Zarkov.
Various scenarios include strangling him with his own tie, pushing him out of a moving vehicle, shooting him with his own gun, and making him stand without sleep for days until he begs for mercy and falls into a heap on the floor. But then I remember Lev doesn’t wear a tie, that his car has child locks, that I’ve never shot a gun in my life, and if our one night together is any kind of indication, Lev Zarkov has the stamina of a god.
When I start to feel the walls close in on me, I take advantage of the magnificent bathroom attached to the room and take a shower. Like everything else in the house, it’s huge and opulent, with marble floors and walls, and gold taps and wall sconces. Not to mention the best water pressure in New York.
It’s also fully stocked with an array of toiletries, so I’m able to brush my teeth.
Afterward, I stand under the steady stream of warm water and let it massage the tension from my shoulders. There’s shampoo and conditioner and a scented body wash that reminds me of sunshine and days at the beach.
But as nice as the shower is, it’s not enough to stave off the panic I feel building inside me as I dry off and redress.
Just as I’m about to start bouncing off the walls with boredom, my bedroom door opens, and a young woman appears in the doorway. Wearing a black housekeeping tunic, she walks in carrying a big bag and closes the door behind her.
“Hi, my name is Enya. I’m one of Mr. Zarkov’s housekeeping staff. It’s very lovely to meet you.”
“Hi,” I reply awkwardly. “I’m Brooke.”
“Oh, I know.” She smiles sweetly, and two dimples appear on either side of her full lips. “Mr. Zarkov asked me to bring you some clothes. He said your luggage had been misplaced by the airline and you’d need some clothes during your stay. I sent over to a couple of clothing stores for some clothes you might like. I hope they fit.”
“I’m sure they’re perfect, thank you. Out of curiosity, how did you know my size?”
“Mr. Zarkov,” she says with pure innocence. “He said he knew from experience.”
My cheeks flame. Asshole.
“We met on a flight to New York, and I must’ve mentioned it to him,” I say, downplaying our encounter.
But I’ve got a feeling Enya isn’t that easy to fool. Yet the sweet young woman just smiles and hands me the bag of clothes. “Let me know if you’d like me to send for anything else.”
My head spins. Does this lovely girl with the sweet face and kind words know that Mr. Zarkov is a monster who had a gun pointed at my ex-fiancé’s head a mere twenty-four hours ago and was about to shoot him if I hadn’t agreed to his preposterous demands?
“Enya, I need to get out of here. Can you help me?”
Her smile doesn’t waver. “You want to leave? But you just got here. Mr. Zarkov said you were staying for the week.”
“I know, but there’s been a change of plans. Can you help me?”
I’ve had time to think, and I absolutely need to get out of here. And the moment I get to safety, I’m calling the police. Surely there’s something they can do. Maybe I can go into witness protection or something.
But then Lev’s words come back to me, and a cold dread crawls down my spine.
“If you run, there is no place to hide. I’m a very connected pakhan, zayka. I have friends in very high places and friends in very low places, and both are equally as loyal to me and equally as frightening as each other.”
Do those connections extend into the NYPD?
Probably. But I at least have to try and untangle myself from this mess, and I’m hoping this sweet young girl might help me.
But that hope is dashed when a frown crosses her face. “I can’t do that, I’m afraid. I just saw Mr. Zarkov, and his instructions were very specific.”
I feel the hope drain from my body.
“And what were those instructions?” I ask.
“To bring you some fresh clothes. Her face breaks into another big smile. “And to tell you to join him in his study.”