8. Nadia
8
NADIA
M y arrival went as smoothly as possible. Mexico was hot, humid, and so different from the air in London that I paused for a few moments just to breathe. Relaxation wasn’t possible. Not yet. I had to hide somewhere since I’d taken the impulsive leap to run this far.
And therein lay my problem. All the hotels in the touristy center of this area were ungodly expensive. The rentals further out were more affordable but all booked up. Go figure I had to be here during the traditional spring break time. Hardly anything was available, and what was open was too costly to manage more than a couple of nights.
Getting a car was my first plan of action, and once I did that, I regretted it. I had to use my passport. I used the credit card Zoe let me borrow. She was an angel not to push me about details, seeming to understand that I had to stay on the down low. I meant it. I would pay her back someday. Somehow. With money I had no clue how I’d obtain.
And that dash of irony killed me. If I were married to Lev, I’d be the wife of a majorly wealthy man. Still, the allure of easy money didn’t tempt me. Not a single bit.
This rental was a necessity, though, and I prayed that the criminal staff Mr. Avilov hired would be slow to track my passport being scanned here. It was impossible to hide anywhere in the world. Digital trails remained in place everywhere. But I did feel better about being behind a wheel.
“So long as I stop trying to drive on the other side of the road.” I rolled my eyes after muttering to myself. I’d grown up with driving on the right side of the road, but the few times I’d driven at university threw me off.
I had no place in mind. I hadn’t done any research. Woefully unprepared and reacting to that Avilov man had me rash and panicked.
Now was a good time to try to think of a next step, though. I was too scared to turn on my phone for too long. That, more than anything else, could be tracked. I’d seen enough movies and shows to understand that the devices we all carried with us every step of the day were the ultimate source of tracing.
At the airport, I used my phone to call a few hotels listed on advertisements, but I powered it off once I realized I couldn’t afford anything.
Instead of relying on technology, I pulled over at a scenic viewing ledge. I didn’t care what historical or geographical site this was. I wished I could be curious. But this wasn’t a vacation. I stopped only because it wasn’t crowded with tons of people.
The huge, weathered map anchored under a shelter was my goal. Maybe I could get a better sense of where I was and where I could hide if I at least scanned the area. If not, I’d need to drive back to all the touristy stands and shops to buy an actual map.
I was exhausted, stressed, and so damn tired. But I had to keep running until an ideal hiding site came to me. On the stained and chipped plastic board, I saw historical landmarks and vague depictions of roads. It wasn’t an accurate map, and my hope fell when I peered at it. The map told me what I already knew but didn’t want to admit.
If I wanted to find somewhere to stay, it’d have to be in the city. With all the tourists. Outside the mecca of commercialism along the water and all the attractions for travelers was… nothing. Vast land with no markers. Smaller cities existed outside of the vacation area, and I knew better than to traipse into the “wild” on my own with no resources.
I wasn’t stupid. I’d heard and read about problems outside the protected tourist areas. Kidnappings. Rapes. Drug smuggling. Within the glitz and glamor of the cruise ship ports and traditional vacation destinations, visitors were safe. Those areas were protected because they wanted the commerce and business from vacationers. Outside of that area, though…
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Even here, almost to the outskirts of the tourist region, I saw signs of less maintenance. Graffiti covered the wooden post that held up this map. Litter remained uncollected on the edge of the grass.
I couldn’t go back into the vacation part of the city, not if I wanted to find a decent place to rest and think of what to do after this. And I didn’t feel confident to venture further out to unknown locations in a foreign country where bad things could happen to single women on their own.
Zoning out at the ads stuck to another wall of this shelter, I knew one thing. This was not a vacation. I wasn’t here to have an adventure zip lining and I wouldn’t be returning to port to hop back onto a cruise ship.
I’d run out of money soon, and with the lack of any resources or hope, I gave in to turning my phone on.
I wasn’t sure if it was desperation or a sense of helplessness, but I prayed that contacting the one person I should’ve always been able to rely on would help me.
As my phone beeped and put through the call to my dad, I bit my lower lip and tensed. Anxiety spiraled through me, knotting my stomach. Unease filled my head. I was overwhelmed with paranoia and nerves that this call would be tracked, but I had no other options.
“Hello?” His answer was gruff and short, like always.
“Dad. I?—”
“Where the fuck are you?” he demanded. Behind his angry words came the sound of a machine beeping.
“I’m…” I closed my eyes. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell anyone. Not just because this call could be tracked, but also because I didn’t trust him. He’d never once given me a reason to believe in him.
“You’re running from your responsibility.”
I opened my eyes wide, instantly furious. “ My responsibility?” His accusation lit a fire within me. Fueled by the last reserves of my energy, I paced away from this shelter. Sweat dripped down my back. Cooked with this humidity, I felt even hotter now, livid.
“I never fucking did anything. I never agreed to anything. None of this is my doing.”
“You—”
“No!” I fisted my free hand as I paced. My duffle bag swung and knocked into my hip as I turned to pace back. “No. I did nothing. Except be born. That’s it.”
How can he not realize how unfair and ridiculous this was?
“And you need to stop this bullshit once and for all. You cannot force me to marry anyone.”
“I can. I have to.”
I clenched my teeth, straining my jaw with the effort required to hold in a scream. “You don’t have to do anything. Why can’t you, instead of trying to stick with some old agreement, stand up for me? For your daughter. For once in your fucking life, stand up and support me and what I want, not what he wants.”
“Nadia. I can’t change the past,” he growled. “What the hell do you want me to do? Go back in time and undo what was done?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. Obviously, he couldn’t. “But you can change how you act now. Tell that fucking old dude no . Tell him that you won’t sacrifice your own daughter like this and?—”
“So, what? I should just sacrifice myself instead? Huh? You want your own father to be killed?”
I shook my head. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare try to fucking guilt trip me. This is your doing. This is your bullshit that’s ruining my life. You chose to enter an agreement with that asshole. So you figure out a way to solve it.”
“I have. By your marrying him.”
In other words, to sacrifice me .
“I’m in the hospital right now, you ungrateful little bitch.”
“Ungrateful?” I shot back. “What have you ever done for me that I’m supposed to be grateful about? Other than sentencing me to marry a sick creep.”
“They came to the store and attacked me. Then again. If you don’t marry Avilov, they’ll kill me.”
I let the silence be my reply. I didn’t wish anyone dead. Actually, I had. Many times, I prayed that Mr. Avilov would just die and no longer be a worry, a burden hanging over my head. Then, on darker days when I argued with my father, I entertained the idea of his being deceased. If my dad weren’t alive, his old promises had to be done, right?
I wasn’t in the mood to explain my feelings about him. If my dad had an ounce of common sense, he wouldn’t dare to ask me whether I cared about him enough to want him alive.
“I want to live my own life. On my terms.” It wasn’t too much to ask.
“Tough shit. I can’t change the past.”
“But it’s not my past.”
“A promise is a promise,” he growled, like I was too stupid to understand what he was saying. “I owe Lev because I married your mother when she was already arranged to him.”
“I. Don’t. Care!” All of that happened before I was conceived. No matter how much he clung to his closed-minded reminders that what was done was done, I refused to be a participant in his repayment of his debt.
I didn’t hear whatever he had to shout back at me. There was no time to reply. The conversation ended abruptly as I was pulled to the side.
“Hey!”
I spun, grabbing for my purse as a man gripped the strap and tried to run with it. His bloodshot eyes narrowed at me when I fought back.
“Gimme the bag,” he ordered.
Another man appeared behind him, running up from behind my parked rental.
“What! No, I—” Fear rose up within me as another gangster entered the scene. All of them wore filthy clothes, and each of them had their job. One remained on the lookout. Another was the enforcer, pointing a gun at me. And this scrawny one who stank of body odor and booze refused to give up his hold on my purse.
I was being mugged. Robbed. Exactly what I feared would happen. Alone and defenseless, not even paying attention to my surroundings as I got into this heated argument with my dad, I lowered my guard and became the ideal mindless tourist for these men to gang up on.
“Gimme the bag!” he repeated with a sinister snarl.
The guy with the gun stalked closer, changing his smug expression into something like a rotten leer. Smiling wider, with hunger in his eyes, he dragged his stare up and down me.
“Hold on, now,” he told his thieving comrade. “Maybe we can have some fun with this one.”
Oh, fuck. I shoved my purse at the thief. I needed every dollar and card in my wallet, but I’d hand it over in a heartbeat if it meant sparing the promise of a gang rape.
All three of them stalked toward me, encouraging me further from my parked car.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I backpedaled, straining to keep my mind clear as adrenaline coursed through me.
My fight or flight instinct kicked in.
I only had one option, and it was the reaction that I depended on often.
Run.
I turned, sprinting away the fastest I could down this trail that began with this map at a scenic area.
I just couldn’t get a break. Running from the Avilovs. Now escaping tourist danger. My lungs burned. My feet ached. That stitch returned in my side, but I didn’t dare look back once.
I couldn’t. They were too close. Right on my heels. I heard their ragged breaths over mine. I felt the presence of their wicked intent. Twice, their fingers brushed over the back of my sweaty shirt as they reached forward to grab me, and I ran harder, faster, with so much desperation that I didn’t know how my heart could handle it.
As I sped toward a fork in the trails, I debated with split-second indecision which way to go. Right or left? Right or left? Lost and terrified, I stopped short when another person walked into the opening before the two different routes. He’d come from the stairs further ahead, and as soon as I spotted him, I blinked and wondered whether I was hallucinating.
Him.
The man who’d taken me from the bar in London.
He’d known my name. He’d protected me from Mr. Avilov’s thug. And he was here .
Questions blasted through the shock that washed over me.
“Leave her alone,” he ordered in that steady, deep voice of his. I recognized it. He was already that familiar.
As he put his arm out, he caught me mid-step and hauled me to him. My back slammed into his chest, and panting hard, I stared at the trio of criminals.
They gave this mysterious rescuer of mine an angry look.
“Leave,” he repeated. “Or else.”
They didn’t argue. Turning hastily, they bumped into each other. My purse swung wildly as they ran away, back from where I’d come from. The duffel bag I’d dropped was snatched up too.
I stared, blinking as rain fell. Thunder boomed in the distance, and as the precipitation trickled over my face, I narrowed my eyes at the three men taking off.
Shock kept me in place. My brain struggled to keep up with the blur of action. One second, I was arguing with my dad. The next, I was running— again —from men. And now…
I stepped forward, but this tall, sexy asshole didn’t loosen his hold on me.
Not a single bit.