9. Lena
CHAPTER 9
Lena
A fter ten minutes of listening to classical music, I mute the radio.
“Where are we going?” I ask him again, folding my arms over my chest.
He looks over at me, his brows knitting together as he keeps driving. I glance at the road—the one he is not paying attention to—before I look back at him.
I’m uncomfortable with the way he looks at me and terrified with the way he doesn’t look at the road.
“Why were you friends?” he asks, then focuses back on the road.
I throw my arms up in the air in disbelief, not that I should be entirely shocked. “Cinita again? Come on, dude. You obsessed with her?” He slams on the brakes, and thank fuck I put my seat belt on. I gasp and look at him as my hand clutches the belt around me. “Are you crazy? That could have killed me.”
“You’re fine,” he says before he takes off again. He drives to an underpass and stops under it. Okay.
The noises from the cars above are deafening as they pass over us, yet under here it’s oddly lonely. He gets out of the car and slams the door, leaving me alone. I watch as he walks in front of the car toward the river and stops in a particular spot, assessing it. No fucking way am I getting out. This looks exactly like a place he would kill me. No, thank you very much.
“Lena.” He calls my name. I hear it. Even over the noise, I hear his summons. But when I don’t move, he explains as if I don’t understand. “Get out of my car.”
“Why?” I yell, knowing he can hear me if I can hear him.
He nods his head to the spot next to him, clearly exasperated, though he doesn’t make a show of it. I’ve come to learn the subtleties in his body language. It’s the only thing that gives him away… slightly.
“Do not make me get you out,” he warns, and I notice his slight Russian accent comes out with his impatience.
“I’ll stay here, thank you very much,” I tell him, slinking into the seat and holding my seat belt as tightly as I can. He cracks his neck from side to side, cursing under his breath before stepping in my direction. He grabs the door handle and pulls the door open. I clutch the seat belt as I stare up at him.
“Out,” he says again.
“No.”
“This is a part of your job.”
“No, I get paid to sing.”
“You get paid because I allow it, but your ass is mine while I have you. Now, get out of the car.” He motions for me to get out, but I shake my head.
Nope, no fucking way.
Does he not think I’m smart?
I know better than to get out of a car with a strange man in the middle of nowhere, where he could kill me, and my screams would be muffled by the noises above.
Nope.
He reaches into his pocket, and when he pulls out a knife, I gasp.
He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die here.
How the hell did I end up in this situation?
As he leans in, I try to move away, but the seat belt—the one thing I thought would protect me—is now holding me down.
“Get away from me, you crazy ass.” I try to kick at him, but my legs aren’t getting me very far. I try to hit him, but he blocks my hands with his gloved one as he reaches in and puts the knife closer to my face. I scream loudly as he lowers the knife, and I watch in horror as it gets closer. He slices the seat belt above my shoulder and then steps back.
“Get out, now,” he growls. My heart pounds as my scream dwindles. The knife is still in his gloved hand. The seat belt is loose around me as I step out of the car obediently, my hands shaking. “Follow me.”
“Why?” I gasp. What does he want from me?
“Fuck, you’re annoying. Follow, woman.” His piercing green glare is back on me. I huff out a shaky breath and follow him but keep my distance. I search the ground for something, anything I might be able to use to defend myself. I spy a good-sized rock, lean down, and pick it up, clutching it close to my chest. We reach the same spot where he was standing before.
There’s a small pool of dried blood.
“Whose blood is that?” I ask cautiously, making sure not to get too close.
“Cinita’s.” He pauses. “I think.”
“You killed her?” I ask in disbelief.
“While I take great pleasure in killing those who annoy me”—he pins me with his icy gaze—“I did no such thing. ”
“So why am I here?” I ask. He then looks at the rock in my hand.
“Do you plan to hit me with that?”
“Do you plan to stab me?” Alek glances down at his hand, like he didn’t realize he’s still holding the knife.
“I thought about it,” he muses, then looks back at me. “We shall see.” His words offer me no amount of comfort. Asshole.
“Where is she?” I want to know where she is and make sure she’s okay, but I also despise her for somehow dragging me into her mess.
“She called me from this spot while I was preoccupied with other commitments.”
“So how do you know she called from here?”
“I had tracking on her,” he says easily.
Oh my gosh. This guy really is out of his mind. Do all the wealthy think they can own women like branded cattle?
“Why?”
“That’s none of your concern. Her last known location before the tracker was destroyed was in the apartment you two share. So tell me, do you know where she is?”
I shake my head in disbelief. Did Cinita get involved with a gang or something?
“No, I told you. She didn’t get her shit or tell me she was leaving. She was just gone and left me with the bills. Now, I need to go. I’m cold, and you are scary,” I tell him, stepping away.
“Are you not worried about her?” he asks, motioning to the blood.
“No. Right now, I’m more concerned that I may end up like her,” I answer truthfully. “Whatever that is”—I wave to the blood—“has nothing to do with me.”
“Get in the car,” he says with a sigh, and I turn, almost running back to the safety of the car. When I shut the door, I notice the keys are in it. And he’s still standing near the spot of dried blood. How long has it been there?
Climbing over the middle console and into the driver’s seat, I start the car. His head swings my way, and I press the gas as hard as I can and take the fuck off.
Out of here and away from him.
I will not die today, and I will not put myself in this position ever again.
Contract or not.