Chapter 6
Roman
“That was fast,” I mutter, impressed despite myself.
“Good timing,” Yuri comments.
“Extremely. I figured she’d be in for the night and we’d have to make this messy.”
“Sometimes the sun shines down, even when it is pouring down,” Yuri says with a sage nod as we both stare out of the window. “Where do you think she went?”
“Doesn’t matter. When she gets back, she will have a surprise waiting for her.” I tap my fingers against the cool glass, watching the street through the rhythmic sweep of the wipers. The rain in London is relentless, washing away sins and evidence with equal indifference. It suits me.
“Now the back,” I murmur, my eyes on the front door to Zoya’s townhouse.
“Headlights,” Yuri murmurs, nodding towards the end of the street.
The white Range Rover swings back into view, speeding around the corner. She parks up perfectly and hesitates for a fraction of a second before climbing out.
“He’s not done,” Yuri murmurs.
“It’s fine. She won’t have time to try the back,” I murmur, my gaze riveted to her as she climbs out of the car. She has her gym bag with her again, her keys gripped in her hand as she approaches the front door.
I smile as she tries to insert the key in the lock. “Not today, Devochka.”
Zoya pulls the key back and tries to jam it into a lock that doesn’t fit. She realises faster than anticipated what has happened. She stumbles back and glances up before looking over her shoulder.
She grips her keys, her face one of absolute fury. She will blame Nik. She has no idea it was me, and that the man who changed the lock in record time is still inside her house, working on the back door.
Zoya pulls out her phone as she storms back to her vehicle, slamming the door with a force that shakes it. Soon, she will learn that she has no bank accounts and nowhere to live.
“You can head back, Yuri. I’ll be driving Zoya’s car back to the estate.”
Yuri doesn’t ask questions. He simply nods, his face impassive in the rearview mirror.
I step out into the relentless London downpour, the water instantly soaking into my suit jacket, but I barely register the chill.
My focus is entirely on the woman in the white SUV, trapped in a cage of my making.
She is frantic inside the vehicle, her phone pressed to her ear, her other hand gesticulating wildly. Calling Nik, no doubt. Screaming at him for locking her out of her own home. It’s perfect. The more she hates him, the easier she will fall into my arms. I cross the street, a ghost in the gloom.
I approach the passenger side, open the door, and slide in as she screams and nearly drops the phone.
“Get out!” she shouts, trying to hit me with it. “Help!” She smacks me hard with the side of her phone, and I grunt, gripping her wrist tightly. “Where are those fuckers?” she adds under her breath.
“Stop hitting me,” I grit out. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that? You just broke into my car!”
“I didn’t break in,” I correct her, my voice steady despite the adrenaline singing in my veins. “The door was unlocked. Careless. I will make sure you remember your safety in the future, Zoya.”
She tries to yank her wrist back, but I hold fast. Her skin is soft, warm. Up close, the terror in her big brown eyes is exquisite, but I don’t have time to admire it. I need her compliant.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?” she demands, her chest heaving beneath that damp cashmere jumper. She’s trying to place me, scanning my features in the dim streetlights.
“Are you going to stop trying to assault me?”
“No,” she spits out.
I smile. It’s icy. She freezes and swallows hard. “My name is Roman Voronov. And you, Zoya, are now mine.”
“Like hell,” she snaps. “Did Nik put you up to this?”
“Nik?” I laugh, a low, dark sound that seems to suck the remaining oxygen out of the cabin. “I don’t answer to anyone, Zoya. The sooner you learn this isn’t about Nik, the better.”
“Then get out,” she hisses, though the tremor in her voice betrays her. She tries to jerk her wrist away, but I hold her fast for a second longer than necessary, just to prove I can.
Then, I release her wrist. “I told you. You’re mine now. And I don’t leave my things unattended on the street.” I release her and nod towards the passenger seat. “Climb over. I’m driving.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. This is kidnapping.”
“It’s a rescue,” I say calmly, enjoying the way her eyes widen. “You have no house keys. You have no protection. Your father’s men work for Nik now.”
She glances in the rearview mirror, panic flaring. She knows I’m right. The wolves are at the door, and I’m the only one offering a way out, even if it leads directly into the dragon’s den.
“Over. Now,” I command.
“You are sitting in the passenger seat,” she grits out.
“And?” I growl back.
Her gaze flashes with absolute fury.
“Move, Zoya, before I get unfriendly and lock you in the boot.”
She weighs the odds, her gaze flicking between my face and the rain-slicked pavement outside. She’s smart. She knows when she’s checkmated.
“You’re a psychopath,” she mutters, but she moves.
It’s a graceful transition. She lifts her leg over the centre console with ease as she manoeuvres her body over. Her arse lands on my lap, and I stifle the urge to groan and bury my face in her hair.
“What now, genius?” she asks, her voice almost smug as she grinds down on my lap, trying to distract me. She is a fighter, this one. I’m going to enjoy this more than I first thought. But she has no idea who she is dealing with.
I slam the seat backwards and grab her waist to lift her off my lap, swinging my leg over the centre console.
“There is an easier way,” she remarks. “Just get out and walk around.”
“And have you either lock me out or drive off? I don’t fucking think so.”
I grip the steering wheel and use it to haul myself into the driver’s seat.
Zoya huffs and slouches into the passenger seat, reaching for the handle.
I slam the locks down and secure them so she cannot escape.
I press the start button, and the engine rumbles to life beneath us.
The sound is a low growl, matching the satisfaction curling in my gut.
“Seatbelt,” I command, not bothering to look at her. I’m busy adjusting the mirrors and moving the seat back so my knees aren’t touching the steering wheel.
“I hope you crash,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.
“If I crash, you go through the windscreen, Devochka.” I shift into gear and pull away from the kerb, not waiting for her to click her seatbelt into place.
She scrambles then, her pretty face scowling furiously.
Leaving the townhouse and her old life in the rearview mirror.
The tyres hiss against the wet tarmac as I navigate the Kensington streets with one hand on the wheel.
It’s effortless. Everything about this feels inevitable.
She stares out of the window, her jaw tight. The cabin smells of damp wool, that lingering jasmine scent, and fear. It’s a heady cocktail. I reach over and crank up the heating. She’s shivering, though she’d die before admitting it to me.
“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice devoid of the earlier screeching. She’s recalibrating. Assessing threats. Good.
“Somewhere safe,” I lie smoothly. “Away from Nik.”
“How did you know he locked me out?” she asks after a beat.
“I took a stab in the dark. Men like Nik Antonov have no honour. He will tell you to your face that he will take care of you, but it is simply a cage, if you’re lucky.”
“And you?” she asks, turning to look at me for the first time. “Do you have honour, Roman Voronov?”
I contemplate that question for a moment, long enough for her to avert her gaze. “When it comes to you, yes.”
Her head snaps towards me again, but I keep my eyes on the road. “I don’t trust you.”
“You should. I am the only ally you have left.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you, Zoya. My job is to protect you. It’s what your father wanted.”
“My father,” she scoffs. “You’re using the same lines as Nik.”
“Except Nik is a blunt instrument,” I reply, easing the car through the heavy traffic that is rapidly building up in rush hour. “And I am a scalpel. There is a difference.”
She huffs, turning back to the window, her reflection ghosting against the rain-streaked glass. “A weapon is still a weapon.”
I suppress a smirk. She isn’t buying the white knight act entirely, which makes this game far more interesting.
If she were easy, I would have grown bored years ago watching her from the shadows.
Now, I have her exactly where I want her: beside me, breathing the same air, her fate resting in my palm.
I glance over at her.
“You can relax,” I say, the lie rolling off my tongue like honey. “No one is following us. My men have covered our tracks.”
“Your men,” she echoes, her voice dripping with disdain. “And where are we going? You said ‘safe’, but in my experience, safe usually means a cell.”
“My estate in Surrey,” I inform her. “It’s a fortress. High walls, armed guards, no Nik.”
“And no exit?” she challenges, turning those big, furious brown eyes on me.
“Only for those who aren’t invited.”
Technically true. She is invited. She just isn’t allowed to leave.
“Get comfortable, Devochka. It’s a long drive.”
“Stop calling me that. I’m not your girl.”
“You are. Your father made sure. It’s a promise. A vow.”
“A vow for what?”
“Survival,” I answer, shifting gears as the Evoque eats up the tarmac. “Mikhail knew the sharks would circle the moment he hit the ground. He didn’t want you torn apart.”
She turns her face to the window, watching the blur of London rain, but I see the way her throat works. She’s fighting tears, rage, or both. Probably both.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she mutters, her breath fogging the glass. “You can be absolved of whatever promise you made to my father.”
“I’m not a babysitter, Zoya. I’m your keeper, and you cannot get rid of me. This wasn’t a promise I made to your father but one he made to me.”
Her head snaps to the side, and she glares at me. “Liar,” she hisses. “My father would never sell me.”
I keep my eyes on the road but allow a small half smile, one that she will either find sinister or devastating.
It’s both.