26. Chapter 26
Addy
Ithought “on the run” meant staying in seedy motels and using fake names at gas stations.
I did not think it meant Puerto Rico.
I definitely did not expect to step out into golden morning light, only to find six Russian men in tailored shirts waiting at the dock as if we were arriving for a board meeting instead of fleeing federal prison.
The boat eased into the dock like this was a normal Tuesday and not the dramatic end to whatever the hell my previous life had been.
I had mentally prepared for at least a little chaos — raised voices, rushed instructions, someone giving me the side-eye as though I were an unplanned accessory — but instead, there was nothing but order and efficiency.
Sasha stepped off first, of course, and I could have sworn the air adjusted around him.
Not in a dramatic way, but rather in the subtle recalibration people perform when a figure of authority enters the scene.
One of the men clasped his forearm and spoke to him in Russian, in a low, familiar tone. Sasha responded without missing a beat.
I hadn’t heard him speak Russian before and it was hot.
There I was, standing there holding my duffel like someone’s chaotic cousin who’d been accidentally invited to the sleepover.
So naturally, I did the only reasonable thing and smiled brightly at the burly men.
“Hi!” I stepped forward before anyone could stop me. “I’m Addy.”
Six pairs of eyes shifted to me in unison. They weren’t necessarily hostile; they were just assessing something they’d never seen before.
Sasha’s hand instantly found my lower back, feeling warm and firm as if he were grounding and restraining me simultaneously.
One of the men blinked once, then nodded.
“Ad-dee,” he repeated carefully, butchering the pronunciation slightly.
“Yes. That’s me.” I gave him a thumbs-up and nodded enthusiastically.
Kyrill made a low sound that might have been a suppressed snort.
Another man gave me a polite nod. “Welcome.”
“Oh good, we are welcome here then? I wasn’t really sure what we’d be walking into since someone” — I shot Sasha a pointed look — “refused to give me any details. Glad to see this isn’t all hostile takeover vibes.”
Sasha’s fingers pressed gently into my back, silently reminding me I was improvising in an environment perhaps not ideal for such things.
“They are not your new friends,” he murmured near my ear, his breath ghosting across my skin.
“Bold of you to assume I can’t multitask,” I whispered back.
The men continued speaking to him, updating him on things I only half understood — deliveries, schedules, and something about territory.
I caught one of them glancing at me again and waved. He froze for half a second, then, very seriously, he gave me a small nod.
Progress.
We moved toward yet another SUV waiting near the port, and I leaned toward Sasha as we walked.
“So,” I stage-whispered, “are they all terrifying, or are there sub-groups of sorts. Like do they maybe have a book club?”
He didn’t look at me, but his thumb dug into my hip possessively. “Do not flirt with them.”
“I’m not flirting. I’m onboarding.”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
By the time I had introduced myself to the third, terrifyingly composed Russian man, I suspected I might be the only person here without a defined role.
This was slightly disheartening, but historically it has never stopped me.
“Addy. Again. Just in case we’re doing the whole formalities thing.” I extended my hand to a dark-haired man who looked a bit younger than me, like my rude companion wasn’t glaring daggers at me.
The man hesitated only briefly before shaking my hand firmly but carefully, casting a slightly nervous glance at the man trailing behind me like the ghost of a Victorian child. Very clingy, and no manners at all.
“Misha,” he said quietly.
He released my hand almost immediately. Smart man. Sasha stepped closer, sliding his palm around my waist — he wasn’t being subtle anymore. He spread his fingers slightly against my hip, as if to remind me and everyone else exactly where I stood.
“There’s no need for formalities. You don’t need to know their names. All you need to know is they are here to protect you,” he said in a low, smooth voice with an absolutely lethal edge to it.
Normally, he spoke without a noticeable accent, but the more he spoke Russian to his men, the more it crept into his voice, sharpening the edges of every word.
My stomach did something deeply unhelpful. Traitorous butterflies.
Misha nodded once and stepped back without argument.
Sasha leaned down slightly, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “You’re gonna need to behave before I lose my shit, Little Devil.”
“I’m just being friendly,” I whispered.
“You’re being too friendly.”
“That’s because I’m naturally charming.”
He tightened his grip fractionally, just enough to make my knees go weak, but not enough to hurt.
“You’re mine. The only reason anyone should look at you is to make sure you’re unharmed. Not to make fucking small talk,” he rasped, sending a shiver down my spine.
There was that word again. Mine.
It should feel archaic. Seriously, it’s such a caveman thing to say, and it’s even borderline concerning in the real world. But instead, it felt like someone had poured warm honey straight down my spine.
I turned my head just enough to look at him. “What do you have against small talk?”
“Aside from it being useless? I’m not a fan of you gracing everyone and their fucking mother with that gorgeous smile of yours. If you feel like smiling, fucking smile at me. They’re unworthy of it anyways.”
I blinked. Oh. Okay, then.
His big hand pressed against my lower back like a white-hot brand, guiding me to one of the waiting vehicles.
The drive up into the hills felt unreal in a way I couldn’t quite categorize. Puerto Rico unfolded around us in soft pastels and bright-green hills, the ocean widening behind us as we climbed.
I kept waiting for the descent, the moment when we reached the safe house, the pivot into secrecy. Instead, we pulled up at iron gates which opened without us having to stop.
We drove up a curved stone driveway, carved into the hillside and lined with palms and flowering bougainvillea, the tires crunching over pale stone.
The morning sun bathed the villa in honeyed light, illuminating the white stucco exterior and the deep, dark clay roof tiles.
Carved wooden doors were set into graceful archways.
Modern glass walls faced the ocean, reflecting the open sky and water in clean, long lines. Below, the city was waking up. Beyond that, the endless blue of the Caribbean Sea stretched out before us.
I stared at the water, quickly looked at Sasha, and back at the sea again.
“This is not really the shady hiding place I was imagining.”
“No,” he agreed.
“This looks more like a magazine spread.”
He just shrugged.
The SUV rolled to a quiet stop beneath a shaded portico and one of the men moved to open the doors before the engine had even settled.
This didn’t feel like a place to hide. It felt like a place you stayed and maybe even built a life. And that realization slid under my ribs in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I’d thought this would feel reckless and temporary and doomed. Instead, I was standing in the morning sun, breathing in the salty air, and staring at the ocean from a hilltop villa. I was wondering how I’d ended up in this place — and why it didn’t feel wrong.
I hadn’t planned on ever being in a place like this. Not in this lifetime, and definitely not while holding hands with a man who’d broken out of prison.
Yet here I was, and, as with most things in life, I chose to embrace it before I could overthink it and become paralyzed by indecision.
We stepped inside slowly. I peered around like I might set off an alarm by breathing wrong, like the house itself was expensive enough to reject me on principle.
Pale stone floors stretched beneath exposed wooden beams, and sunlight spilled in through massive glass panels framing the ocean like a living mural. Sheer linen curtains shifted softly in the breeze, bringing in the salty air and the faint rustle of the palms outside.
“Okay,” I said under my breath. “I need a minute. This is … a lot.”
Sasha stayed close enough for me to feel his presence without looking. The others moved through the space with quiet efficiency: luggage disappeared upstairs and brief exchanges in Russian took place near the terrace.
“Take however long you need,” Sasha drawled, his fingertips ghosting across my shoulder as he stepped to the side to strike up a murmured conversation with Kyrill.
The problem was, I had time. And if I had time, I would think. And if I thought, I would spiral. So instead of spiraling quietly like a stable adult, I chose violence. Social violence.
I marched toward the nearest tall, silent man and introduced myself like this was a PTA meeting.
“Hi again.” I waved awkwardly. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
He hesitated, then answered. “Ivan.”
“Ivan,” I repeated. “That’s strong. I like it. I’m Addy. Obviously.”
“I know.”
“Right. Good.” I nodded, like all of this was completely normal. Sasha’s hand slid around my waist from behind, firm and already familiar. I looked down at his tattooed fingers splaying across my stomach possessively, my nipples hardening at his open claim.
“You don’t need to introduce yourself to everyone,” he said quietly.
“That feels socially irresponsible.”
“They know who you are.”
“Yeah, I’ve gathered as much. Kind of weird.”
Ivan looked faintly amused. Or maybe that was just my projection.
Another man passed by with a bag, and I stepped aside automatically. “Hi. Addy. I assume you already know my name but I like clarity.”
He nodded once. “Viktor.”
“Great. We’re making progress.”
Sasha turned me gently so I was facing him instead of his entire organization.
“This is not a networking event,” he deadpanned.
“You sure about that? It feels like one.”