Chapter 48
AMALIE
“Where are we going, exactly? You said you were taking us to Roman.”
Sasha’s out cold next to me. I’m glad he’s sleeping instead of feeling the fear I am.
Max’s eyes are fixed on the road. “I am, I’m just waiting for the call. Man, he’s going to be happy to see you guys.”
The car hums softly, heat running, windows fogged at the edges. I keep thinking about Andrei, about how mad he must be at himself right now for letting us slip away. I feel guilty for lying to him.
“I’m telling you, Am. You have no idea what you walked into.”
“At the museum?”
“No, with this Barinov guy.” His voice is low, like he’s about to let me in on some dark truth. “You know what he’s about, right? That he’s not some normal billionaire. He’s involved with the freaking mafia.”
“Bratva.”
“Huh?”
“Bratva. It’s Russian.”
He blinks, thrown off for a second, as if he’s having a hard time believing I knew anything about it. He quickly recovers. “Yeah. Bratva. Exactly. And that’s what I’m trying to keep you safe from. Trust me. You’re going to want to get away from Barinov as soon as you can. He’s bad news.”
I glance at Sasha, still asleep, thankfully not hearing any of this. I hope he sleeps for the whole trip and that I can just wake him up when we get home like none of this ever happened.
We keep driving. I zone out a little, closing my eyes and hoping the next time I open them we’re in front of Roman’s place. Our place. Worry runs through me. All I want is to be in that house, in his arms, my head resting against his shoulder.
The sound of gravel crunching under the tires snaps me out of it. I open my eyes and see the front of a derelict building. A quick look around reveals that we’re not at the Barinov mansion—not anywhere close to it. The scenery seems to be that of a run-down, abandoned warehouse district.
I turn my attention to the building in front of me. Boarded windows, graffiti, cracked concrete, and a security light over the side entrance that flickers like it’s seconds away from turning off for good.
We’re tucked into a shadowed side lot, not a neighborhood, not a street with witnesses, not anywhere I’d expect Kyle to tell Max to take his pregnant sister and a five-year-old.
My gut tightens. I don’t like this at all.
“Why are we here?”
Max shushes me. “Just give me a second. I was supposed to hear from Kyle to get the all-clear to take you to the mansion. But I haven’t yet. As soon as he texts, we’ll head over.”
“An all-clear for the house? You mean the mansion with security cameras, armed guards, and a panic room? Why wouldn’t it already be all clear?”
He grimaces. “That panic room is exactly why you should be listening to me. You think a place where Barinov expects a goddamn home invasion is safe for you? For that kid?” I frown at him in the rearview mirror. “Listen, I’m not your enemy. I’m on your side here. I want to keep you safe.”
I don’t answer right away. I glance over at Sasha. He’s the only reason I’m not already yanking the door open and sprinting to the nearest public place like my life depends on it.
Because it might.
Sasha makes a tiny sound in his sleep, shifting a little. I reach over and smooth his hair.
“You don’t know the half of it, okay? And Kyle doesn’t either.” He glances over his shoulder. “Wait here for a second.”
He steps out of the car and shuts the door, hard. I crane my neck to watch as he looks around, as if he’s expecting someone. As he does, I spot something on the passenger seat.
His phone. It’s dark. Turned off.
Suddenly, everything in me goes very, very still. I reach forward slowly, my eyes on Max as he looks around. I don’t know what’s going on, but my trust in him is dwindling by the moment.
Once the phone is within reach, I grab it.
That’s when he turns to come back to the car.
Shit.
I fumble, reaching as far as I can, finding the power button with my thumb. He steps closer and closer, extending his arm to grab the door handle.
“Come on, come on…”
The screen flashes, the Apple logo appearing. I flip it back over and set it just how it’d been before. Max opens the door and slides back into his seat, oblivious.
“Come on, man,” he says. “I don’t have all goddamn day.”
He rubs his chin, then turns his attention to the phone. Slowly, he lifts it and turns it.
“Did you do this?” he asks, holding it up to me.
“Your phone? Yeah, I saw that it was off. Kyle can’t reach you if it’s turned off. That’s why we’re here, right?”
His eyes flash with unmistakable anger. “No one told you to touch this. Kyle knows where I am.” He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Shit. Shit.”
His brow knits for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out what to do next.
Then, with one more curse under his breath, he gets out of the car, practically kicking the door off.
I watch as he storms across the warehouse grounds, phone in hand.
Max then pulls back his arm and whips the phone through the air.
I watch as the little black rectangle grows smaller and smaller, finally landing in the nearby river with a splash.
My theory is confirmed. The phone was off on purpose—a powered off phone means no pings, which means no location tracking.
My stomach gets tighter and tighter with the realization that I made a mistake—a goddamn huge mistake—by thinking I could trust Max. Everything about this feels wrong.
But the phone being on, even for a few seconds, means a ping got out. It’ll be traced here. That is, if anyone’s even looking.
Max stomps back to the car, yanks open the door, and plops into the seat.
He sighs heavily. “Listen, that wasn’t a smart move. People could be tracking us. Bad people. Just stay there and wait until I tell you to move. Got it?”
“Actually, I don’t get it. Why couldn’t we tell Andrei about the attack again?”
“Because he would’ve panicked. Would’ve made the people watching you think that you knew what was up.”
“But Andrei’s a total pro. He would have gotten us out of there very incognito.”
“What difference does it make? You’re here, you’re safe. Andrei’s going to be fine. Might get an ass chewing out of Mr. Bratva about what happened, but that’s better than being six feet under, right?”
“Why did Kyle send just you? Why not a full unit? Why not send officers in to secure the museum? Why did it need to be so secretive?”
“Because it’s a secret,” he hisses, trying to avoid waking Sasha, I assume. “What part of life-or-death-matter don’t you understand?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not a secret. It’s total bullshit.”
His expression flickers, and something ugly crawls out from behind his eyes, something I feel in my bones.
“God, you were always so dramatic.”
“And you always hated when I questioned anything you said or did.” My voice is sharp now. “So, answer me, why are we here?”
Max glances at Sasha, who’s surprisingly still sleeping despite slammed doors and his raised voice, then back to me. The way he looks at us makes my blood run cold.
“Get out of the car,” he says.
My heartbeat stutters. “Excuse me?”
“I said, get out of the car.”
I keep my grip on the door handle, but I don’t move just yet. “Max, if you think I’m walking into that building with you, you’re out of your goddamn mind.”
He laughs humorlessly. “You’re not the one making the decisions, kiddo.”
He pulls a gun, a compact piece of shiny metal in the hand I used to hold, a hand that used to touch me tenderly, a hand that used to text me cruel little comments about my body.
Now it’s aiming a gun at me.
“We’ve got our history,” he says. “But if you don’t do exactly what I say, I’ll pull the trigger and the first thing that kid sees when he wakes up will be your lifeless body.”
The urge to rip his goddamn eyes from their sockets takes over, and I have to force it down. I have three lives to worry about—mine, Sasha’s, and the baby inside me.
Max’s tone is tight and impatient when he speaks again. “Move.”
I take a slow, deep breath. “So, this is what you’ve become.”
“This is what I’ve always been,” he corrects. “There’s a hell of a lot you don’t know about me.” He gestures with the gun. “Out.”
I move slowly, carefully, as I step out of the car, keeping my hands visible so Max doesn’t get jumpy and do something stupid.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sasha still sleeping.
The heat is still on; there are worse places for him to be.
I hope with all my might that he remains sleeping, that Max spares him and leaves him in the car.
I hear the sound of tires on gravel. I turn to see a small convoy of three cars—one luxury sedan, two vans—pulling onto the warehouse grounds. The cars drive around the building and out of sight. A moment later, I hear the slamming of doors.
“Who is that?” I ask.
“Garin,” says Max. “Now, come on. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Garin? Why is he here? Everything inside me turns ice-cold yet incandescent with rage at the same time.
“Garin. You’re working for him. You’re on the take. That’s why you’re so obsessed with Roman. It’s not about justice. Or even about jealousy. It’s about a job. A paycheck, paid with blood money.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tell me I’m wrong. I know you, Max. You were always desperate to matter, always too eager to take shortcuts.”
Rage flashes across his face for the briefest of moments, but he says nothing other than, “Walk.”
I turn, taking one more look at Sasha. The sight of him in the car—sleeping, trusting, fully expecting to wake up someplace safe—makes something inside me fracture.
“Leave him,” I say to Max. “Please. Just leave him out of this.”
Max’s lips thin. “It’s not my decision.”