Ava
The Strip blazes past the window in a blur of neon and noise.
Casinos stacked like glittering fortresses, their lights bleeding into the night sky until you can't tell where Vegas ends and the stars begin.
Tourists stumble along the sidewalks, drunk and laughing, completely oblivious to the fact that the Devil himself is driving past them with a kidnapped woman in his passenger seat.
I might seem quiet and calm, but inside I’m screaming.
"You're quiet," he says without looking at me.
I don't know what he expects me to say. Thank you for kidnapping me? Great job shooting those federal agents?
"I'm thinking," I finally manage.
"About?"
About how my life became a nightmare in the span of thirty minutes.
About how my father's cowardice means I'm now property of the Russian mafia.
About how the man sitting next to me said he's been waiting for me, like I was always meant to end up here, in this car, with blood on his hands and my future in his grip.
"About whether you're going to kill me," I say.
He glances at me then, just for a second, and those black eyes catch the neon glow from outside. "No."
"My father, then."
"Yes."
I wrap my arms tighter around myself.
Three more semesters. That was the plan. Graduate, take the licensing exam, get a job that didn't smell like grease and desperation.
Now I'll be lucky if I survive the week.
"You brought a lot of books," Renat observes. We're stopped at a red light now, and he's studying me like I'm a puzzle he can't quite solve.
"My textbooks." The words come out bitter. "For school. Not that it matters anymore."
"You're studying to be a dental hygienist."
I twist to stare at him. "How do you—"
"I've been watching you for three weeks, Ava.
" The light turns green, and he accelerates smoothly, weaving between slower cars.
"I know what time you wake up. I know you work the dinner shift at Maurice's diner four nights a week and attend Phoenix Community College online the other three.
I know you haven't been to see your mother and sister since your father disappeared because you're afraid of drawing attention to them. "
Ice spreads through my chest. Three weeks. He's been stalking me for three weeks and I never noticed. Never saw him in the shadows, never felt his eyes on me.
"I know you eat the same thing for lunch every day," he continues, his voice still that same flat, emotionless tone.
"Turkey sandwich, apple, bottle of water.
You're saving money. Probably to pay for school, since your father obviously isn't providing anymore, despite coming into his little windfall. "
My throat closes up. I can't breathe. Can't process the fact that this stranger knows more about my daily life than my own mother does.
"I know you're afraid," he says, quieter now. "I've watched you check the locks on your door three times every night. Watched you time escape routes. Watched you look over your shoulder so many times that I'm surprised you don't have whiplash."
"Stop," I whisper.
He doesn't stop. "I know you're angry. At your father, at the situation, at knowing this was coming, and that no matter what you did, you wouldn’t be able to stop it.
I've watched that anger eat at you, watched it turn you into someone who packs a go-bag and keeps her passport ready because she knows, deep down, that running might be her only option. "
Tears burn hot behind my eyes. I will not cry.
"You don't know anything about me," I force out.
"I know everything about you," he counters. "Except one thing."
I don't want to ask. Don't want to engage. But the question slips out anyway. "What?"
He pulls the car into a covered parking structure attached to one of the massive hotels. The Korolyov, I realize, as the automated gate opens for him. One of the most expensive hotels on the Strip.
"I don't know why you got in the car," he says, killing the engine in a spot on the top level where there are no other vehicles nearby.
He turns to face me fully, and in the dim overhead lighting, his face looks carved from marble.
Beautiful and cold and inhuman. "You had a chance to run.
To scream. To fight. You chose none of those things. "
Because I'm tired. So goddamn tired of being afraid.
"Maybe I'm just smart enough to know when I'm beaten," I say.
"No." He reaches out and I flinch, but all he does is tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is so gentle it makes my heart stutter. "I think it might be because you're smart enough to know when someone is offering you protection, even if it comes with a price."
"You shot two federal agents."
"Who would have arrested you as an accessory to your father's crimes.
" His thumb traces my cheekbone, and I hate that my body responds to it, hate the way heat pools low in my belly.
"They would have used you, Ava. Thrown you in a cell, offered you deals you couldn't take because you genuinely don't know where your father is.
You would have rotted in prison while they waited for him to surface. "
I want to tell him he's wrong, that the FBI doesn't work that way. But I can't. Because deep down, I know he's right.
"So instead, I rot in your prison," I say.
Something flickers across his face. Not quite emotion, but close. "You'll be kept in luxury. Fed. Protected. Given everything you need to continue your studies."
"Except my freedom."
"Freedom is overrated in today’s world." He withdraws his hand and opens his door.
I don't move. Can't make myself get out of this car, because once I do, it's real. Once I walk into that hotel with him, I'm not Ava Torres anymore. I'm the Devil's captive.
Renat comes around to my side and opens my door. He doesn't grab me, doesn't force me. Just stands there, hand extended, waiting.
"I could scream," I say. "Right now. I could scream and run, and someone would help me."
"You could," he agrees. "But you won't."
"How do you know?"
He leans down, close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne mixed with gunpowder.
"Because you're already mine, Ava. You knew it the moment you saw me in your apartment.
Your body knew it. Your instincts knew it.
That's why you're crying. Your mind is catching up and realizing that your wants don’t align with the expectations placed on you. "
I reach up and touch my cheek, shocked to find it wet. I didn't even realize I was crying.
"Come on," he says, softer now. "I won't hurt you. I swear it on my family's name."
I take his hand.
He helps me out of the car, keeping my hand in his as he grabs my duffel from the trunk with his other hand. We walk to the elevator in silence, and I'm hyper-aware of how warm his palm is, how his fingers completely engulf mine.
The elevator dings open and we step inside. Renat presses the button for the top floor and as the doors slide shut, I catch a glimpse of our reflection in the polished metal.
He looks exactly like what he is: dangerous and untouchable.