Chapter 3
ANNA
My thoughts skittered like trapped birds, slamming into every useless escape route.
“I see you also sell record players.” His voice slid closer. “Is there one you’d recommend… Eleanor?”
I went still.
Eleanor.
I wasn’t wearing a name tag. Even if I was, it wouldn’t say that. Only my mother called me Eleanor. And she weaponized the name.
My heartbeat punched against my ribs. I forced a breath past the knot closing my throat.
No more pretending this was paranoia.
He was here for me—because of her.
I took a step back. He mirrored it, an easy shift forward—like we were dancing.
A dance where only one partner knew the steps.
“Well,” I managed, my voice almost steady, “that depends on…what you’re using it for.”
Words spilled too fast, too many. I kept talking. “Some models have headphone jacks, or Bluetooth—built-in speakers, too—but the room size determines—”
Stop rambling. Stop giving him the sound of your fear.
I plastered on a smile I hoped looked like customer service and not a silent scream.
His eyes lingered on it. He seemed amused.
A shiver crawled up my spine.
“Right now I’m in a hotel,” he said, casually stalking a half step closer. “But at home… surround sound.”
Home. He said it like it was inevitable he’d go back there. I wasn’t so sure I’d get the same luxury.
“Bluetooth then?” I asked and shifted again—toward the counter. Toward distance.
He followed. A shadow swallowing light.
The shop suddenly felt microscopic. No corner far enough. No shelf thick enough to slow him down.
I needed something—anything—solid between us.
Space wasn’t going to save me.
Across the room was a wooden desk we used as a counter. It had only the register and a few odds and ends on it. An antique, it was constructed of some hardwood that had taken a beating throughout the years, but it was strong and sturdy.
More importantly, the owner kept the security system behind the counter—an aluminum bat that had served her well for years.
A counter might buy me seconds.
Seconds could be the difference between breathing… and not.
Another glance around the store told me that his goons were still in place, blocking the door.
Think. I had to think.
My gaze flicked to the stairs leading to my apartment.
My cellphone was upstairs.
No good. One wrong step and I’d be cornered.
The storage room.
It had a steel door with a deadbolt, and a landline inside, a lifeline if I could get to it. Thank god, the sweet store owner was too old to trust mobile phones.
Out of the corner of my eye, the man shifted slightly. Just enough to block the aisle I’d need to reach the back.
A test.
He wanted to see where I looked.
Where I needed to go.
Play it smart.
Calling the police would make my mother livid…
But being alive would irritate her even more.
She’d mourn me beautifully. A full mascara tragedy, black power suit hugging ambition, wringing my death into votes.
She’d fundraise off my corpse.
Hell, she’d probably thank whoever killed me, as long as they paid into her campaign.
“Bluetooth is preferable,” he said.
His voice was too close. Too certain.
I forced my lips into a polite retail smile and hid my trembling hands behind my back.
“Of course. Just…one second. Let me check what we have in stock.”
I stepped toward the counter.
The bat was inches from my hand as I pretended to focus on the inventory system. I wasn’t stupid enough to grab it without a real plan.
I’d had training, or at least the sanitized version of it. Weekends in the Catskills where the children of senators and billionaire CEOs learned a handful of self-defense moves and were told, repeatedly, to call someone who fixed problems.
Networking disguised as protection.
My mother excelled at both.
I was supposed to memorize the local officers’ numbers, but I never believed anyone would actually come after me. Not when my mother would benefit more from the tragedy than the ransom.
I needed a plan. A real one.
The shop was too small. The front was blocked by his tattooed goons. The back door led to a dead-end alley. The storage room was the only real option. I was closer to it than he was… but that advantage was razor thin.
He was tall—too tall—and all hard muscle under a tailored suit. He moved like someone used to controlling rooms and the people in them. Silent. Efficient. A man who could throw me over his shoulder without missing a step.
“Do you have a budget you’d like to stay under?” I asked, forcing myself to turn toward him.
He was closer again—uncomfortably close—like he was measuring exactly how far I could get before he stopped me.
“No, money is not an issue,” he said, tone dipped in amusement.
Was money not an issue because he didn’t plan to pay…or because crime paid very, very well?
I returned a polite smile, praying my eyes didn’t betray the panic clawing its way up my throat. I curled my fingers into fists to still the shaking, then forced them to uncurl as I pretended to type, eyes barely registering the information on the screen.
The bat waited just below my reach.
The storage room door was ten feet away.
One hit—knees, drop him—then run. Slam the door. Lock it. Call for help.
A terrible plan. But the only one I had.
He knew my name.
Worse — he’d used the version only my mother used.
That alone confirmed why he was here.
Anyone else would have called me Anna. Or wouldn’t know my name at all.
My breaths turned shallow. My stomach flipped like it wanted out of my body. I didn’t have much longer before he noticed the stall.
“Okay,” I said, steadying my voice. “It looks like we have a few options. Let me just make a list, and I can show you what we have.” I reached under the countertop as if to grab a notepad but aimed for the smooth handle of the bat.
His hand clamped around my wrist before I even brushed the cold metal.
I hadn’t seen him move. Not even a shift of shadow.
“What are you doing?” The scream shredded out of me as I tried to yank free.
His grip tightened, bones grinding painfully beneath his fingers.
He leaned in, calm, in complete control.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, maya soloveyka. My little nightingale.”