5. Tarzana Hills
TARZANA HILLS
Jordyn
Someone pulled me from the clawfoot tub, which meant I had insufficient time to change the trajectory of my life. A life hijacked from me too young.
Because I could hardly stand in my strappy stilettos, Monique soothed my feet with a miracle ointment. The pain had vanished, though the scars on my feet lingered. Ironically, that was a curse since pain dulled my sensitivity to other fears.
My knobby knees brushed against a gold silk sheath dress that smoothed tight against my curves. I took teensy steps toward Aleksandr’s study. Just run, Jordyn. Just do it.
Luckily, Frisky Denis liked to pat down people—didn’t matter who—so he wasn’t escorting me into the lion’s den.
I wanted to pray. Yearned for belief in a higher power.
The last time I let myself down while walking that road, I was sixteen, belly swollen with Rocket’s baby.
And my knees? Just as shaky. I’d walked into a church for help. What a letdown .
Nope. Don’t go there, Jordyn. I continued putting one step in front of the other, past the dim sconces that led to the Russian’s office instead of hightailing it away from everyone.
The door to the office stood open. I took one look at the back of Rocket’s wide shoulders as he sat on a tiny antique sofa next to another large man and froze.
Had his shoulders broadened over the years?
He’d grown his blond hair too. What was with the suit? The thug I knew?—
I have no desire to reacquaint myself with him!
Aleksandr grinned like a proud father, hand outstretched, as if he’d planned the arranged marriage of the century. “Ah, here she is now. Come. Come.”
At that precise second, I took off running. My fate was uncertain—death or thrown back into Rocket’s sadistic arms—but the freedom of that run, however long it lasted, would be intensely sweet.
An argument ensued in the room. A supernatural light burst from behind me, so strong it seemed to move like the sound of light and reflected on the dark walls in front of me. What was that ?
Didn’t matter. It momentarily lit my path to freedom. I darted for the kitchen when a hand clutched into the tender skin at the side of my shoulder. Ouch ! I spun around. Drove my knee up. Aimed for my escort’s privates. The tight dress stopped my momentum.
Aleksandr’s man grinned.
Jerking my head forward, my forehead slammed into his nose. “Grrr!”
Elrick, Denis’ second in command, rushed into the hallway near us, gun in hand. The barrel of his semiautomatic weapon swept over me, my escort, and around. I stood rooted to the ground, waiting for someone to shoot me, but then my eyes flicked up to Elrick’s tensed features. He couldn’t … see?
Despite groaning, my escort reached toward me as more shots rang out in the room.
I sidestepped the man. The borscht in my stomach—the last meal Aleksandr and I shared a few hours ago—soured more than when I forced it down.
I spun toward the kitchen. Even with dark European wood cabinetry, the room wasn’t so gloomy, thanks to the sensor lights outside the French doors.
I reached for a door handle, then stopped.
Outside the bulletproof glass, two West Siberian Laikas charged like they would tear the door—and me—apart.
I stumbled back, grabbing a knife from the butcher block. The largest one.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The man who I’d injured, his nose twisted to the left, stalked into the kitchen. He planted his hands on the long island as if prepared for a game of cat and mouse. I backed toward the door again, the knife behind my back.
“ Milaya ,” he said in Russian. His square jaw tipped toward the glass, drops of blood stained his tie. “I see what’s in your hand. Better watch out, or I’ll use it on you.”
I glanced over my shoulders, not too concerned about the eight-inch blade in my hands but the dogs, whose enormous paws scraped at the glass. “Listen, how about you fix your nose? And nobody has to know that a big Russian like you got your nose broken today by a girl.”
“Nice try, b?—”
I gripped the door handle and swung the door open toward me, trapping myself behind the glass. The two Laikas leaped from their hind legs. One’s vicious teeth clamped his neck while the other went for his arm.
The Bratva thug’s pleas for help, like my own unanswered cries, went unheard.
Soundless, I slipped outside and closed the door.
The night air bit into my skin, and sensor lights flickered on as I stalked around the freshwater pool, blade fisted upward in my hand.
My eyes adhered to the massive sliding doors that led into Adrian’s home.
Aleksandr’s twenty-year-old lived like a king in his own pool house.
He’d better be asleep or out tormenting another girl at CalTech who had yet to sign an NDA for his behavior, or he’d be tasting steel.
I kicked off these stupid stilettos and kept my head on a swivel, looking for Adrian, the guards, and the two other dogs.
My heart sank as I passed by the Laika’s kennel.
Empty . The knife in my hand shook when I rushed by the shed—my last prison.
I had more land to cover in my escape. A few minutes later, the shootout seemed to lull.
I approached a low wall of branches that surrounded a garden at the farthest side of the property.
Farther out still was a fence, jagged edges at the top.
Climbing that fence would be my next concern.
Thought too soon .
Behind me, snarls began. Sharp and vicious. The primal dogs were onto me.
Fear cut against my chest like knives, but I didn’t feel it. Not really. What I felt was movement. My achy feet slammed against the ground faster than before, lungs burning. As the dogs neared, I wondered how to get around the garden that blocked my path to the gate.
The long way?
Straight through?
My heartbeat resembled the rhythmic thud of war drums, a sound I pictured escaped enslaved people hearing as they fled plantations. My legs pumped harder. That Russian wouldn’t trade me to another buyer.
Another monster.
Gunfire cracked the night, and someone’s scream became a momentary reprieve to the dogs barking. Man, I hated these dogs.
Instead of running around the hedge-lined garden, which would take too much time, I crashed through the hedgerow. Branches clawed my skin. Somewhere behind, bullets continued to go off, and a Russian shouted—Elrick, maybe? A shot cracked the air. Dang , if it was him, he’d recovered his sight.
“ St?p !” The Russian ordered. Another shot echoed. Dirt and lilac hedges exploded near my hip. Purple flower petals flew into the air.
The barked yelp sounded near, telling me the dogs had cleared the same hedges without a break in their speed.
I dove toward a fallen garden rake and spun onto my rear, with the sharp tines near my feet planted upward.
I grabbed the old steel tool as a dog lunged toward my face.
His muscles bulged, mouth in a snarl. I shifted the tip of the garden rake at an angle. Eat that! You piece of crap.
Because of the Siberian Lika’s momentum, the dog impaled himself onto the brackets of the rake. The end of the handle skidded into the dirt, halting the dog’s progress. As he whimpered, the other dog spun on his heels and shifted away from me. He yelped for the other animal.
Listening to his whimpers, I remembered Katlego’s dog. Sweet girl. But these weren’t dogs; these were demons in disguise. The rake seemed stuck in the dirt, and the other end impaled against the dog’s mouth. I struggled to wriggle it free. That caught the attention of its companion.
A low, throaty growl came my way.
“Gimme a second,” I snapped. I’d offer this hound from hell the same love. Just needed to free my weapon from Wolverine One. Number Two, finding his courage, crouched low.
Oh , no !
He jetted into midair.
A bullet dropped Wolverine Two, and he rolled from the force of it. Crack . Crack . The dog’s large body jerked against a lilac hedge, the sinews and muscles straining and twitching.
“Just die.” I croaked and then sank onto the ground, overcome by a fresh wave of tears. Get up, Jordy. That was an accident. Get your stupid behind ? —
The man who shot him stopped running. Taller than life, he strode over with purpose.
Well, that made sense. He could shoot a moving target—that dog—while also running.
Now, he’d heighten my anxiety with his leisurely approach.
I wanted to curl into a ball and surrender, but my eyes searched him as he moved toward me slowly.
Tall. Broad. Covered in blood and some sort of ash.
His hair, long, straggly. Blond? Maybe . Red from blood? Definitely .
Eyes like storm clouds scanned me, then softened when landing on my own.
He took a step toward me, crouched, and his hand cupped my cheek.
My mouth quivered uncontrollably. This couldn’t be.
I’d imagined this moment until the daydream twisted into an ugly nightmare, and the boy who vowed to save me became my worst enemy.
Worse than Aleksandr, Rocket, any man who laid a finger on me.
Despite my trembling and disbelief at what I saw, a name croaked from my quivering lips.
“Jamie?” No, Jordy. It’s not him. It’s Ro ? —
“Yes.” His voice, no longer squeaky, high-pitched, or innocent, now resonated with a rich baritone, its Scottish accent barely audible beneath the urgency.
Jamie swiped the red stickiness from his sharp cheeks and chiseled square jaw, then reached down a hand.
“It’s time for you to come home now, Jordyn. ”