Chapter 11
ALINA
I’m dreaming when he wakes me. I’m warm and heavy, my body loose in a way that only comes when exhaustion finally wins.
The dream stops abruptly, though it takes me a while to process why. For a few seconds, I don’t know where I am, only that I don’t want to move. I’m so comfortable and so very tired.
Then Andrei’s voice cuts through the fog.
“Alina.”
It’s quiet, but urgent. It’s controlled and tight, not panicked, but not calm either. I can’t respond until he calls my name a third time and gently grabs my shoulders. That’s enough to fully pull me out of my dream world.
I blink awake, my eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light. My heart stutters when I realize he’s hovering over me, already dressed and alert. His hand rests lightly on my shoulder, steady and grounding.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice thick with sleep. “Why did you wake me up?”
“I’m so sorry, Alina, but we have to move,” he says. “Now.”
My body reacts before my thoughts do. Adrenaline floods my veins, washing away the remnants of sleep. I push myself upright, the blanket sliding off my shoulders. I move to get out of bed as he steps away from me, moving around the room like he’s checking the perimeter.
“What time is it?” I whisper.
“Two in the morning,” he replies. “Get your shoes.”
“Why?” I ask, though part of me already knows. “What’s going on?”
“There was an incident,” he says vaguely, but his tone is enough to tell me that our safehouse is no longer safe.
“What does that mean?” I ask, suddenly terrified.
“It means this location is no longer secure,” he says. “Someone intercepted one of my guards on the way back with supplies. That means they may know his route. They knew he’d be coming to us. We need to get out of here before they arrive.”
My stomach drops.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to calm the frantic flutter in my chest. My body wants to freeze or bolt, neither of which will help. I force myself to focus on Andrei, on the fact that he is calm and collected, moving with purpose.
“Okay,” I say, though my voice shakes. “What do we do?”
“We leave quickly and quietly,” he nods, handing me my slippers.
I don’t argue. I put them on, desperately wishing for more substantial shoes. None of that matters now, though. I move quickly, following him out of the apartment and down the stairs to the garage, where the car is already waiting for us.
One of his men opens the door for me and Andrei’s hand is at my back, encouraging me forward. I climb in and he slides in beside me immediately, close enough that our arms brush.
The door shuts behind me and the car pulls away. Only then do I realize my teeth are chattering. I press my lips together, annoyed with myself. I’m terrified, but I don’t want Andrei to realize it. I’d like him, just for once, to think I’m brave or at least somewhat competent.
Of course, he notices the chattering right away. He’s so damn perceptive.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
I shake my head, my eyes burning unexpectedly. I blink back the tears, refusing to cry in front of him. It’s the one dignity I have left.
“It’s just a lot to handle,” I manage truthfully, not giving my feelings away too quickly.
His hand covers mine, warm and solid. It helps, but it’s not enough to stop the rolling in my stomach. Shit. I think I’m going to vomit.
“I know,” he says quietly. “You’re doing well though.”
I swallow hard, staring straight ahead as the city blurs past. My stomach twists again, sharper this time. Please, not now, I beg my body. Just hold it together for a little while longer. I focus on Andrei, desperate for a distraction from the pain in my gut.
“You said someone intercepted your man,” I say. “Is he still alive?”
Andrei’s face gets very serious, and I think for a second that he isn’t going to answer me.
“He’ll be fine,” he finally answers.
I nod, which only makes the nausea worse.
“I’m going to be sick,” I warn him suddenly, when it’s too late to stop the inevitable.
He eyes me warily and reaches for something in the pocket of the door. It’s a thick, black trash bag, and I shudder to think why he just keeps these stocked in his cars. The thought finally does me in, and I quickly open the bag so I can let out all the pain coiled up inside of me.
He has the good manners to look away, but it does little to lessen the embarrassment I’m feeling.
“Better?” he asks, and it sounds very much like he’s breathing through his mouth.
“Sorry,” I say, not answering his question. “Whenever I get scared, I get sick to my stomach. Rollercoasters, scary movies, even bad dreams. It’s so embarrassing. Shit, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he says, not looking at me. “This is a lot to process for anyone who isn’t used to it. Although, this does makes me realize why your father never told you what he really does.”
I can only nod, even though the logic doesn’t do anything to soothe the pain in my stomach. Andrei reaches forward to open a compartment and pulls out a small bottle of water. I open it weakly and take a small sip, begging my body to cooperate and calm down.
After a few minutes, the nausea finally subsides. I press a hand to my stomach and lean forward slightly, breathing carefully. Andrei shifts closer, his arm coming around my shoulders without asking. I let myself lean in to him, my forehead resting briefly against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur again. “I’m not trying to be more of an issue for you.”
“You aren’t an issue,” he says into my hair. “If anything, you’re the reason I’m still alive. I owe it to you to return the favor.”
I nod and nestle closer to him, feeling more stable with each breath.
Before I know it, I’m drifting off to sleep, back to my nice dreams, hopefully.
At some point, we must be close to our destination, because Andrei shakes me lightly again.
We’re pulling in somewhere, but it’s so dark, I can’t make out anything outside.
Who knows what kind of threats are waiting for us in the darkness? My pulse spikes again.
“We’re here,” Andrei says, gently shaking me.
The door opens and cool air rushes in. It feels good on my hot face, but I feel shaky. He helps me out, his hands steady on my arms as my legs wobble beneath me. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding myself together until now.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, but the motion makes me nauseous again. “I think so,” I lie quickly.
We stop just for a moment as Andrei lets the driver know to dispose of the trash bag in back.
I feel a wave of heat rush over me in embarrassment, but it doesn’t last long because another wave of nausea hits me hard.
I let go of Andrei and fling myself toward the bushes, dry-heaving because there’s nothing left in my stomach.
“That’s all right,” Andrei says, gently rubbing my back. “Get it all out.”
I feel the presence of others, and look up to see at least four guards circling us. The reality of our situation hits again, and another round of dry-heaves rack my body. Andrei doesn’t leave my side, and I notice his guards are held off by a simple hand gesture.
“Hey,” Andrei murmurs, immediately alert. “Talk to me.”
“I’m okay,” I say after a minute, standing up shakily. He grabs me around the waist and holds me tight, ready to catch me if I fall again.
“It’s just fear,” he says calmly. “It’s natural. Let’s get you inside where you’re safer and more comfortable.”
I nod, embarrassed by how small and fragile I feel. That feeling only worsens when I try to walk and can’t move on my shaky legs. I’m about to start crying in front of him, when he scoops me up easily.
“You don’t have to carry me,” I protest. “I can walk. I’m fine.”
“I know you can,” he answers seriously, but I see the quirk in his lips.
I realize it’s pointless to argue. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and close my eyes, trying to block out how terrible I’m feeling. With him, I’m weightless, and I’m safe. We’re surrounded by men who would happily take a bullet for him. I don’t need to be afraid right this second.
That’s what I repeat to myself until we’re safely in the new location. I just take it second by second, reminding myself that nothing can get to me as long as he’s with me. He’s making sure of that.
“You can put me down now,” I say weakly when we finally get inside.
“Not yet,” he says simply.
The words are firm but not unkind.
“I’m not helpless,” I insist, though my limbs feel boneless and heavy.
“I know,” he says. “But I’m putting you to bed anyway.”
I frown up at him, trying to muster enough coherence to argue properly, but it’s no use.
Within a few seconds, he’s gently laying me down on a new bed.
I look around the room and realize that the new safehouse is somehow even smaller than the last. It’s not an apartment, just a single room, like a studio.
There is a small refrigerator, a microwave, and a hot plate. There’s one other door that I assume goes to the bathroom. Otherwise, there’s just the bed and a small loveseat in the room.
“Thank you,” I say softly as he tucks me into the bed.
His gaze lingers on me for a moment, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
“You should sleep,” he says.
“I will,” I reply, but neither of us moves right away.
I watch him straighten, watch the way he seems larger in this small space, more solid. My fear has dulled, replaced by something quieter and heavier. Trust, maybe. Or resignation. Or something dangerously close to comfort.
As he turns toward the door, I reach out without thinking, my fingers brushing his wrist. “Andrei?”
He pauses.
“I’m really scared,” I admit.
He turns back, his expression softening in a way that makes my chest ache. “I know,” he says. “But you’re not alone.”
I let my hand fall back to the bed, curling onto my side as my body finally surrenders to sleep again. The last thing I feel is the mattress shifting slightly as he sits at the edge of the bed for a moment longer, keeping watch until I drift fully under.