Chapter 6 The Fugitive
The Fugitive
Mira
My eyes flutter open, and pain slams into me like a freight train. It’s everywhere—radiating from my limbs and pulsing in my skull—but my chest is the worst. A deep, crushing ache that makes it difficult to breathe.
My eyes focus on the ceiling above me. It’s softly lit, definitely not the concrete of the facility.
There are sheets beneath me—Egyptian cotton, cool and smooth against my fingertips.
The air smells faintly of leather and expensive cologne, and the low hum of jet engines vibrates through the bedroom.
I clutch my chest, and the memories hit just as hard—the explosion, the gunfire, the screams from above. I took three rounds to the chest, and I remember blacking out shortly after Nikolai threw me over his shoulders like I weighed nothing.
I sit up, and the pain lances through me, sharp and unforgiving. My fingers tremble as I fumble with the buttons of the white dress shirt I’m wearing. When I peel it open, I gasp.
Bruises bloom across my chest in violent shades, and I can’t help but feel that I’m lucky to be alive.
“Vest held,” Nikolai says quietly from the doorway.
I jerk my head up and catch him leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his tattooed chest, watching me like he’s waiting for my next move.
I’m angry and scared, and Nikolai’s betrayal and nonchalance make my blood run hot.
“Y-you had me shot,” I rasp. “And you—you abducted me.”
He doesn’t flinch. “You were out cold for almost two hours.” A pause. “Sasha apologizes for shooting you.”
I stare at him, stunned. “He’s sorry? Do you think I give a damn if he’s sorry? He shot me!”
He shrugs, as if overreacting about lying in a bed, broken and bruised, because of him.
And then it hits me.
Nikolai’s no longer in prison, and I’m with a fugitive tens of thousands of miles in the air.
“Where are we?” I ask, my voice barely above a faint whisper.
His gaze lingers on me for a second too long. “Somewhere safe. For now.”
“Nikolai…what did you do?”
He fully enters the bedroom—strides calm and commanding—and sits beside me, forcing the bed to dip under his massive weight. I draw back when he reaches out, and he tsks under his breath in disappointment.
“You’re fearful of me. Why?”
I swallow around the panic clawing at my throat. He tilts his head to the side curiously and re-engages me.
“Is it because no bars are separating us any longer? Are you figuring out that you were never the one in control? Or is it because you now understand that I make good on my promises?”
I hiss through my teeth when the tips of his thick fingers graze the bruises on my chest.
“I promised you that you were mine when I was released. You took my words as foreplay while you clung to your fantasy of enticing your country’s most sought-after fugitive.
But who really holds the power, my sweet Mira?
” he asks, shifting on the bed to sit behind me.
Panic returns with a vengeance when his hand grips my throat.
The pressure is firm, but with enough slack to leave my breathing unobstructed…
for now. “Answer the question. Who holds the power?”
“You do,” I breathe out, my voice trembling like a flicker of candle flame.
“That’s right, because you risked everything for me without me giving you a single command. Nothing to you mattered—not your livelihood, safety, reputation, freedom, and most of all…your body.”
He tucks his fingers into my parted shirt and caresses a nipple, bringing my body back to life.
“You are mine, Mira, not because I abducted you, but because you surrendered yourself to me. The world will hunt you, but I will protect you with my last dying breath.”
“Why?” I croak, ignoring how his words overwhelm me for all the wrong reasons. I’m slipping—falling back under his spell.
“Because you trust me, and you were never meant for peace,” he whispers in my ear.
I go boneless in his hold because he can see right through me.
I trust him on an unexplainable level. It isn’t because he earned my trust, or that he is a gentle and good man.
But because his presence feels instinctual.
And now, with his breath warm against my ear and his arms wrapped around me like armor, I feel it again—that terrifying, magnetic pull that makes me want to throw all caution to the wind.
The TV unexpectedly turns on, and my mouth drops when I see my face plastered on the screen. Nikolai doesn’t say a word when he turns up the volume with a remote.
“Officer Mira Talbert, former federal corrections officer, is now wanted for aiding and abetting a fugitive,” the well put-together anchor announces.
“Authorities believe she may have played a key role in the escape of Nikolai Solkov, the federal government’s number one priority.
His prison break left three dead and dozens injured. ”
My stomach drops.
“They’re saying I helped you escape. That’s not true!” I say, barely able to breathe.
“The truth rarely matters to these people.”
The anchor continues.
“Sources close to the investigation suggest Talbert may have orchestrated the breach from inside, leveraging her clearance and access to classified systems. Surveillance footage of the escape does not exist because the cameras were deactivated. Mira Talbert’s whereabouts are currently unknown, but she is considered armed and dangerous. ”
I flinch, and Nikolai pets my hair.
“They need a villain. Your agency refuses to admit how easy it was to escape from their facility. You’re convenient.”
I shake my head, ignoring the pounding at my temples. “I didn’t plan this. I didn’t sign up for this.”
“You did,” he says quietly. “The moment you sank to your knees for me.”
I want to deny it, but even a blind man can see he’s not lying.
“I need to clear this up,” I announce, pulling myself from his hold. Surprisingly, he allows the distance.
“Mira…my sweet…there is no clearing this up. You know this. Accept it.”
I shake my head, but he’s already moving closer, voice low and deliberate like he’s walking me through a nightmare I haven’t fully woken from.
“They won’t listen if you turn yourself in.
You’ll be processed, interrogated, and paraded in front of cameras as the traitor who helped the world’s most dangerous man escape.
They’ll strip you of your clearance, your name, and your dignity, and you’ll be labeled a co-conspirator and a national threat.
They’ll dig through every file you ever touched, every message you’ve ever sent, and twist it into evidence. ”
Hot tears brim my eyelids, but he doesn’t stop.
“They’ll say you were seduced and compromised.
That you’ve been working with me for months—maybe years, and that’ll be confirmed when suspicious deposits are suddenly found in your bank account linked to an offshore Russian account.
You’ll be tried in a closed courtroom, denied bail, and denied the opportunity to plead your case to the press.
And when the verdict comes down, it won’t be justice.
” He leans in and whispers, “You’ll disappear, Mira—quietly and efficiently—and no one will come looking for the traitor who betrayed America.
You’ll be in an unmarked shallow grave with a bullet to the back of the head. ”
The silence that follows is deafening. I want to call him a liar. I want to believe there’s still a way out. But deep down, I know he’s right.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
“What do I do?” I ask, tears sliding down my cheeks and dripping onto the sheets.
“You come to Russia with me,” he declares, lifting my right hand in front of my face. My eyes widen in disbelief.
“What the fuck is this?” I whisper, examining the symbols. I gently touch the familiar tattoos, and it only takes a few seconds to recall where I’ve seen them before.
Nikolai’s hand.
My chest tightens as reality settles in.
“You…you did this to me.”
“I did,” he answers guiltlessly.
“These tattoos…what are they for?” I ask, showing him my hand. Instead of answering, he interlocks our fingers and brings my hand to his succulent pink lips. He kisses the back of my hand softly.
“They are for your protection. It is to show that you’re protected by me, and they serve as a warning that I will retaliate with full force if any harm is done to you. There is another tattoo behind your ear,” he explains, tugging on my right lobe.
“Why did I need another one?” He stares at me, and from the stormy look in his eyes, I know he’s trying to find a way to break the news to me. “Rip the band-aid off, Nikolai.”
“To identify your body in case you are tortured and dismembered.”
My stomach rolls at his disturbing revelation.
Dismemberment?! I’ve never been one of those ride-or-die bitches, and I’m not sure I want to sign up for this kind of life now.
“You will have more tattoos eventually—this is just the start.”
I gulp down my fear and ask, “How likely is something like that to happen to me?”
“The chances are slim, but I’d rather be prepared.”
“Do you plan on taking me back to America?”
Nikolai looks at me as if I just asked the stupidest question in the world. “Next question,” he replies gruffly.
“What exactly do you do for the Bratva? All I know is that you’re the accountant for the mafia.”
“I am in charge of every Ruble, Euro, Swiss Franc, Canadian Dollar, US Dollar, Yen, and so forth that comes to the Bratva. I am responsible for generating, laundering, and concealing funds. I am also responsible for collecting funds from our many factions.”
“What were you doing in America?”
“Retrieving plates to make counterfeit US dollars.”
“That’s risky.”
“The risk is worth the reward.”
“I guess the money will be nice.”
Nikolai grabs my jaw delicately. “My sweet Mira, I have an obscene amount of money; you are the reward,” he whispers, making my sappy heart that’s a sucker for romance swoon in my chest.
Don’t get lost, girl. Not yet. You have more questions.
“Where are you on the hierarchy?”