Chapter 28
Vova
Jade
Alex opened the car door for me, and this time, he helped me out tenderly, pulling me into his warm and strong body.
This was where I wanted to stay until the end of time.
But Xavier waited around the corner. We were at the marina, and it was exactly five minutes to noon.
Five minutes left with him.
“There’s still time to change your mind. I just have to make one phone call,” Alex breathed into my hair, pressing me into his body.
But the truth was: there was no time. There was no more time to delay anything. My father almost had them, Xavier could imminently find out who they truly were, and we had a pregnant woman being held hostage.
“I love you.” I lifted my face to meet his despondent eyes. “I’ll find a way to call you as soon as I can. Meanwhile, just…”
Meanwhile, just fucking run. That’s what I wanted to tell him. Run away, hide, do anything possible to avoid the wrath of my father. “Meanwhile, just lay low, okay?”
Alex nodded, running his hand down my back. “I’ll have someone watching you.” I opened my mouth immediately, ready to build a case against it, but—
“Don’t argue.” Alex squeezed my ass cheek, his fingers gripping my chin until I had no choice but to look at him.
His eyes…they were ice. Like he meant business.
“You think I’m letting you go unprotected? Someone will be watching you.”
My breath stalled from his dark tone and there was a throbbing between my legs. “Okay,” I squeaked, nodding and trying to convince myself that I wasn’t turned on at a moment like this. Jesus.
“I love you. Never forget that. I love you.” Alex pulled in closer, planting the hottest, most desirable, and passionate kiss on my lips.
With trembling knees, I stepped back, saying my last words, “I love you too. Ya vernus.”
I stumbled away from Alex, who leaned against his car with his arms crossed, watching me carefully, and rounded the corner only to have my world crash in half a second.
There he was, and not alone—three security meatheads stood behind him. An upgrade.
You can pick how he dies.
Alex’s words from the morning looped in my mind with every step I took closer to Xavier.
“Mon amour,” Xavier drawled, leering like the scumbag that he was. “I’ve missed you.” He reached for me, but I stepped back, refusing to make any physical contact. With a scoff, he let his arm drop.
Xavier didn’t look the same. His hair was styled back in a relaxed wave—I’d never seen him like that, but it was the look in his eyes that really made me shiver. It was dark. Angry, impatient, and cruel.
“Did you have a nice vacation?” His smile was a borderline scowl, like he was giddy that he trapped me again.
I’ll carve something on his chest. Whatever you want.
“Where’s Olga?”
His smirk—it was stalling my breath, and I was suddenly plunged back into it all. The way he overpowered me. The way he manipulated, berated, and disrespected me. And that same tingle of fear ran through my thighs. I was physically smaller and weaker, and he loved to exploit that.
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe…maybe I should have changed my mind five minutes ago because seeing him again brought it all back—threw me straight back into that dark, hopeless pit.
But it was too late now.
Xavier pressed a button on his phone and turned it to me, a video call ringing into the unknown.
The screen lit up in a few seconds and showed a very pregnant Olga climbing out of a black car, and a man I’d never seen before passing her something.
He pointed straight ahead and the camera panned to a parking lot and then back to her.
Without missing a beat, Olga walked to a silver Mercedes G Wagon, unlocked it, climbed in, and drove off, the tires squealing on the asphalt.
“Safe and sound,” Xavier assured me before offering me his hand and motioning to his yacht. "Après vous."
I’d be damned if I touched him.
As if walking to the guillotine, I ascended the steps, my legs made of lead.
I’m not going to kill him quickly. I’m going to make it painful.
This yacht was where he almost killed me. I walked past the spot, raising my chin and breathing in the sea air.
I took a seat on a banquette in the shade, mentally calculating how this would go. Xavier sat down close by, already with a glass of champagne in his hand. There was a golden ring on his middle finger, and he was wearing white linen. White linen shirt and pants. The epitome of fashion, of course.
I leaned back and pulled my dress down as low as possible, wondering how I ever went for a guy like that.
He was charming at first. He showered me with attention and what I thought was care. He was the opposite of nonchalant, and I ignored the red flags. Or maybe didn’t know what they were at the time. They started early, during our initial dating period.
“You’re late.” Xavier looked up at me, already sitting at the table. There was a smile there, just not as warm as always.
“Sorry. I had a meeting run late, and the—”
“Uh-uh,” he interrupted me, just as I was sitting down, “a woman should never make her man wait.”
I chuckled and so did he.
But there was nothing to laugh about. Xavier tested and pushed my boundaries meticulously.
He played games that I didn’t know I was a part of, and finally, he forced me into the same pattern that I had with my father—he coerced and controlled, and I fought back with every chance I had, having no clue how to escape.
The yacht departed from the shore, everything idyllic around us—the sea, the sun, the multi-million-dollar yacht.
But just as my heart sank that we were left alone, I heard a shout from below deck.
I sat up quickly, noticing that Xavier was on alert too, both of us listening to the sound of heavy footsteps.
And then his face dropped.
Unknown men spilled out onto the deck, dressed in black, large, and so many. I pressed myself into the back of the seat, my legs devoid of all feeling.
“What the fuck?” Xavier exclaimed, pronouncing my exact thoughts. “Who the fuck—”
It was so fast and so…quiet. One of the intruders pointed a handgun right into Xavier’s forehead, shutting him up for good.
Well, holy shit.
I sat there quietly, scrunched up into myself, afraid to move, to breathe, to make a damn sound. Trembling, I waited for my turn to be manhandled, but no one threw a glance my way.
Except an older man who ascended the steps last. With a phone in hand, he looked to me, and then back to the phone, and to me again.
"D-zhayd, right?"
I blinked at him, desperately trying to process the sounds he made. “Yes?” He nodded, looking at me over his sunglasses. “Your name Dzhayd?”
My name. He asked for my name.
I nodded quickly, petrified of keeping this man waiting. “Goot,” he responded and looked around, as if enjoying the day.
And the day was beautiful. It was sunny and the warm wind caressed my skin, in complete oblivion to the horror unfolding in my life.
Unlike all the others, the older man wasn’t wearing black.
His Hawaiian shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal a thick gold chain with a big ornate cross buried in his white chest hair.
He sported a buzz cut, all his hair gray, and he moved slowly, leisurely, like he was on vacation. Or maybe in retirement.
The older man motioned to one of the men standing around, and they walked over to Xavier. "So zen you are K-sa-vee-yehr. Very goot. Let's start."
Start? Start fucking what?!
I was in the middle of a nightmare; I was sure of it. Something always happened on the deck of this wretched yacht!
One of the armed killers passed the older man a chair and he took a seat right in front of Xavier, leaning on one knee to get closer to the man I hated.
"My name Vova. Is short for Vladimir," he introduced himself politely, speaking with an incredibly thick accent. "You know, many people sink dat Vlad is short for Vladimir but no, iz Vova. Vlad short for Vladislav, like him." Vova jutted his chin out to a man leaning on a barstool behind Xavier.
Vladimir…that sounded Russian. And that could mean only one thing—Alex sent him.
"I hear, zat you—" out of nowhere, a silver gun appeared in Vova's hand, and he shoved the barrel right into Xavier's chest, "—are not nice to young voomen. Iz dat true?" Vova asked curiously.
Xavier snapped his head to me, as if I’d have an explanation, but I sat there motionless, now very interested to know what Vova had to say.
“Hm?” Vova prompted, and Xavier shook his head quickly, like that was a preposterous accusation. What a little bitch.
"Nah, come on, don't lie. I know. You see, Ksaveeyehr, zat's not fair.” Vova cleared his throat and sat back in his chair.
“You vanna fight? You pick on people your size. Not young voomen. Zat is bad. You know vat else iz bad?” Vova asked, and I listened to his speech with bated breath.
“Me. I'm bad person. I kill. Zat's my job.
I kill and zen, no one can find ze body but even I, very bad man, never touch voomen. "
My mind was in freefall, but not from fear this time. From satisfaction.
"Here is deal,” Vova continued, seeing as Xavier sat there like he swallowed his own tongue. “You touch Dzhayd—you die. Iz very easy. Very simple."
Easy. Simple. That seemed to be Alex’s vibe too.
Vova tucked his silver handgun under his belt on his lower back and withdrew something from his pocket—a pack of cigarettes. He lit up and took a drag, momentarily turning to me and motioning with his chin, inviting me to look toward the shore.
I twisted my head, looking for something, anything, and I saw it—saw him.
Alex.
He stood in the same spot where I met Xavier, his arms crossed, looking out at our departing yacht, but as soon as he spotted me, he lifted his arms and curved his hands into a symbol of a heart.
God, I almost died.
This man was something else. Tears blinded me to the sunny day and the love of my life standing on shore, but I blew him a kiss, having no other way to thank him. Alex waved and that’s when the yacht picked up speed, carrying me farther and farther away.