13. Emma
Emma
The next morning, Denver looks deceptively peaceful. Sunlight spills across the sidewalks outside the hotel, warm enough to make people linger over breakfast tables and stroll through the streets without jackets. But every time I step into a shadow, the chill finds me immediately.
Fall is coming.
I wrap my jacket tighter around myself and continue down the block, thinking of Kate and wishing half-heartedly that she were here. There’s something endearing about the girl, even though I find it hard to reconcile “Uncle Russ” with the man practically holding me hostage.
Technically, I wasn’t forbidden from leaving the Four Seasons. Ruslan had simply assigned two security men to trail me from a distance. I was informed, in that infuriatingly calm voice of his, that wandering off would be “unwise.”
Which was somehow worse.
So now I’m marching toward a coffee shop three blocks from the hotel, fuming.
I should be home. Or unemployed. Or figuring out my life.
Instead, I’m playing fake girlfriend to a criminal while helping him execute what appears to be an increasingly elaborate revenge scheme against my ex-boyfriend, for reasons unknown.
Fantastic life choices all around. How the hell did I get here?
The smell of coffee practically drags me toward the shop, making my senses tingle. Then butter pastries. Ugh, what I wouldn’t give for a croissant and a latte right now.
And five uninterrupted minutes where nobody threatens anyone.
Then a white SUV pulls to the curb beside me just as I reach out for the door handle. I barely register it, distracted by a young family trying to get a troupe of kids out the door. Denver is full of expensive white SUVs.
The rear door opens. A hand shoots out.
Everything happens at once.
Someone grabs my arm, and before I can shout, even just in surprise, I’m falling and jarring my hip against the center console of a backseat.
The door slams shut, and the car pulls away from the curb, smooth and slow, as if it didn’t just swallow me whole.
My heart rockets into my throat. What the—
I spin toward whoever grabbed me. And freeze.
No.
No, no, no.
Andrei sits across from me. To my right, tucked into the corner of the seat, is a tall black man wearing a gaiter that covers the bottom half of his face. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that he just dragged me into a car.
For a second, my brain simply refuses to process it.
The last time I saw Andrei, he was smiling from a television screen beside his fiancée. Months ago, his features twisted into something like pity and disgust when he told me it “just wasn’t going to work.”
The shock is so complete that I don’t even move. Because this isn’t the Andrei I remember. He’d never do something this stupid.
The politician is gone. The warmth, the practiced charm, the easy smile. Gone.
What’s left is colder, and I can see it now, even with the tinted windows dulling the morning light, it’s in the shape of his eyes. His hair isn’t blonde like Russ’s; it’s a sandy brown and perfectly groomed. But they have the same jawline.
His blue eyes lock onto mine without an ounce of affection. Without even recognition.
As if I’m a problem.
A threat.
A loose end.
“You’ve always had terrible judgment,” he says.
The familiar voice lands like a slap. I finally find my own. “You kidnapped me.”
“You’re in Colorado with my brother.” He practically spits the words out, and I go still. This is an Andrei I haven’t seen before. He’s angry and shaken.
For a moment, a small part of me thinks Ruslan might’ve been right. Using me as a chess piece might just work.
But why? Andrei didn’t want me. Does he hate Ruslan that much?
What the hell happened between the two of them that would send them both off the deep end?
“And you still thought it was a good idea to have me yanked into a vehicle.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” His voice sharpens. The man sitting to my right remains silent, but shifts. Watching. Waiting.
I hate this.
I hate him.
Most of all, I hate that part of me still remembers feeling like I was falling for him once.
“You didn’t ask a question,” I bite out, stomach gnawing on fear now instead of hunger.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Buying coffee.” The answer comes out before I can stop it.
His eyes narrow. “You know what I mean.”
I lean back deliberately. “Then ask a better question.”
That was a mistake. Andrei moves faster than I expect, and his hand closes around my wrist. Hard.
Pain shoots up my arm immediately.
“Ow!”
His grip tightens, and my stomach drops, because that wasn’t an accident. There had been “accidents” before; a shoulder bumped roughly, a hand raised but never brought down.
All those moments that never quite made sense finally click. Because Andrei has lost just an ounce of control.
Was I just too stupid to recognize it for what it was?
“You don’t get to play games with me, Emma.” His voice has gone frighteningly quiet. So different from Russ’s. “What. Are. You. Doing. With. Ruslan.”
Pain throbs through my wrist. I force myself to meet his gaze anyway.
Think. Don’t panic. You’ve been in situations far worse than this.
“He found me in California.” Mostly true. “We met.” True. “He saw your engagement announcement.” Definitely true.
“And?”
I swallow. “He wanted to come.”
Andrei studies me for several long seconds, a sneer stretching his upper lip in an ugly way. He’s looking for lies, for weakness. But I took Ruslan’s words to heart the other night…I’m not a good liar. So I’ll tell the truth. Or some of it.
“You expect me to believe that’s all this is?”
No, honestly, I don’t. And judging from his expression, neither does he.
His grip finally loosens, but the damage is already done. A bruise will absolutely form later.
“You tell my brother something for me. If the two of you are planning anything, anything at all, I will destroy you. And he’ll watch.”
I stare at him, confusion swirling somewhere deep. What a strange threat; I’m pretty sure Ruslan would’ve thrown me out of the jet if it meant he could get back at Andrei for whatever happened between them.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His eyes harden.
“I’ll take you both out before I let him interfere with my future.”
Something inside me snaps. Not fear, but something older and stronger. It’s a part of myself I thought disappeared when everything fell apart.
The woman who wore a badge stared down dangerous men and refused to back down.
I sit up straighter. Andrei notices immediately.
“You know what?” I say quietly.
His brow furrows.
I smile. Not nicely.
“You should probably be more worried about your brother than me.”
The men to my right glance quickly between us. Andrei’s expression darkens. I lean forward anyway, committing. If he wants to leave more bruises? Fine.
Because Ruslan Smirnov promised to keep me safe. And from how stirred up Andrei is, I’m assuming that means something.
“Whatever happened between you two, I don’t think he’s the one who’s scared. In fact, I think you’re being hunted, Andrei. And Ruslan always catches what he’s after.”
For the first time in months, I don’t look away. Whether I’m staring at my demise, my future, or my past. I’m done running.
* * *
By the time I return to the hotel, I’m exhausted. And still hungry.
The encounter with Andrei keeps replaying in my head like a bad movie I can’t shut off.
The coldness.
The threat.
The way he’d grabbed my wrist.
I spent months convincing myself our relationship hadn’t been entirely fake. That some part of what we had was real, that a part of him liked me.
Now I’m not so sure.
The suite is quiet when I step inside. For a brief moment, relief washes through me. I want to be alone. Maybe I’ll be reckless and charge a spa visit to Ruslan’s card. Let someone massage the tension out of my taut, sore muscles.
Then I hear Ruslan’s voice from the sitting area.
“What happened?”
I go still, mind racing. How does he know?
Then I remember the men he sent with me. They must’ve told him what happened if they managed to see it in the split second it took.
“I’m fine,” I say, immediately confused as to why that was my answer. But still, Ruslan’s angry expression shifts to one of relief. He walks toward me slowly, gets close, and tips my chin up. Searching…for what?
“What happened?” he repeats, the words softer this time. “I couldn’t find you.”
As if he was out looking himself. I know it’s not true. He would’ve just had the men searching, hunting, but something in me still warms.
“Nothing.” The lie is automatic. I don’t know why. I feel it echoing inside, the same way that hollowness used to echo when my parents would ask after Andrei.
Ruslan’s eyes narrow. I turn toward the bedroom, wanting a shower despite how early it is. Unfortunately, the sleeve of my loose, long-sleeved t-shirt falls back.
Just enough.
A bruise is starting to bloom on my wrist.
Ruslan reaches out, a low sound rumbling out of him, but he doesn’t touch me. He’s close enough that I can see the dangerous stillness settling behind his eyes.
His gaze locks onto the mark. Then slowly lifts to my face.
“Emma.” My name comes out low. Controlled.
I instinctively take a step back, knowing that this time I won’t be able to lie. This isn’t Russ Smith; this isn’t a mix of the two men I’ve been both intrigued and wary of—
This is Ruslan Smirnov. All of him.
His jaw tightens.
“Who did this to you?”
The question isn’t really a question. And I don’t have to give an answer, because I know he can read it on my face.
And suddenly I have the horrifying feeling that this morning, in the back of a white SUV, Andrei Cheney sealed his fate.