14. Danika
DANIKA
The dumbwaiter jerks as it starts, and I brace my hands against the metal walls to keep from toppling forward. I'm in complete darkness with only the sound of cranking gears and my own breathing.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I can't tell if it's from the cramped space or the stupidity of what I just agreed to.
I laugh quietly to myself, shaking my head.
I can't believe I actually got into this thing.
Victor's charm worked. His ridiculous, infuriating charm actually convinced me to crawl into a glorified food elevator while he dealt with the guards. I should be furious. I should be planning exactly how I'm going to make him pay for this later.
But I'm not.
The metal groans as I shift my weight, adjusting the bunched fabric of my dress around my thighs. The sheath of my blade presses against my skin as I move.
I hate this. I hate waiting. I hate not being in control.
But there's a small, traitorous part of me that admits it's almost nice. Having someone else share the risk. Having a partner, even if it's temporary. Even if I know he's going to betray me the second he gets what he wants.
Because that's what I plan on doing.
I lean my head back against the wall, closing my eyes in the darkness.
Usually, it's just me. Alone in the stairwell, alone at the bar, alone on the rooftop. Ivan gives me the target, the timeline, and I execute. No backup. No safety net. Just me and whatever weapon I can smuggle past security.
This, having Victor out there handling the guards so I don't have to, it's different.
And I don't know if I like it or if it terrifies me.
My fingers instinctively reach toward the handle of my blade.
Can I trust him?
The answer should be simple. No. Absolutely not.
He's an Ionescu. He's here to kill Dimitri and steal the tablet, probably to destroy the Bratva's infrastructure and secure his family's position in Eastern Europe.
We're enemies. This alliance is temporary, tactical, and whether either of us likes it or not, doomed from the start.
Of course I can go forward with it because I don't plan on him actually getting the tablet, much less blowing up Ivan's network. As for Dimitri, I'll have to figure that out. My main task is clear, however.
And I can't help thinking about the way Victor looked at me in that stairwell, how he handed me back my knife.
I shake my head, annoyed at myself.
Stop it.
He's playing you. Just like you're playing him.
Except I don't really want to kill him.
The thought slips in before I can block it.
I should want to kill him, I guess. After all, he is a threat to Ivan, to the Bratva, to everything I've built my life around. But when I imagine putting a bullet in that smug, handsome face, my stomach twists.
Not because I couldn't. Maybe it's because I haven't been asked to yet. So, in the meantime, silly thoughts can force their way into my head.
Like the reckless part of me that wonders what it would be like if we weren't on opposite sides. If we met at a bar in Prague, if he bought me a drink, if I let him take me back to his hotel room and...
I mentally slap myself.
What the hell is wrong with you?
I don't care what he thinks. I don't care if he finds me attractive or if he enjoyed our dance or if he's thinking about me right now while he's out there handling guards.
Except apparently I do, and that's a problem.
My breath catches as reality crashes back in.
Shit, what if he doesn't come back?
What if this was his plan all along? Lock me in a box, deal with the guards, get the tablet, and leave me trapped until the next shift finds me?
God, how can I be so... The dumbwaiter comes to a sharp stop, shaking for a moment before settling.
Okay, I'm at the top.
I press my ear against the metal door, straining to hear anything. Footsteps, voices, gunshots, anything.
Nothing. Just silence.
My pulse spikes, and I shift, pressing my shoulder against the door to test it.
Locked.
Great.
I shouldn't have agreed to this. I had a plan. A good plan. Slip past the guards, incapacitate them quietly, access the tablet, download the data, and disappear before anyone realized I was there.
But Victor insisted, and I...
BOOM.
A heavy crash slams into the dumbwaiter door.
I jerk back, every muscle in my body coiled tight. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I press myself into the corner, barely breathing.
Another crash, and the metal door rattles as I reach for my knife.
I hear some commotion, someone grunts, and then that thud a body makes when it hits the floor, lifeless.
It goes quiet now, and I can't hear a thing.
I don't move, don't breathe. I just stare forward, gripping the handle of my blade.
Then, in slow motion, the door slides open.
Victor stands there, chest heaving, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His shirt is slightly untucked, his tie loosened. I see blood specks on his knuckles and pants.
He stands there looking at me, smiling.
That arrogant, infuriating smile.
"Miss me?" he asks, extending his hand.
I take his hand, and he pulls me out in one smooth motion. The red dress catches on the edge of the metal frame, and I yank it free, tearing it slightly.
I glance around and see three massive bodies lying crumpled on the floor, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Russians. Dimitri's men, I'm sure.
"I'm surprised," I say, brushing past him to get a better look at the carnage.
"Of What?" he asks, straightening his cuffs.
I turn back to look at him. "That you didn't get yourself killed."
Victor laughs, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it over a radiator along the wall. He rolls up his sleeves, exposing strong forearms, his muscles flexing.
"No," he says, walking toward a panel mounted on the wall. "You didn't think I would come for you."
I spread my legs slightly and slide my knife back into its sheath, looking up and catching Victor's wondering eyes.
"Was I wrong to worry?"
He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he pries open the panel, exposing a tangle of wires and a glowing monitor. The blue light casts sharp shadows across his defined face.
"Maybe," he says, glancing back at me with a mischievous look. His eyes flick down, scanning my body slowly.
I step closer, watching as he works.
"I mean, you'd have every right, I suppose. I did stab you after all, and beat you in Constan?a."
He pauses, fingers hovering over the wires. Then he turns, looking at me fully.
"You did," he says, his voice low.
His gaze drops again, lingering on the curve of my hips before finally meeting my eyes.
"But your dress saved you. You look too pretty in it. I could never leave you behind."
Heat flares in my chest, and I force my expression to stay neutral even though I can feel my face getting red.
He turns back to the monitor, fingers flying over the touchscreen.
"Plus," he adds casually, "I need your help."
"How flattering."
He smiles but doesn't look at me. A few seconds later, the overhead lights in the hallway leading to the penthouse door flicker and die.
Then faint red lines appear in the hallway ahead, crisscrossing the space like a spiderweb. Laser beams, dozens of them, blocking the path to the penthouse door at the far end.
"Blyat," I say out loud.
"What?" Victor asks, stepping beside me. "Does that mean, 'Oh, that's easy. I can get past it no problem,' or 'Fuck, this is going to be hard?'"
I glare up at him. "Take a wild guess."
He nods and looks back down the hallway.
"Yeah."
I study the hall, calculating angles, gaps, potential routes I can take.
It's tight, and one wrong move will trigger some type of alarm that will have this floor flooded with guards. We'll be trapped, and I'll be as good as dead alongside him.
Victor reaches into his pocket and pulls out a keycard. He holds it up between two fingers.
"You need to make your way to the end," he says, handing it to me. "Scan this. It'll kill the lasers."
I take the card, turning it over in my hand.
"Where'd you get this?"
He nods toward one of the bodies on the floor.
"From one of your Russian friends."
Of course he did. I want to correct him about the friend bit, but I don't.
I slide the card into the top of my dress, tucking it against my bra. Victor's gaze follows the motion, completely unashamed. His eyes linger on my chest, and I feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch.
He sure seems to be devouring me with his eyes a bit more than ever before. I hope he doesn't think anything will come from our little arrangement.
Either way, I ignore the heat pooling low in my belly and focus on the lasers.
"We've got twelve minutes," I say, checking my internal clock. "Maybe fifteen before the next patrol comes by."
Victor leans down, and I can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath brushing my ear.
"Well then," he says, his voice dark and smooth. "Good luck, Danika."
I don't respond. I just kick off my heels, letting them clatter to the floor, and step toward the grid.
The first beam is low. I crouch, sliding under it, my dress pulling tight across my thighs. The fabric restricts my movement, and I curse silently, bunching it higher.
The second beam is higher. I step over it, balancing on one leg while I lift the other.
"So," Victor calls from behind me, his voice casual, amused. "Why does a pretty girl like you want the tablet?"
I glance back at him. He's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like this is entertainment.
"None of your business," I shoot back, lowering myself under another beam.
"Come on," he says. "We're partners now. You can tell me."
"We're not partners. This is temporary."
"Still counts for something."
I twist my torso, threading my body through a narrow gap between two beams.
"Why don't you tell me why you want it besides the obvious? Why are you here targeting the Volkovs in the first place?" I ask, not looking back.
He's quiet and doesn't answer.
"Oh, come on, Victor. You can tell me. We're partners," I say in a mocking tone.
"Very funny," he says, and there's a moment of silence.
"So who are you really working for?" Victor asks, his tone lighter now but still probing.
I don't answer. Instead, I hold a difficult pose, one leg extended, the other bent, my body angled at forty-five degrees to avoid tripping a laser that's inches from my shoulder.
"You don't strike me as a Bratva loyalist," he continues. "You're too good for that. With your looks, you could easily marry a don. Why do all this?"
"Maybe I just like killing people," I say through gritted teeth, shifting my weight slowly, trying not to have my breasts break the beam in front of me.
Victor laughs.
"No. You'd be bored by now if that was true. After like the tenth one, it just becomes the same old thing."
I slide under another beam, my back arching as I press my chest toward the floor. The cold tile bites into my palms, and I feel my muscles straining.
"Wow, nice flexibility," Victor says, sounding amused.
"Shut up," I say, standing back up.
"I'm just saying. You're very bendy."
I pause, glaring at him over my shoulder.
"If you don't stop talking, I'm going to trip one of these lasers on purpose."
He smiles, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
"Fair enough."
I continue forward, keeping my movements short and controlled. The grid is denser now, the gaps smaller. I have to twist and contort my body, sliding through openings that seem impossibly tight.
"Seriously, though," Victor says after a moment. "The tablet. What's on it that's so important you don't already know about?"
"I'll tell you if you tell me," I counter, balancing on one leg while I duck under a beam at shoulder height.
"No reason other than what's on it," he admits. "The information could be useful for my family."
"Like?" I ask.
"Stuff."
"How descriptive," I say.
"You're one to talk."
I step over another beam, my bare foot pressing firmly against the ground.
"Maybe I just want to sell it to the highest bidder. Make some money."
"You don't need money," Victor says, his voice certain. "That's a fifteen-thousand-dollar dress you're wearing. And judging by how well it fits you, it's custom. So you're not doing this for cash."
I don't respond. He's right, but I'm not about to admit it.
I'm at the end now. I crouch low, threading my arm through a gap, then my head, then my torso. The dress pulls tight, and for a moment, I think it's not going to let me bend the way I need to.
"Careful, this is the last one," Victor calls out.
"Don't worry about me," I say, getting through. "What the hell are you going to do anyway besides give me all the work?"
He laughs again but doesn't respond.
I stand and crack my neck, my body trembling from the exertion. I pull the keycard from my dress, but before swiping it across the reader mounted beside the penthouse door, I pause and look at Victor.
"Seriously, what's next? I'm here, so..." I trail off.
Victor crosses his arms.
"You know, I saved your life. Dealt with all your friends between where I left you and here. You should be more grateful."
I laugh.
"Is that really your answer?"
He looks at me for a second and then shrugs.
"Look up."
I hesitate, then do, and see another panel that I won't be able to reach without him.
I nod and swipe the card across the reader.
The lasers vanish instantly.
I turn to see Victor already walking toward me, his stride confident. The dim emergency lighting highlights the sharp line of his jaw, the intensity in his dark eyes.
He somehow manages to look elegantly put together and entirely lethal at the exact same time.
And as he stops inches in front of me, his dark eyes locking onto mine, my stomach does a sharp, undeniable flutter.
Dammit.
I'm in trouble.