22. Danika
DANIKA
The taxi smells like stale cigarettes.
I slouch in the backseat, tugging at the hem of Victor's white shirt. It barely covers my thighs, the fabric stained with blood, not mine. The collar hangs loose around my neck, the buttons missing from where I tore them off last night.
The driver's eyes flick to the rearview mirror.
I catch his gaze and hold it.
"Not a fucking word."
He shrugs, returning his attention to the road. "Being young is when you're supposed to have fun."
Fun.
If he only knew what I've been through. The bodies I left behind. The gunfight in the penthouse. The way Victor pinned me against the window before...
I clench my jaw and shake my head.
I give the driver the name of my hotel, and we start moving.
I stare out the window as the sun climbs higher over the city. Couples stroll hand in hand. A woman sits outside a café, sipping espresso and reading a book. Normal people living normal lives.
I glance down at my ring. I just need to deliver this to Ivan. Maybe take a long vacation somewhere remote. The middle of the damn , maybe, any place where there's no cell service and no chance Victor can find me.
But even as I picture it, I know I'm talking out of my ass. I could be on the moon, and I'd still be thinking about him. He's in my head, under my skin, weaving through the very fibers of my being.
I've never wanted something I so desperately can't have.
Is this what people in relationships experience? This is crazy.
The taxi slows, pulling up to the front of my hotel. I reach for my wallet, then remember I don't have anything. Even my dignity at this point is questionable.
"Shit."
The driver glances back. "Problem?"
"Wait here."
I shove the door open and bolt out before he can respond, bare feet slapping against the pavement. A few tourists stare as I sprint past them into the lobby, Victor's shirt shifting around my thighs.
The concierge looks up from his computer, his polite smile freezing the moment he sees me.
I plant my hands on the marble counter. "I need cash. For the taxi. Bill my room."
He blinks. His gaze drops to the torn shirt, the bruises starting to form on my arms, the bloodstains.
"Room number?"
"407. Oh, and I need another key."
He types something into his system, his expression carefully neutral. After a long moment, he makes me a new keycard and slides it across to me.
"Here you go, Ms. Lankiscko. Did I say that right?"
"Yeah, sure." It doesn't matter. It's fake anyhow.
"You can go up to your room. We'll handle the payment and bill it to your room."
I don't blame him for wanting me out of the area as soon as possible.
I grab the keycard, and as I walk away, I turn back to him and say, "Being young is when you're supposed to have fun."
It doesn't make me feel any better, and it doesn't deter the judging eyes of the others in the lobby.
The elevator ride feels endless. I lean against the wall, clutching the keycard. My reflection stares back at me, and it looks like I spent the night in a war zone.
Which isn't far from the truth.
The elevator dings, and I step out onto the fourth floor. My legs feel heavy, my body exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with Victor.
I unlock the door to my suite and step inside, locking it behind me.
I toss the keycard onto the table and head straight for the bathroom, already peeling off the shirt. I stare at myself in the mirror and assess my naked body.
Bruises are starting to form across my ribs. A faint cut runs along my collarbone. My thighs ache from...
I turn away.
I slide my ring off carefully and set it on the counter, afraid I might damage the intel.
Then I turn on the shower.
Steam rises as I step under the hot spray, letting the water cascade over my skin. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, trying to wash away the blood, the sweat, the scent of Victor.
But it doesn't work.
I can still feel his hands on my body. His mouth on my neck. The way he pinned my wrists above my head and took everything I gave him.
Ugh, I need to focus.
The data is on the ring. Ivan is waiting. That's all that matters right now. Not the way Victor looked at me when I told him my name or how he...
I reach for the shampoo and work it through my hair, my fingers massaging my scalp as the water runs over my shoulders.
A faint sound cuts through the hiss of the shower, and I freeze, listening.
It's nothing, I tell myself. Just the pipes.
I rinse the shampoo from my hair, but the unease lingers. I turn to wash my body, grabbing the soap and lathering it over my arms, my chest, my stomach.
Another sound. Closer this time.
I stop moving, my heart beating hard in my chest.
Am I going crazy?
I turn into the stream of water to rinse off the soap, my eyes squeezed shut as the spray hits my face.
Suddenly, a massive hand grabs my arm and yanks me hard out of the shower.
I crash to the bathroom floor, my hip slamming against the tile. Pain explodes through my side, and I scramble up, water streaming down my body as I blink through the spray.
When my eyes focus, I see my worst fucking nightmare.
Dimitri Volkov.
He's flanked by five men, all armed, all staring at me like I'm already dead.
My stomach drops.
Dimitri holds a towel in one hand, his expression calm, almost bored. His gaze drags down my naked body, lingering in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I refuse to cover myself.
I stand tall, glaring at him with every ounce of defiance I have left.
Dimitri's lip curls in disgust, and then he throws the towel at me.
"Get fucking dressed."
He turns and walks out into the living room, leaving a stone-faced guard behind to watch me.
I don't move for a moment, my mind racing.
How did he find me? What does he know?
I pick up the towel and dry off. The guard doesn't look away, his hand resting on the gun at his hip.
"A little privacy, please," I say, my tone dry.
He doesn't respond or move.
I turn my back to him, rummage through my bag, and pull out the first thing I can grab.
I drop the towel, step into dark jeans, and pull a black shirt over my head. My hands tremble as I slide the ring back onto my finger, hoping they don't know what's on it.
Maybe he just wants my help? Please let it be that.
I take a breath and walk into the living room, staring down the guard who stayed with me.
Dimitri sits at the table, five men flanking him. He doesn't look at me, just gestures to a chair across from him. "Sit."
I lower myself into the seat as the sound of my blood whooshing through my ears intensifies.
I force my expression to remain neutral, casual.
"So, what's this about?"
Dimitri shakes his head in disbelief.
"Why don't you tell me?"
"I... I don't know," I say.
Dimitri looks at his men and laughs.
"She doesn't know."
He slams his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the room.
"You fucking betraying bitch."
My blood runs cold.
Shit. He knows.
"Dimitri..."
He stands, his chair scraping against the floor. "You," he says, looking at me now, "broke into my suite and did something to my tablet."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He walks over and backhands me. Pain explodes through my cheek, my head snapping to the side.
"Liar."
I glare at him, my vision swimming. My training kicks in. Assess, react, escape. I jump out of the chair, my fist swinging toward his jaw.
But large hands grab my shoulders from behind, slamming me back down into the seat. A guard steps forward, pressing the barrel of a gun directly to the side of my head.
"Move again, and they'll kill you," Dimitri says, his voice calm now.
I freeze, breathing heavily.
Dimitri leans down, his face inches from mine. "What did you take from my tablet? Who did you give it to?"
I don't answer.
He slaps me again, harder this time. My head rocks back, and I taste blood.
"And you did this with Victor Ionescu," he says, grabbing my chin so hard his fingers dig into my jaw. "After everything my family did for you, you betray the Bratva for who? Those fucking Romanians?"
I turn my head away, spit blood onto the floor, and meet his gaze. "I didn't take anything, and I am not working for them."
"Stop playing games, Danika," he yells. "I know you were sent to get my tablet."
I look up at him. Even through my rage and anger, my face must have given something away.
Dimitri laughs. "Don't be so surprised. My brother's a fucking idiot, not worthy of leading this family. I'm the one doing all the work. You know your little Romanian's father worked with me. Did he tell you that?"
I don't answer.
"I suppose not. Though, I must admit, I did not expect you to be working for them, too."
"I told you. I'm not working for the Ionescus," I say, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest.
Dimitri straightens up, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. "It doesn't matter. If you're not going to tell me what you did to my tablet and what you found, then I will take you someplace you can't be heard and find out before I slowly kill you."
I open my mouth to speak. "You can..."
A gag is violently shoved into my mouth, cutting off my words. I gag, the coarse fabric choking me as a thick black hood is yanked over my head.
Darkness swallows me.
I thrash, trying to twist away, but hands pin me down. My wrists are yanked behind my back, and the sharp bite of a zip tie cuts into my skin.
I'm shoved to the ground, my knees hitting the carpet hard. The heavy canvas of the hood blocks out the light and the air. Panic floods my chest, my breath coming in hot, desperate gasps through my nose.
I feel myself being lifted, strong arms hauling me up.
Shit, what am I going to do?
Ivan can't save me from this, and I just abandoned the only person who could.
Fuck. I never should have left Victor's room.