Page 19 of Betrayal and Vows

The cold night air hits me like a slap as I step out of the club. Moscow's streets are still alive with late-night revelers, but I keep my head down. Every shadow could be watching. Every stranger could be one of my father's men.

I wrap my arms around myself, the silver dress offering no protection against the chill. My legs feel unsteady—not from the alcohol, but from what just happened. I can still feel Anton inside me, still taste him on my lips. The memory makes my core clench with need all over again.

Focus, Lena. Get back to the hotel without being seen.

I take a roundabout route, ducking through side streets and avoiding the main thoroughfares where I might be recognized. The heels make every step precarious on the uneven pavement, but I push forward. A taxi would be faster, but drivers talk. Everyone talks in Moscow, especially when there's money involved.

I still have the wig on, but without the lipstick and eye makeup, I feel exposed.

Ten minutes later, I'm standing across from the hotel, studying the entrance. Two of my father's guards are still posted outside, smoking cigarettes and checking their phones. They look bored but alert. Getting past them would be impossible.

I circle around to the back of the building, looking for another way in. The service entrance is locked, but there's a loading dock that's partially hidden from view. I check for cameras, finding two that sweep the area in predictable patterns.

Timing my movements, I slip past during a blind spot and find myself in what looks like a stockroom. I bite my lower lip trying to orient myself. I take a chance and open one of the doors. Then I’m in a hallway.

It takes me a few seconds to find my way to the elevators. Once again, I keep my head down. I just know I’m going to get caught at any second. My hands are shaking as I step into the elevator. I keep my face down just in case security is watching the cameras.

Then I realize how silly that is. They’ll see me walk into the penthouse.

I quickly hit the button for the seventh floor. I have to take the stairs. When the elevator doors slide open, I rush out. I shove open the door to the stairwell and take a second to get myself together.

I catch a whiff of cologne and am immediately taken back to that bathroom. To the feel and taste of Anton.

My pulse stutters just thinking his name. My thighs ache in the best kind of way. My lips are swollen. My skin still tingles where he touched me—like he burned himself into my nerve endings and now I’ll never be clean again.

I don’t regret it.

Not even a little.

But I should.

I start climbing the stairs and nearly twist my ankle. I take off my heels and continue the trek up to the twentieth floor.

On the walk up, I came up with an excuse. I got trapped in the stairwell. No. I went out to get some air and I got locked out.

The wig.

“Shit.”

I rip it off my head and toss it into a garbage can in the corner before I start the next flight up.

I’ll tell them I went upstairs to change. Went out to get air. Got locked out. That’ll work. I’ll stick with my story.

By the time I step out of the stairwell, I’m breathing heavy and sweating. That’ll explain the need for a shower. No one will know I’m trying to wash away the evidence of my activities earlier.

I’m rushing toward the door to my room when I nearly knock over someone coming around the corner.

“Kira,” I hiss when I realize who it is.

She’s carrying her heels and judging by her smudged makeup and messy hair, she's obviously been enjoying herself.

“There you are!” She gasps and grabs my hand. “They are looking for you! I just got pulled out of?—”

She waves her hand. She doesn’t need to explain.

“Where are they?”

“Searching the hotel.” The fear in her eyes tells me I’m in serious danger. “Get inside! Hurry!”