He acts as if I have an option, but he doesn’t give me a choice. Before I can answer, he grabs me by the back of my bloodstained shirt, hauls me to my feet, and drags me behind him as he barrels toward the bathroom window. With a leap, he crashes through the glass, pulling me with him.
I scream.
Not the wisest thing to do when you’re trying to sneak away from a pack of trained Russian killers, but I don’t have a choice in that either — I scream because I’m falling from a second-story window to the hard pavement of the back parking lot.
A bone-jarring thud seismically shakes my body as I hit the ground. Something in my ankle twitches in a way it isn’t supposed to twitch, and I yelp again.
“You need to keep your mouth shut,” Ricky hisses. Then, with a jerk, he pulls me along after him. Limping, biting my tongue to keep the pain trapped between my lips, I follow as best I can.
How the fuck did I get here?
How the fuck am I running from the Russian mob, with my life dependent on the man who murdered my sister?
Why — why thefuck— did my eyes just glance and check out his ass for a second?
He slows. Eyes sweep over me with a mix of concern and frustration. “You’re hurt?”
“No, I always run with a limp. Ever since ‘Nam…”
“This isn’t the fucking time to be cute. Do you want to live or die?”
“Live. Fucking duh.”
“Then you need to fucking run like your life depends on it,” he says, and he pulls again, dragging me into a sprint as we race to the exit of the parking lot. The dark exit to the empty road looms ahead of us, the promise of dark alleys, abandoned cars we can steal, escape, sitting right in front of us. Survival.
But we’ve barely burst onto the darkened street before a pathetic whimper of pain breaks from my lips. “Fuck.”
“Fucking hell, Adriana, you’re tough enough to find me, subdue me, beat the fuck out of that Russian and cut him open at the midsection, but you can’t grit it out through a short fucking sprint?” For all the venom in his words, there’s a note of concern in his voice. He pauses, breathes, and the look in his eyes changes. “I really want to help you. Can I?”
“What do you mean?” I say, wary.
“Yes or no, can I help you?”
“Yes.”
“Finally. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
He scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder. I now have a downward view of his not-that-bad ass as he starts down the sidewalk at a run. It fills his jeans nicely, plump, and it shifts and even jiggles a little as he runs.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Chapter Six
Ricky
Beaten, bloody, buzzed, with Rohypnol still lingering in my veins like a chatty stranger standing next to me in line at the grocery store who just won’t get the fucking hint, this is not how I saw my hopefully last night on earth going — doing my damndest to survive and make sure Vanessa’s sister doesn’t get taken by the Russian mob.
How the fuck am I failing at getting killed?
Whatever the answer, the truth is: I can’t die until Adriana’s safe.
I have to save my murderer so she can do the job she set out to do.
And that means finding somewhere we can hide, get our bearings, and figure out a way out of this mess with Ruslan Volkov and his gang.
Adriana grumbles and mutters as she bounces against my back while I sprint down the sidewalk. “I can’t believe… this is insane… how in the hell are we…”
I tune most of her words out. It doesn’t matter what she says or what she thinks right now; I can’t spare the brainpower for her babbling. Down one alley we run, taking a sharp corner, ducking behind a dumpster to pause for breath, then sprinting down another alley to come out in a pay-for-parking lot behind a combination steakhouse and teriyaki joint that smells a lot better than it looks, only to have just a spare second to crouchbehind a car as an ominous pair of headlights passes on the street. Adriana is an albatross on my back, cursing and shifting, like she’s determined to make me suffer every step I carry her.
