“Where are we?” I ask again, louder now.
Jack’s foot taps the floor. “Almost there.”
Those words again. I crane my neck, trying to see around the medical equipment and catch a sliver of dark fence through the rear window. It isn’t municipal fencing; it’s wrought-iron with spear tips and scroll work, the kind that keeps the world out and the residents in.
“Trina’s going to be there?” I push.
“Yeah,” Jack says. “She’ll be there.”
Something’s off in the way he says it, like he’s purposefully holding back information. I shift on the gurney, the bucklesdigging in. I slide my hand under the blanket and press it to my stomach again.
“I thought we were leaving town. That’s what Trina told me.”
Jack’s mouth flattens. “Just go with it. We’ll get where we need to be.”
The ambulance slows as an iron gate opens. We crawl forward onto an upward drive. The lamps reveal towering pines, their branches bowed with snow. Once we clear the trees, I see the house. It’s huge, stone and slate, wide as a hotel. Grand steps sweep up to double doors carved with wolves. The windows blaze with warm light, but the warmth stops at the glass—the glow of a lion’s mouth.
I know this place. I’ve been here before with Maxim. My blood runs cold as I realize where we are, where Jack has taken me.And what it means.
Volkov’s mansion.
My breath cuts off in my throat. “No.”
Jack won’t meet my eyes. “T?—”
“You brought me to Volkov.” My voice is thin. “You said… you said I’d be safe.”
“I said I’d get you out,” he corrects, his voice a little shaky. “And I did.”
“Are you out of your mind? He wants to kill me!”
The ambulance stops at the base of the steps. Snow still falls, fat flakes tumbling lazily like confetti. The back doors fly open, and cold air knifes in, carrying the smell of winter and cigarette smoke. Two men stand there in black coats, thick necks tuckedinto scarves, eyes flat. One of them has a pin on his lapel. Silver twin wolves. Volkov’s symbol.
“Ms. Winslow,” the taller one says. “Welcome.”
I grab the sides of the gurney. “Jack,” I say, not looking at the men, but staring at my brother. “Don’t do this.”
He looks over my head. “It has to be this way.”
“Why?” I demand.
He flinches. “Because things need to happen in a certain order.”
“What does that mean?” My mouth tastes like copper.
The taller guard steps forward and I kick out, the blanket tangling my legs. The gurney jolts. A hand clamps around my ankle firmly.
Jack stands, palms up. “T, please. Don’t make this harder.”
“I’m pregnant,” I snap, as if the words can grow armor. “And you’re delivering me to a man who wants me dead.”
Jack’s eyes finally find mine. For a second, something similar to grief flickers there, a boy I used to know standing behind the ruthless man he became.“I’m sorry.”
The men unbuckle the straps with cold, impersonal hands. I thrash, slamming an elbow into one of the men’s ribs. He grunts but doesn’t let go. They swing my legs off the gurney, my feet first finding cold metal then stone. The snow bites my ankles through my socks. My breath plumes in frantic puffs.
“I can walk,” I bite out as they shift their grip from hauling to escorting, each taking an elbow, guiding me up the steps like a drunk guest. Jack follows close behind. I don’t look back at him.
“Vlad!” I scream. The sound rips out of my throat and vanishes into the trees. I feel like an idiot, hoping he’d followed me, that he’s ready to show up right in the nick of time and save me like he’s done before.
