My captor’s response is too muffled to parse. I shrink back, unsure of how well these coldhearted killers can see me through the tinted windows. Maybe they’re watching right now while deciding what to do with me. Pondering the best method of murder.
They continue talking, but the whooshing in my ears overpowers their voices. I try twisting to break the plastic strap holding my wrists together.
Useless.
Even if I could free myself, it’s four killers against one cocktail waitress. I wouldn’t stand a chance.
A silence descends, broken only by the clank of car doors shutting and an engine starting.
Tiny hairs prickle on the back of my neck. Blood continues to roar in my ears.
Several minutes, or maybe seconds, pass before the rear door opens. I can feel his presence towering over me, radiating dark and dangerous energy.
He doesn’t speak.
A sob escapes me, and I struggle to breathe through my tears and the gag.
“Stop crying. I’m not going to kill you.” Alexei’s minty breath coasts over my neck. “Not yet anyway.”
The door shuts again, and I go utterly still.
Is he leaving me here all alone in the back seat? My crying, my screams…they’re futile.
No one can hear me. I’m trapped in the back of a Russian killer’s car.
Chapter 7
Alexei
I scrub a hand over my face as I ponder my options.
The underground parking area is cavernous, well lit, and empty save for my other vehicles: the Audi, the motorcycle, and the nondescript van I use when I need to remain invisible.
This place—ten stories of reinforced concrete and steel that houses everything I need—belongs to me alone. First floor is the shell company I use for legitimacy. The second floor remains bare, and the third houses my personal armory. Then there’s my gym and a few more vacant floors. Living quarters and command center are on the top level.
A fortress within the city where I can be myself. Uncensored.
Whatever that means these days.
Movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention. I shift, and the sight knocks the air from my lungs.
My prisoner’s managed to roll onto her side, her body contorted in a way that pushes her ridiculous maid uniform up around her hips, exposing the delectable curves of her ass and the tantalizing stretch of her thighs. Her skin is pale and smooth.
My blood rushes south.
For a moment or two, I forget she’s a problematic witness. Instead, I see the only woman to intrigue me in a long time.
Those sparks that flew when we kissed blaze back to life. I try to distract myself with anything other than the heat building in my dick.
Chyort vozmi.
Focus. I need to focus. She’s not here for that. Time to find out what she knows and get rid of her.
Forcing my thoughts away from her exposed skin, I open the rear door.
Even through the blindfold, I can feel the intensity of her glare. Her light brown hair is wild around her face, strands sticking to her tear-stained cheeks. Angry marks from the gag redden the corners of her mouth. A noise slips free. Not a whimper or a scream, but an outraged protest.
She thrashes again and bucks to leverage herself up, but the zip ties keep her arms pinned behind her back. She mumbles against the gag.
