“Neken. Whokahun.”
I cock my head. That’s not Russian. But it’s not English either. Is she…mocking me? After everything she’s been through—witnessing a murder, being kidnapped, getting tied up and thrown in the back of a car, threatened—she’s still full of enough fire to curse me?
I position her upright and tear the blindfold off, ripping loose a few strands that were stuck in the knot. I hold up a single finger in warning. A silent promise that if she screams, the gag goes back in. Once she nods, I pull the cloth from her mouth.
“You were saying?”
She swallows and wets her lips. “Second location.” Her hoarse voice is surprisingly steady. “I let you take me to a second location. Now I’m dead. Or worse. I should have convinced you to kill me back in that alley. At least there, it would have beenquick. Then maybe someone would have found me. No one will ever find my body here.”
Her body sags against the seat, some of that fire dimming. As if naming her fate has solidified her reality.
An unfamiliar sensation lightens my chest. Amusement. For the first time in a while, I want to smile a real smile.
The little waitress is citing kidnapping statistics.
Her eyes dart past me to the concrete structure surrounding us. The empty parking spaces. The distant elevator. Fresh panic washes away the dawning realization on her face.
“A warehouse?” Hysteria tinges her voice. “You’ve brought me to a ware—” She cuts herself off, pleading with her eyes. “Please don’t. I don’t like warehouses.”
The comment is so absurd, so incongruous with the situation, that the pressure in my chest builds. I swallow down the laugh trying to take over, struggling to maintain my impassive expression. This woman cost me the only lead I had on my brother, but she must have information. She’s an asset. A means to an end.
“It’s my home.”
She blinks, confusion overriding her fear. “You live in a warehouse?”
“Converted.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to pass on entering your home. My grandma didn’t raise me to be that kind of girl.” The words spill from her in a nervous rush. “I’m sure you’re a very nice person. You probably even have plants and stuff. I like plants, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sure our relationship has really developed enough for this, and, well, it’s just too soon for me to feel comfortable.”
I study this strange, rambling woman who speaks about our “relationship” as if we met on a dating app instead of through murder and abduction.
Her hair falls in her face. Unable to use her hands, she tries and fails to blow the strands away.
I reach out and roll the silky locks between my finger and thumb. “We don’t have a relationship. As of right now, I own you.” She blanches. “I have questions. You have answers. If you talk, you eat. If you don’t, you starve. It’s that simple.”
Her wary but attentive gaze finds mine.
For a long moment, she merely stares. Probably weighing her options, though we both know she has none. Finally, she nods in a single sharp movement that communicates both agreement and defiance.
Time to find out what she knows.
Chapter 8
Aurora
Though my heart hammers as if attempting to break free of my ribs, my mind is clear. I need to play this smart. Think. Plan my escape.
Survive.
Alexei pulls me from the car. Oddly, he averts his gaze as I shimmy my hips and settle the costume’s short skirt back down to cover myself. Like he’s pretending to be a gentleman, though we both know he isn’t one.
The zip tie bites into my skin, but I don’t struggle anymore. Fighting him has gotten me nowhere.
My legs wobble as they take my weight for the first time in what feels like hours. As the blood rushes back to my feet, pins and needles stab me. He steadies me with a firm grip on my elbow, not rough but not gentle either. Just…efficient. Like everything else about him.
A discreet polished steel plaque on the wall catches my eye. KZ PROPERTIES. Nothing else. No indication of what, or who, occupies each floor. I file the name away. If I ever escape, that’s the first thing I’ll tell the police.
No,whenI escape.
