“I’ll pass.” Though I’m desperate to scrub off the remaining evidence of last night, hanging out naked in this man’s bathroom seems like a bad idea.
“Suit yourself.” He rises and crosses to the kitchen area, returning with a plate that he sets on the coffee table between us. Cheese cubes. Grapes. Crackers. Like we’re at a wine tasting instead of a kidnapping. I wonder if he has a charcuterie board. “Eat.”
Not a request. Never a request with him. Not wanting to goad him into drawing his gun again, I eye the spread. My treacherous stomach growls. Though I grazed on some of the food he’d given me late last night, I was too exhausted and traumatized to eat very much.
He observes me as I weigh my options, then sighs. “It’s not poisoned.” He pops a piece of cheese into his mouth. “See? Did you want coffee?”
The offer throws me. I find this bizarre attempt at normalcy—the food I don’t have to answer questions for, the opportunity to shower, the shift in his demeanor—more alarming than the outright threats.
What game is he playing?
I reach out, my hand hovering over a cube of some sort of white cheddar. My stomach growls again, louder this time.
Just as my fingers close around the cheese, a harsh mechanical buzz shatters the silence. I jerk back, the cheese tumbling from my grasp as fresh fear stabs through me.
Alexei crosses to a panel near the elevator and presses a button. “Da?”
A voice too muffled to understand crackles through the intercom. After Alexei responds, the massive industrial elevator doors slide open with a heavy groan.
A man with sandy blond hair emerges.
Instinct insists he isn’t one of the guys from last night. Mostly because he doesn’t strike me as a killer.
He’s not quite as tall or as muscular as Alexei but still fit. His easy smile falters when he spots me on the couch. He’s dressed in casual clothing—jeans, sneakers, and a blue t-shirt—but the sharpness in his eyes doesn’t match his relaxed posture.
That same sharpness lurks in Alexei’s eyes.
“Trevor.” Alexei holds out his hand by way of greeting.
Trevor’s eyes flit from Alexei to me, widening when my outfit registers. “Am I interrupting?”
Alexei’s short laugh contains no actual humor. “Something like that. We had quite a night.”
A night? I narrow my eyes, fury eclipsing my fear. Does he think this is funny? Does Trevor actually believe I’m here willingly? Could I plead with him to help me escape?
But Trevor’s expression is already sobering. He approaches Alexei while studying his face. “You look like shit, Lex.” He drops the pretense of pleasantries. “This thing with MJ…it’s eating you alive. You know Roman told you to drop it. Why don’t you?”
When Trevor addresses Alexei with obvious familiarity, all my hope flies out the window.
The name MJ again. Who is this person? Family? A friend? A girlfriend?
For some reason, my mind shies away from that last thought.
“He can drop it.” Alexei’s eyes ice over. “You can drop it. But I can’t. And I never will.”
The mood in the room tilts.
I bend over the plate, faking a keen interest in selecting a grape while straining to catch what they’re saying. Why is this MJ person so important to Alexei? That catch in his voice, that raw edge quickly smoothed over, may be the first real emotion I’ve heard him express.
The first crack in that frigid control.
Trevor shakes his head and reaches out to clap a hand on Alexei’s shoulder. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”
In other words, talk away from me. At least they’re worried about me hearing and knowing things. If they planned to kill me, that wouldn’t be a concern.
Right?
As the two men shuffle away, their voices drop down to murmurs. I watch them from my peripheral vision as I eat grapes. The men tilt their heads together. Sometimes Trevor gestures, but Alexei remains rigid and unmoving. They’re clearly discussing a serious topic.
