"Three minutes," he says, stepping back. "Get whatever you absolutely need. My car is outside."
This is it. The moment of choice. I could call the police, tell them everything, and go back to my life.
Or I could join Ivan in whatever darkness he's offering. Away from my life. Away from this godforsaken diner.
Damn it.
I grab my bag from behind the counter, shoving my sketchbook inside. The one full of his face. It’s essential, almost like I need proof that I saw this coming, that I've been drawing this moment for months without knowing it.
"Ready?" he asks.
No, not even close.I nod anyway.
We exit out the front. There's a black car idling at the curb, expensive and anonymous. The driver doesn't turn around when we get in.
"Where are we going?" I ask as we pull away from everything I know.
"Somewhere safe."
I want to protest, but I'm suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me shaky and hollow. Ivan is sitting too close in the backseat, his thigh pressed against mine, and I can't decide if I want to move away or lean into him.
It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. I’ve made my decision, and now I’m trapped. What happens next isn’t up to me.
It’s up to him.
4
IVAN
The Bentley glides through Chicago's empty streets as I watch her reflection in the window. Lila. Pressed against the far door like she might bolt at the next red light. Smart girl. She should run. Should have run the moment I walked into the diner bleeding.
But she didn't. She stayed and lied for me. To Dmitri's men, no less.
Now she's mine to protect.
"Where are we going?" she asks, voice smaller than it was in the diner.
"My penthouse. You'll be safe there."
"This is kidnapping, you know?"
"It’s about survival."
She turns to look at me, her green eyes catching the streetlights. "Yours or mine?"
Both, but I don't say it aloud.
Misha clears his throat from the driver's seat. "Boss, should I call the doctor?"
"Later." The knife wound throbs with each breath, but I've had worse. Much worse. "Just get us home."
"And the girl?"
I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. "The girl has a name. Use it."
"My apologies. Miss...?"
"Lila," she murmurs. "Just Lila."
