"I know. I saw them. That's why we're leaving."
He pushes through the exit door into a parking garage where a black SUV is waiting with the engine running, exhaust puffing into the cold air. He opens the back door and lifts Sasha inside like he weighs nothing, then shoves me in after him before climbing into the driver's seat. The tires squeal on the concrete as he throws the car into reverse and backs out of the space so fast my stomach lurches up into my throat.
"Sasha, put on your headphones and watch a movie on the tablet," I tell him, because he doesn't need to hear the conversation I'm about to have with his father. This has to end. I can't be a prisoner to someone who is being hunted knowing full well he's put us in danger.
"But—"
"Now." My stern tone and the look I give him has him shrinking back, and I hate myself for startling him, but I'm flustered. I need answers.
I dig through the bag at my feet and find the tablet and headphones, getting Sasha set up with a cartoon while Fyodor navigates us out of the parking lot and onto the street. The sunlight is blinding after being inside so long, and I squint as I climb into the front seat beside him.
"What's going on? Who were those men?"
"Marat Koslov's people." He takes a sharp turn that throws me against the door and I reach for my seatbelt to buckle up. "They've been tracking us since yesterday."
"Who's Koslov?" I don't understand. He's speaking to me like I know things and I know nothing.
His eyes flick to the rearview mirror and his jaw tightens. "We've got company."
I twist in my seat and see a dark sedan three cars behind us, weaving through traffic aggressively the way Fyodor is, running red lights and cutting off other drivers without slowing down. My stomach drops and I turn back around, gripping the edge of the seat.
"Fyodor—"
"I know," he hisses, then floors the accelerator and the SUV surges forward, cutting between two trucks and running a yellow light that turns red before we're fully through the intersection. Horns blare behind us and I hear the screech of brakes, but I don't look back.
"Hold on."
He takes another turn, tires screaming against the pavement, and the sedan falls back for a moment before reappearing in the mirror. I'm shaking, trembling so bad I might throw up. We're driving too fast, weaving through traffic like we're in some kind of action movie. This is insane. He has a child in this car.
"Why are they chasing us? What did you do?"
"They want Marat alive." He takes another turn and my shoulder slams into the window. "I'm trying to make sure that doesn't happen."
"What the hell is happening!" I whimper, but I make sure my voice is low enough that Sasha can't hear me. I am terrified. As if it wasn't bad enough that he kidnapped me, now he's taken me on the run from some enemies of his on a hunt to kill a man?
Fyodor is infuriatingly quiet as he makes sharp turns and weaves through traffic going way too fast, and when he finally does speak it's after a few more quick turns and one harrowing intersection.
"I'm Bratva, Noemi. You understand what that means? I work for the Gravitch syndicate. I have a job to do to remove a witness and that's why we're in Moscow."
The words knock the air out of my lungs. I knew he was dangerous, but hearing him say it out loud makes it impossible for me to imagine lesser realities. All those hints and whispers and half-truths suddenly crystallize and I can't ignore or explain them away anymore.
I'm falling for this man. I let him use my body and get in my head. I started to believe that he's not entirely awful and that he could be an amazing father someday.
And now he tells me he's Bratva.
"You should've told me," I choke out. "From the beginning, you should have told me what you are, what you do, what this is really about."
"Oh, cut the crap. It's not like it would've changed anything." He sounds angry now, but I don't even care.
I stare out the windshield at the city blurring past us. "It would have…" I mumble, because I'm positive I never would have sleptwith him if I'd known. Now I don't know how to feel except terrified.
He doesn't respond. He's just fixed on the road ahead. The sedan isn't behind us anymore, and I have no clue where we're going. My things are all in that hotel room, and I'm not sure anything will ever be the same again.
I really want to go home.
19
FYODOR
