Or maybe it did.
Perhaps itwashim that kept me awake and steered me away from the mess my dreams became when I thought about Rocco too much.
Either way, I was also busy. Rubi and Cam weren’t the only ones with outlandish plans that required my attention, and Alexei’s consumed me for less pleasant reasons. Less blood-pumping, brain-melting reasons. By the time I came up for air four days later, I needed a hit of something, anything, to cleanse my soul, and Decoy became the sole focus of my imagination on the long ride home.
I led Alexei—we’d learned the hard way that my Fat Boy couldn’t keep up with his Ninja—along a B-road as we left the Suffolk coast behind. He was bored enough to buzz my back wheel every mile or so, but he was out of luck. My bike was at capacity. If he wanted to get home faster, he’d have to leave me in the dust.
Or mutter Russian insults down the radio. Whatever. It amused me and kept me from falling headlong into a Decoy daze I wouldn’t survive. Because that’s how it felt, thinking about him constantly. Unsurvivable. And every kiss we shared seemed to make it worse, not better. If worse meant daydreams that put a hazy smile on my face. Or flashes of heat when I least expected them.
The B-road narrowed, markings giving way to a single track with tight bends and rough straights. It was fun to ride, but obsessing over Decoy took me out of the moment.
Later, I’d realise that’s why I didn’t see it. The blacked-out SUV up ahead. The men waiting in the shadows. As it was, we were on top of them before their guns registered in my tired brain.
Oops.
I swerved, skidding to a stop in a hail of gravel, wrenching my bike around. But there was no room to turn, the road was too narrow, and I missed colliding with Alexei by a hairsbreadth.
That earned me another round of Russian cursing, but the roadblock expanded before he could finish, and we were surrounded in the blink of an eye.
Four men. One vehicle. Three handguns.
Definitely not feds. Sambinis?
Hard to tell. But given that we’d spent most of the night tracking their blow trawlers moving in from the continent, it was possible.
One of the armed men tapped his Glock on my helmet, signalling for me to take it off. With half a mind on the various weapons concealed on my bike, I obeyed, ripping the radio earpiece out and tucking it out of sight with my thumb.
Alexei did the same.
Neither of us spoke. What was there to say? We’d ridden together long enough that he trusted me to be ready for whatever he was about to pull, and I was. I’d fought my way out of worse ambushes than this. Unless these clowns had machine guns shoved down their pants, we were good.
The man nearest Alexei took a risky step closer. “Who are you?”
“Who areyou?” Alexei countered, his voice flattened of its usual Russian edge.For now. “I’d like to know the name of the man disrupting my journey home.”
“That’s where you’re going?”
“At this hour?” Alexei leaned back on his Ninja, already bored. “What else is there to do?”
“Where have you come from?”
“Answer my question first. I gave you one as a courtesy.”
“A courtesy...” The negotiator laughed. “You have no idea who you’re talking to.”
“There is a simple way to fix that.”
“Or we could just kill you.”
“You could try.” Alexei’s tone was still flat, but his gaze hardened, zeroing in on the ever-lovingbuffoonpoking the beast. “Perhaps you should make a phone call first, though.”
“To who?”
“Anyone you like. Though, perhaps we should use my phone. Your boss always takes my call.”
“You don’t know who my boss is.”
“Don’t I?” Alexei was a pretty man, but his smile in this moment was ugly as hell. “Call him anyway and put him on speaker.”
