But goddammit, it still hits its mark.
“You know what I want, Alexei?” I push myself to my feet, rage giving me strength. “I want to go back in time and never walk into that bar. Never give you my number. Never waste eightmonths of my life on a pathetic, insecure little boy playing dress-up in his big brother’s shadow.”
Dead silence.
“What did you just say to me?”
Oh, we’re doing this.
“You heard me,” I call out. “You spent eight months pretending to be something you’re not. The charming one. The fun one. The one who wasn’t constantly measuring himself against Dimitri and coming up short.” I’m on a roll now. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Not power or control. Just you trying to prove you’re not the family disappointment. Spoiler alert. You are.”
“Shut your mouth,” Alexei snarls.
I grin, knowing my words found their mark. “Why?” I croon. “Does the truth hurt? Here’s another one—I know you, Alexei. I dated you for eight months. I know you used to check your phone constantly, hoping Dimitri would call or acknowledge you. You so badly wanted him to see you as an equal.” I’m relentless now. “But he never did, did he? Because you’renotan equal. You’re the little brother who faked his own death because he couldn’t handle living in someone else’s shadow."
“I said shut up!” he shouts.
There’s no way I’m shutting up now. “Eight months I listened to you talk about him. Always comparing yourself. ‘Dimitri does it this way, but I think…’ ‘Dimitri would never understand, but you do…’God, even when you were trying to make me fall in love with you, you couldn’t stop obsessing over him.” I shake my head, unable to believe I’m just now seeing how pathetic Alexeiis. “You know what that tells me? That even you don’t believe you measure up.”
“Shut the fuck up, Vera, or I’ll cut down this fucking door!”
“And thereallypathetic part?” My voice drops, becomes almost conversational. “I’ve spent more time with Dimitri in the last three months than I spent with you in eight. And you know what I’ve learned? Henevermentions you. He doesn’t compare himself to you, because he doesn’t need to prove anything. He actually is what you’ve always pretended to be.” I pause for maximum effect. “He’s the real thing and you’re just…” I wave my hand like he’s a bug I’m trying to shoo away. “A bad copy. A knockoff. The Great Value version of a Volkov.”
“WE’LL DO THIS THE HARD WAY THEN!” His roar rattles the door.
The sounds of equipment being set up start immediately. Good. Let him be angry. Let him be hurt.
I meant every word. But unfortunately for me, I have minutes before they breach, maybe less, so it’s time to stop talking.
My eyes scan the room. Weapons locker. Laptop. The tunnel exit—an escape route to the perimeter.
I could run to protect the baby.
But if I run and Dimitri comes back to find me gone, he’ll think Alexei took me. He’ll go after us, and Alexei already said he’s wounded and vulnerable. They’ll kill him.
I can’t let that happen. I’m not running.
Not because I’m brave, because I’m in love with Dimitri Volkov, and I’ll be damned if I let my psychotic ex-boyfriend kill him.
I cross to the weapons locker and punch in the code. It clicks open.
“Okay,” I mutter, grabbing a handgun that looks less complicated than the others. “Never thought I’d need this skill, but here we are.” The handgun feels heavy and unfamiliar in my hand and I scowl, thinking about how my father didn’t prepare us Ashford girls for anything. “Thanks for nothing, Dad,” I snap as I look around the locker. “I really fucking appreciate that sheltered upbringing that prepared me for absolutely none of this.”
Loaded magazines sit beside the guns, and I grab one, studying it.
“The magazine goes in the bottom, right?” I stare at it, racking my brains and thinking about my high school boyfriend who loved to play shooter games over spending time with me (no surprise he’s an ex). “It’s likeCall of Duty, except inCall of DutyI respawn if I fuck this up.”
It slides in with a click. Hey, progress.
“Now the…” I grab the slide. “This thing, whatever it is. You pull this back to chamber—yeah, okay, that’s way harder than it looks. Why is everything so fuckingheavy?”
It takes both hands and considerable effort, but finally it snaps forward with a satisfying click. I look at the gun, running my fingers over it, trying to remember if I’m missing anything. Then it hits me.
“Safety!” I nearly shout before glancing at the door, making sure no one heard me. “Where’s the fucking safety?” I turn the gun around desperately, eyes scanning the metal. “Is it this thing?This looks like a safety. I’m going to assume this is the safety and if I shoot myself in the foot, I’m going to be so pissed.”
I flip a small lever near the grip, and I assume I turned off the safety, but I’m not about to test it out just yet.
The door starts to glow. Red-hot metal where they’re cutting. I swallow. Shit. I’m running out of timequickly.
