He disappeared the second he saw her. The woman in red. Clara Caldwell, though I didn’t know her name at the time. She wasn’t just some girl in the wrong place—someone tried to kill her that night. Leonid stepped in, and the entire operation went sideways. For hours, he was gone. With her. And when he showed up the next day? He acted like nothing happened. Like the night hadn’t just gone to hell.
And now?
Now, there’s this kid, looking like a carbon copy of my boss, clutching a stuffed Pikachu and turning Leonid into someone I don’t recognize. Toilet runs. Small talk. Like he’s some kind of father. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t believe it.
The timing, the features—it’s not just coincidence. It can’t be. And I don’t need Leonid to tell me. Hell, I don’t even need to ask him. I need proof.
A DNA test. Simple. Quick. Quiet. No one even has to know I’m doing it.
And if the results prove what my balls already know?Pakhanwill probably gut me like a fish and use my intestines as Christmas decorations.
I smirk. But fuck it—some shit’s worth dying for.
46
Clara
Ugh. I wake up to a soft hum that reminds me I’m not on Earth anymore—or at least not the Earth I grew up on.
My throat’s dry, my body’s sore in places that shouldn’t even be sore, and there’s a metallic tang of sex and regret clinging to the edges of my memory. Last night flashes in fragments—Leonid’s hands, his mouth, the way he moved like he owned me. Like he’d carved his name somewhere deep inside, just to make sure I didn’t forget.
And then the bastard pulled a gun on me.
No dramatic flourishes or action movie bullshit. Just cold steel aimed at my face because I had the audacity to say no.
“Get ready. You’re coming with me.”
Because apparently, in his world, a gun to the head counts as afterplay. Most women want to cuddle after sex—I get death threats. Same thing, right?
Fuck.
I fumble for the water bottle on the small table beside the bed and gulp it down, wincing at the chill in the cabin air. That’s when I notice my surroundings—or remember them, really.
The bedding ruins me for normal sheets forever.
Thanks for that, bastard.
Switzerland.Fucking Zermatt.
Leonid’s clipped voice from this morning echoes in my head, calm and matter-of-fact, like he wasn’t kidnapping me across continents.
“We’re flying to Zermatt.”
No explanation, no discussion. Just a command wrapped in a geographic fact.
And because my life is a joke now, I’m surrounded by muted golds and deep navy like some floating five-star hotel suite—except this one cruises at 40,000 feet and comes with its own armed entourage.
My eyes drift over the room as I lower the bottle, and I catch myself staring. To my right, a built-in shelving unit gleams under soft ambient lighting. Crystal decanters of whiskey sit untouched next to a row of books I’m sure Leonid hasn’t read. There’s a chaise lounge near the window that practically screams, “I’m worth more than your dignity,” and a touchscreen panel mounted discreetly into the wall, probably controlling everything from the lights to the jet’s defensive countermeasures.
My eyes wander instinctively toward the other bed. The covers are pulled up tight, forming a small, rounded bulge near the center. Elijah. He’s still curled up, sound asleep, just like he always does—knees tucked close, face buried in the pillow. My chest softens, the tension in my shoulders loosening ever so slightly.
I hold my breath, afraid even the sound of it might wake him. How many days has it been now? Too many. Not enough to getmy bearings. Time has become shapeless, just like everything else since Leonid stormed back into my life.
My fingers twitch toward the blanket, but I pull back. Let him rest. He deserves at least that much.
I glance at the window instead, trying to steady my thoughts.
“Jesus,”I breathe, staring out the window.“This is beautiful. Impossibly fucking beautiful.”
