“You have a look. It’s the same look you get before you break someone’s kneecaps, except…” He pauses, pretending to think. “Hornier.”
“I’m driving.” I grab the keys before he can. “You’re drunk.”
“I’ve had two drinks.”
“Of Igor’s Macallan. That’s like eight normal drinks.”
“Fair.” He follows me to the door, still carrying the glass because of course he is. “But seriously, when was the last time? Two years? Three?”
“Drop it.”
“Your dick’s probably forgotten what it’s for. Thinks it’s just for pissing now.”
I keep walking toward the lift. A couple of Igor’s men step aside to let us pass. Lev doesn’t bother lowering his voice, doesn’t even glance at them—just grins like he’s trying to see how far he can push before I break his jaw.
I think about last night, watching her texts pop up on my cloned screen:
Boris:There’s a man named Evan at your apartment. Should I kill him?
Mary: No! God, no. Just… ignore him. He’s nobody.
Boris: Says he’s your boyfriend.
Mary: WHAT?
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Mary: Just punch him in the face and tell him I moved.
It takes me a second to realize I’m smiling.She’s learning.
30
Mary
Iwake up choking on sunlight.
For a split second, my brain screams,“You’re late.”I grab my phone on the nightstand, eyes barely open, and the numbers hit me.12:07 PM.
“Oh, shit!” I jolt upright, heart punching my ribs before I even remember where I am. I’m already bracing for Dave’s smug face in the doorway, ready to make some joke about my “flexible arrival time.”
Only… Dave’s never showing up anywhere again. His voice breaking into that last, awful scream. It still hits the same way it did that night—like someone yanked the air right out of my lungs. My fingers clench the blanket without meaning to, knuckles going white.
Then it occurs to me. Saturday. No bank. No Stephanie waiting to comment on my hair like she’s head of HR and the fashion police combined.
I pull in a long, slow breath and flop back onto the bed, muscles unclenching one by one. For the first time in days, nothing’s chasing me—not footsteps, not gunshots, not my own thoughts.
I stretch across the ridiculous king-sized bed, my toes sliding over crisp sheets. I reach for my phone again, thumb swiping before my brain catches up.
It’s been forever since I slept in like this. Which would be fine if this were a normal Saturday. But apparently, even as a kidnapped person, I can’t avoid feeling guilty about oversleeping. And the worst part? I slept well. Like,reallywell. Which is apparently a perk of captivity no one talks about.
I roll onto my side, opening the unread text. Same number as yesterday. The one I’m pretty sure is Boris. The message is just a thumbs-up emoji.
My stomach flips. Oh God—did I actually tell Boris to punch Evan?
I replay last night in my head and, yep, there it is—me texting, “Just punch him in the face and tell him I moved.”And Evan showing up and calling himself my boyfriend? Really? Six years of him forgetting my birthday, and now he’s suddenly claiming me like a bad rental car he left at the airport?
I call Grandma instead.
