My theory is confirmed. The phone was off on purpose—a powered off phone means no pings, which means no location tracking.
My stomach gets tighter and tighter with the realization that I made a mistake—a goddamn huge mistake—by thinking I could trust Max. Everything about this feels wrong.
But the phone being on, even for a few seconds, means a ping got out. It’ll be traced here. That is, if anyone’s even looking.
Max stomps back to the car, yanks open the door, and plops into the seat.
He sighs heavily. “Listen, that wasn’t a smart move. People could be tracking us. Bad people. Just stay there and wait until I tell you to move. Got it?”
“Actually, I don’t get it. Why couldn’t we tell Andrei about the attack again?”
“Because he would’ve panicked. Would’ve made the people watching you think that you knew what was up.”
“But Andrei’s a total pro. He would have gotten us out of there very incognito.”
“What difference does it make? You’re here, you’re safe. Andrei’s going to be fine. Might get an ass chewing out of Mr. Bratva about what happened, but that’s better than being six feet under, right?”
“Why did Kyle send just you? Why not a full unit? Why not send officers in to secure the museum? Why did it need to be so secretive?”
“Because it’s a secret,” he hisses, trying to avoid waking Sasha, I assume. “What part of life-or-death-matter don’t you understand?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not a secret. It’s total bullshit.”
His expression flickers, and something ugly crawls out from behind his eyes, something I feel in my bones.
“God, you were always so dramatic.”
“And you always hated when I questioned anything you said or did.” My voice is sharp now. “So, answer me, why are we here?”
Max glances at Sasha, who’s surprisingly still sleeping despite slammed doors and his raised voice, then back to me. The way he looks at us makes my blood run cold.
“Get out of the car,” he says.
My heartbeat stutters. “Excuse me?”
“I said, get out of the car.”
I keep my grip on the door handle, but I don’t move just yet. “Max, if you think I’m walking into that building with you, you’re out of your goddamn mind.”
He laughs humorlessly. “You’re not the one making the decisions, kiddo.”
He pulls a gun, a compact piece of shiny metal in the hand I used to hold, a hand that used to touch me tenderly, a hand that used to text me cruel little comments about my body.
Now it’s aiming a gun at me.
“We’ve got our history,” he says. “But if you don’t do exactly what I say, I’ll pull the trigger and the first thing that kid sees when he wakes up will be your lifeless body.”
The urge to rip his goddamn eyes from their sockets takes over, and I have to force it down. I have three lives to worry about—mine, Sasha’s, and the baby inside me.
Max’s tone is tight and impatient when he speaks again. “Move.”
I take a slow, deep breath. “So, this is what you’ve become.”
“This is what I’ve always been,” he corrects. “There’s a hell of a lot you don’t know about me.” He gestures with the gun. “Out.”
I move slowly, carefully, as I step out of the car, keeping my hands visible so Max doesn’t get jumpy and do something stupid. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sasha still sleeping. The heat is still on; there are worse places for him to be.I hope with all my might that he remains sleeping, that Max spares him and leaves him in the car.
I hear the sound of tires on gravel. I turn to see a small convoy of three cars—one luxury sedan, two vans—pulling onto the warehouse grounds. The cars drive around the building and out of sight. A moment later, I hear the slamming of doors.
