Tiana ignored it.“The tattoo guy from Seventh.”
Sergei’s eyebrows lifted.“You know my shop?”
“Nope.”Tiana’s denial was too quick.“Just heard of it.”
Keisha’s instincts pinged.Tiana was hiding something.Fatigue hit, aura flaring.“We gotta go,” she said, blinking hard.
“You’re not driving,” Sergei said, stepping closer, blocking the light.“Mikalai could be close.Let me take you both.”
“No way.”She fumbled the keys.“I don’t know you.”
“You do.”His voice dropped, private.“More than you wanna admit.”
Her cheeks heated.“One ride,” he pressed.“I’ll follow to the Rossis’, keep you safe.”
“We don’t need a babysitter,” Tiana snapped, stepping between them.“I’m late.Can we move?”
Keisha nodded, grateful.Sergei’s scent, his closeness, stirred her body against her will.Dangerous.“Follow if you want,” she told him.“But stay back.”
He smiled, edges softening.“Not my strength.”
“Get in, Tiana.”Keisha ignored the flutter, starting the engine.Her tremor made the wheel hard to grip.
“You and tattoo guy...”Tiana said, buckling in.
“There’s no me and him,” Keisha said firmly.“He’s a source.That’s it.”
“Sure.”Tiana’s skepticism dripped.“That’s why you blushed when he touched you.”
“Focus on your drama,” Keisha deflected.Sergei’s motorcycle roared to life in the mirror, following.
“He likes you,” Tiana said.“Obvious.”
“He’s trouble,” Keisha muttered.“Complicated.”
“Aren’t the good ones?”Tiana grinned, then sobered.“What he said about the Rossis...true?”
“I’m checking irregularities,” Keisha said, cautious.“That’s all I can say.”
“Like selling kids?”Tiana’s bluntness hit hard.“Kids talk.We know when something’s off.”
Sergei’s headlight stayed steady in the mirror, a reluctant anchor.“I’ll figure it out,” Keisha said.“I’ll keep you safe.”
“My last social worker said that.”Tiana’s voice hardened.“Before they split me and Miguel for six months.”
The barb struck hard.
At a red light, Tiana tugged her sleeve.“Something else,” she whispered, glancing at Sergei’s headlight.“Last week, I found boarding school brochures—Switzerland, Connecticut—in my backpack.I didn’t apply.Mrs.Rossi called them ‘opportunities.’”
Keisha’s grip tightened, files flashing in her mind—Coastal’s vanished records, missing checks, fake incomes.“For Miguel too?”
“Just me.”Tiana’s eyes hardened.“I told Mrs.Rossi I’m not leaving him.”
“Good.”Keisha turned right, residential streets closing in.“Act normal.Don’t confront them.”
“You believe me?”
“I do.”Keisha’s voice steadied.“Tomorrow, I’ll pull every Rossi and Coastal file.”
