“Are you serious right now?” I demand. “Because I am not in the mood for this.”
Another man emerges out of the side entrance, big and imposing. He comes right up to the driver’s side door, and the driver gets out, still not unlocking my door. What the fuck?
I try my door, but it’s no use. There isn’t a manual lock, there’s no way for me to let myself out. I’m a prisoner in this car, and completely at their mercy.
The two men speak for a second before coming to my door. I’m ready to fight if I have to, though I’d really prefer not to. The only weapon I could possibly use is my shoe. I don’t even have my purse, I realize belatedly, and I threw my phone at Kostya. I am truly and royally screwed here.
The door lock clicks and the driver opens it.
“We apologize for the inconvenience, Ms. Kuznetsova,” he says in a very thick Russian accent. “We’ve been asked to escort you back to Mr. Markov’s suite.”
“No,” I say tightly. “He made it very clear he didn’t want me there. I’m not going back. Take me home.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t an option,” says the other man forcefully. “You will come with us now. It’s a matter of safety.”
I laugh, short and brittle. “Whose safety?” I hiss. “Because I was plenty safe before. Take me home.”
Neither man budges, they just stare at me expectantly, patiently.
“Ms. Kuznetsova,” says the larger man. “You can come with us willingly, or we can carry you up kicking and screaming. The choice is yours.”
Despite everything in me screaming not to go with them, my legs are already moving. I’m too tired to fight properly, too off-balance to make a scene in a dark parking lot with men who clearly do not care about my comfort. I step out of the car and immediately regret it when the ground seems to tilt beneath me.
One of them steadies me with a light grip on my elbow.
“I don’t need help,” I mutter.
He releases me immediately.
We take the service elevator this time, a dark and gritty box without any of the comforts of the guest elevator. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears.
I try again. “Is this about Kostya?” I ask. “Because if he’s throwing some kind of tantrum right now, that is not my problem anymore.”
No one answers.
The elevator doors open onto Andrei’s familiar hallway. My anger sharpens into something hotter and more dangerous.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say under my breath.
They escort me to the same suite I left less than an hour ago. The door opens, and I step inside, already braced to fight him. How dare he demand me back here? I’m not one of his men or an asset. He doesn’t get to just order me around.
Andrei is standing near the desk, jacket on, phone in his hand. He looks up when I enter, and for half a second, somethingunreadable flickers across his face. I can’t tell if it’s relief, annoyance, or some mixture of the two.
“Seriously?” I demand before anyone can say anything else. “Who the hell do you think you are, dragging me back here?”
The guards retreat, closing the door behind them. The click echoes in the room.
“I didn’t drag you,” Andrei says evenly. “I had to bring you back for security reasons.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask. “Because it definitely doesn’t.”
“The important thing is, you’re safe now,” he replies patiently, despite my emotional outburst.
“I was plenty safe when I left,” I shoot back. “You made that very clear.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “Unfortunately, there were some elements we were not aware of at the time. After you left, it became clear that it was better to bring you under my protection.”
I throw my hands up. What the hell does that even mean? My head is pounding and my feet are aching and none of what he’s saying makes sense. One thought is very clear to me, though.
