Page 11 of Bound in Possession

I blink up at him, my mind entirely shrouded in a half-asleep fog, though a deep irritation sparks instantly. "What?" I mumble, wincing slightly as I shift and remind my bruised ribs of their existence. "And where are we going in the middle of the night?"

"It is five in the morning. Move."

He doesn't offer an explanation. Instead, he drops a neatly folded bundle of fabric onto the edge of the mattress, along with a pair of shoes.

I shake my head, trying to clear the sleep from my brain, and sit up. That is when I realize a rather crucial detail. I look down at the plush mattress beneath me, then glance over at the completely vacant sofa across the room.

"Wait a moment," I say, crossing my arms and glaring up at him with sleepy suspicion. "I remember falling asleep on the couch. How did I end up in your bed?"

Maksim doesn't even blink. "You were snoring. It was annoying me."

"I do not snore," I fire back, my voice dripping with offense. "And even if I did, that hardly gives you the right to transport me while I am unconscious."

"Consider it a courtesy upgrade," he replies smoothly, leaning down slightly to get directly into my line of sight. "Now get dressed. We leave for the tarmac in ten minutes. If you’re not ready by then, I will take you out of this room naked.”

He turns and strides toward the door, leaving me alone to process his words.

Bastard.

He wouldn’t do that. Or would he?

Realizing I don’t know this man, I decide it’s best to do as I’m told. Grumbling under my breath about his complete lack of boundaries, I reach over and unfurl the bundle of clothing he left behind.

I pause, my annoyance momentarily giving way to sheer bewilderment.

It is a beautiful, understated day dress—and when I check the tag, it is precisely my size. Right beside it is a pair of elegant, low-heeled leather sandals that look like they were plucked directly from my own closet. I stare at the ensemble, a million questions running through my head. How on earth did a Russian boss acquire high-end women's apparel in my exact measurements in the dead of night while we were supposedly hiding out?

I decide I don't even want to know the answer. There are far more pressing matters at hand—like figuring out which country I am about to be flown to.

By the time Maksim returns to the bedroom, I am fully dressed. The dress fits beautifully, skimming over my bandaged ribs without pulling at the stitches, and the sandals are surprisingly comfortable.

He gives me a brief, approving nod, his eyes lingering on how the fabric sits on my frame for a fraction of a second before his stoic mask returns. He ushers me out of the room and down the stairs.

Within minutes, we are locked inside the back of a heavily armored SUV. The sky outside is a bruised, pre-dawn purple as the vehicle speeds away from the house.

I turn to him, crossing my legs. "Where are you taking me to?"

"The airport," he says flatly, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead.

"Where exactly are we flying to, Maksim?"

"The United States. New York.”

I let out a slow, quiet breath, a massive wave of relief washing over me. I am going home. New York, the familiar streets, the comfort of my own world. More importantly, I will be closer to my sisters. If I can just get word to them, they can help me figure out a way out of this madness.

The SUV navigates through a private, highly secure entrance at the edge of the tarmac, bypassing the main terminals entirely. We pull up directly alongside a massive, sleek private jet. The perimeter is crawling with armed guards, all moving with military precision.

Maksim guides me up the steps and into the luxurious cabin. Dmitri is already inside, deeply engrossed in a tablet, alongside a handful of large, silent men whose holstered weapons are impossible to miss.

As the jet begins to taxi down the runway, a familiar, icy dread settles into my stomach. I absolutely despise flying.

I do everything in my power to hide it. I sit back in the plush leather seat, locking my jaw, but my fingers betray me—they grip the armrests so tightly my knuckles turn stark white. I close my eyes, forcing my breathing into a slow, rigid pattern to combat the sudden spike of nausea.

"You're going to break the leather, printsessa."

I open my eyes to find Maksim sitting directly across from me. He is leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gray-blue eyes locked onto my face. He noticed.

“Stop looking at me,” I manage to say, trying to keep my voice light, though it trembles slightly as the engines roar to a deafening pitch.