I should say, “For you, Chelle.”
But I don’t.
I guess she’s right. I do hold my cards close to my chest. Because I don’t want to show her my hand. The one that’s all hearts. And they’re all for her.
Instead, I just leave her there in the bathroom to go and find us something for dinner. I let her decipher me all on her own.
If she can.
Chelle
I try calling Zane, but he doesn’t answer, so I text instead. What is happening? To whom do you owe money now?
When he doesn't answer, I try again. Nikolai will pay them off.
I don’t even think twice about getting in deeper with Nikolai. I don’t want to unpack it right now, but I’m probably secretly relieved our thirty days might not be over in less than two weeks. That I might owe him more.
Because I love the way he exacts his due from me.
This time Zane replies. Are you crazy? I was trying to get the money to pay the bratva off. I hate what you’re doing for me.
Grr. Logically, his response makes sense, but it brings up a huge wall of defensiveness. Fuck. Him. I chose to do this, and I told him I was fine. I hate the way he makes it feel icky. Sordid and shameful and wrong.
I hate all of it.
No, that’s not necessarily true. I don’t hate being here. I don’t hate what I have with Nikolai.
Except, what do I have? The guy just held and washed me with total kindness in the shower, but he’s basically bought—well, rented me—for a month. We have an expiration date. So I don’t really have anything.
I write back, I don’t hate it.
Zane texts, ???
I start to text, Nikolai is and then stop. Nikolai is what? Not so bad? Wonderful? Good to me?
That’s when it hits me full force. I’ve been resisting this whole time, but it was useless: I’m falling in love with Nikolai.
The thought strikes new anxiety in me, sharp and electrifying. Different from the gut-churning worry over Zane. This is a full-throttle out-of-control sensation that zings from my scalp to the soles of my feet. I can’t be with Nikolai.
I can’t.
It’s not possible. I’m a good girl. I have a college degree and a career as a junior publicist. I’m going places. I’m not going to—I can’t—mix with the Russian bratva.
I can’t.
I won’t.
But I type it anyway because Zane should understand that I trust Nikolai. Nikolai is good to me.
He must trust Nikolai on some level, too, because he wanted him to protect me from the people who trashed my apartment.
Zane doesn’t answer, but I experience a trickle of relief at having explained. Zane will let Nikolai pay his debt. This one crisis can be solved.
The other one—the one about my foolish heart—can be dealt with later.
19
Nikolai
The next day, we meet up in Ravil’s office. Ravil provided a couple apartments in the building to the former slaves and Svetlana, Natasha’s mom, who is a nurse midwife, has offered them medical care. Nadia and Adrian interviewed them to see what could be gleaned about how they ended up in the U.S.
“It was Poval,” Adrian spits, pacing around the office like a caged animal. “Same operation that took Nadia. They came on shipping containers across the ocean then were trucked to Chicago.”
“Anything you can find about the actual shipping containers could help me trace the money,” Dima says from the laptop screen. “But I also may have a lead on finding Poval.”
Adrian stops and swings his head in the direction of the screen. “What lead?”
“He has a daughter. She’s in college in the U.K.”
“What is her name?” Adrian’s cuts across the room with deadly precision.
Dima hesitates, his gaze meeting Ravil’s through the screen. Everyone in this office knows what Adrian will do with that information.
But she’s an innocent. A young woman, like Nadia, who probably has nothing to do with her father’s criminal empire.
I don’t think Adrian would harm her. He’s too protective of women for that. But he would probably use her for leverage. Just like I’d used Chelle.
Ravil inclines his head.
“I’ll send you the information,” Dima promises.
Chelle
The next day, I head out of my building to wait for my Russian chauffeur/bodyguard. Nikolai wanted me to call in sick to work, but I refused. There was way too much work to be done, and Janette’s not the type of boss who lets you work from home. She likes to do things in person.
I did promise not to go out to lunch, and I texted him an hour before I was ready to be picked up in the evening.
Traffic seems to be stalled in front of our building with construction. I scan the cars for his red Tesla.
My phone beeps with an incoming text. I reach for it in my purse at the same time something hard presses in my back.
“Scream and you’re dead.” The rough male voice behind me is unfamiliar.
My fingers close around my phone, and I hold it tight, my mind racing to formulate a plan.
“I’ll take that.” He reaches in my purse and pries the phone from my fingers. “Turn left and walk quickly to the corner.” He jabs the gun against my kidney.
I stall, still scanning for Nikolai.
“Now or I shoot you right here in the street.”
Stubbornness kicks in. “You wouldn’t,” I say. “You need me alive.”
“Move or your punk-ass brother dies.” The guy grasps the back of my hair and uses it to propel me to the corner.
His words make my feet move, even though I’m pretty sure I should just fight here on the street where I have a better chance of getting away.
“Where is Zane?” I demand.
“He’s in the white van. If you want him to stay alive, you’ll get in quietly with him.”
They definitely know the right buttons to push. I’m not about to fight if Zane is right there and needs me.
The van door opens, and I see two guys in it but not Zane. I try to stop moving, but it’s too late. Something hard cracks down on the back of my head and everything goes black.
Nikolai
* * *
I’m crawling the glass ceiling of my Tesla because there’s goddamn construction or something on the blocks around Chelle’s office, and I can’t get through to pick her up.
I don’t like it. There’s an itchy feeling crawling up the back of my neck, especially because Zane hasn’t answered his phone all day, and Dima couldn’t track it—like he turned it off, or it’s dead.
I put an actual tracker that can’t be turned off in Chelle’s phone last night after she went to bed, so at least I have that. Zane’s safety is unfortunately as important to me as Chelle’s because I don’t want her to be damaged over something that happens to him.
I text Chelle to tell her to wait inside the building until I can get there, but she doesn’t text back.
I try calling, but she doesn’t answer.
That prickly feeling in full force, I pull up the tracking software. It looks like she’s standing in front of her building.