Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Pride swells in my chest. Yeah, she’ll be good. The best. But still, this is hard. My protective instinct demands I keep her far away from dangerous situations. Then again, until yesterday, my possessiveness demanded I keep her all to myself. Forever. And if I could change my very nature for her, enough to set her free, I can bend my protectiveness to give her my trust.
“You good?” Ilya asks, searching my eyes.
“Yeah.” I fucking appreciate the butthead right now.
The elevator pings as it reaches the sixth floor.
Grabbing the bag with the security men’s clothes, Ilya says, “Time to play.”
We get out on the top floor. I check the image from the city camera in the street below that feeds to my smartwatch, courtesy of our hackers. Two SUVs with darkened windows park in the street just as the hotel security men pull off in our van. Dimitrov and his men get out of the vehicles. There are five guards and a thin man without an earpiece, who I assume to be the arty dude. Dimitrov walks to a city car parked on the curb. The window on the driver’s side rolls down. He leans inside and exchanges a few words with the driver. Just as I expected, Dimitrov had us watched. It’s a good thing our arrival was well staged. Dimitrov nods. He straightens and pats the roof of the car, then crosses the street with his men. They enter the hotel just as we take the fire escape, making our way to the rooftop.
An ornate wall running around the perimeter protects us from view. We crouch behind it next to the bag with the rifles. Dimitrov should be at the suite now. His men will be searching the room, and Mina will be searching him even as Ilya and I exchange the cotton gloves for thin leather ones.
As I’m zipping the bag with our weapons open, the ringtone of my phone sounds in my ear. I check the caller ID on my watch.
It’s Anton.
A sliver of premonition runs down my spine. He wouldn’t be calling now if it weren’t urgent. He knows we have exactly three minutes before abseiling over the edge of the building to the balcony of the Klimt suite.
Ilya, who’s connected to my smartwatch via our shared communication system, gives me a worried look. I tap the mic once to take the call, checking that my weapon is correctly loaded even as I answer, “Anton?”
“Get Mina out of there!”
My body turns to ice, my veins freezing over.
He continues in a rushed tone. “It’s a trap.”
34
Mina
The arm around my waist squeezes so hard I can’t breathe. Effortlessly, Dimitrov lifts me off my feet.
Fuck. I break out in a sweat. He wasn’t supposed to follow me to the room. How far am I willing to take the seduction game? How long before his expert realizes I tricked them? Surely, if he’s truly an expert, by now he should know the painting is a replica.
I should let Dimitrov feel me up. I’ll catch him by surprise before the mousy man can alert him. We can still pull this off. I can take out both men or at least hold them off until Yan and Ilya arrive.
Trapped between Dimitrov’s body and the bathroom door, I keep still, allowing him to lick the inside of my ear as shivers of revulsion run over me.
“Answer me, Natasha,” he says, hurting me with his tight hold. “Or shall I call you Mink?”
Fuck!
Shock slams into me. It’s a setup.
I don’t think why. I don’t think how. I only think survival.
My seduction plan is useless now. It’s going to be a fight.
Constraining me like this, Dimitrov has the upper hand. I have to break free and fast. I’m in a vulnerable position. He can crush my ribs or snap my neck.
My training takes over. I go into an automatic fighting mode. Slamming back my head, I target the most sensitive part of his body within my reach. A crunch sounds as I hit his nose. The impact has the desired effect.
Letting go, he stumbles back a step. “Fucking bitch!”
I use the opportunity to spin around.
Never give an opponent your back.
Blood streams from his nose. He’s clutching the broken cartilage between his hands, his eyes ablaze with furious hatred. There’s another crunching sound as he sets his nose straight with an evil grin.
Tough bastard.
I bring my leg up fast, aiming for his crotch, but he’s not letting me catch him off-guard again. He jumps back, avoiding the kick. At the same time, he pulls back an arm and swings a fist at me.
But I’m fast, too. I duck before the blow connects, using the momentum to make a sideway roll and smoothly push to my feet a short distance away. It’s an agile dance that comes easy, one that was drilled into me until it became second nature. I’m now in the narrow space between the bed and the wall, and the nightstand is at my back.