Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“Do you care for Alexei?” Franco’s voice breaks through the silence, surprising me.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.
“He cares for you too,” Franco replies. “But you must understand, it is easier to believe the worst in people. Easier to believe than having blind faith.”
“I don’t even know what happened,” I tell him. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“He will have answers soon,” Franco says. “He will come back and…”
He slams on the brakes and his voice halts abruptly.
I look up just in time to see a flash of color exploding into the night sky ahead of us while the ground vibrates beneath of us. My ears are ringing, and time seems to slow down as the car comes to a halt.
I am vaguely aware that Franco is yelling at me, but it’s distorted. Only when he reaches over and shoves me from the car, do I understand him.
“Run.”
The two second delay feels like a lifetime as I stumble from the car in my confusion. I’m doing what he says, even as I glance back over my shoulder and look for him.
But he isn’t getting out of the car. He’s driving it in reverse, crashing into the SUV behind him. And then in one horrifying second, they are both gone.
Another flash of fiery orange, another vibration. A chunk of metal slices into my leg and the force of it knocks me to my knees.
I’m frozen in horror, looking back at the mass of metal skeletons lining the road. Nothing more than a fiery ball of flames.
“Franco?” I cry out. “Franco?”
But he isn’t there.
Because there’s nothing left of the car but pieces.
And the horrifying realization of what just happened washes over me as I gasp for breath. He kept driving. To save me. To keep the blasts away from me.
Fear and grief swell inside of me as I glance around the highway. I am alone. And I am bleeding from the leg. I’m in shock. But the only thing I can focus on is that someone tried to kill us. All of us.
My first instinct is to run. To move on autopilot.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know anything.
The only thing I know is that I have to keep going. And so I do.
I move into the brush along the side of the road, using it for cover. Only then do I slow to a walk. At some point, I hear sirens in the distance. But I don’t trust them. So I keep moving.
I walk for hours. Until the road meets the freeway and I’m a safe enough distance from the crash. Until I can’t walk anymore. Until I’m nearly doubled over in pain. And I have no other choice.
I move up into view and watch for passing cars.
A woman in a sedan pulls up beside me, frowning when she sees my pregnant belly and the blood on my leg.
“Honey, are you okay?”
“I need a ride,” I tell her.
She ushers me inside the car, and I don’t hesitate.
I’m exhausted, terrified, and heartbroken.
Franco.
His name brings tears to my eyes as the woman in the driver’s seat pulls back onto the road.
“Where are you headed?” she asks. “It looks like you need a doctor.”
“No,” I tell her. “I’m okay.”
There’s only one place I can think to go. The one place where my past and present will finally collide.
“Can you just take me to Slainte?” I direct her. “In Boston?”
47
Alexei
Arman’s guards let me in without protest when I tell them I’m here to discuss Talia.
Nikolai glances at me, the same question in his own eyes as we exit the car. I expected more of a fight. But the guards did not seem tense. Or even ready for a fight.
“It is what he wants,” I tell Nikolai. “Don’t be fooled by the accommodation.”
But even as we are greeted at the door by another guard, something feels off. This is Arman’s head of security. And even he does not seem particularly bothered by my presence.
Perhaps they believe me weak, now that they are aware of my secret. That I pose no threat at all to them. Or perhaps they believe that I would not be foolish enough to walk in here with only one other man and attempt anything.
But they are wrong, on both counts.
Arman is sitting at his dining table as he always is. Stuffing his face full of food and drink.
“Mr. Nikolaev.” He greets me as though we are old friends.
What he really sees when he looks at me is dollar signs. Money. The thing that makes the world go round. The thing that keeps his table bountiful and fresh slaves in his basement whenever his heart desires.
“Good evening, Arman,” I greet him in an equally friendly manner.
His eyes move to Nikolai, but I don’t bother to introduce them.
“I am here to discuss the return of your cherished slave,” I announce. “And also, my friend would like to see what other merchandise you have available.”