Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Am I destined to repeat history? It’s too dangerous for me to be going back here with Taara, but hell if I didn’t try to stop her. I did, damn it.
But did you try hard enough?
I let her talk me into taking her tonight, and that could’ve ended in disaster. Christ.
She’s too young. Too innocent. This isn’t right at all.
Finally, after stewing for hours, I fall into a fitful, restless sleep. When we wake, we’re getting ready to land. I pull out my phone and call Demyan.
“Brother, we’ve landed.”
“I’ve got a car waiting.”
I fill him in on what happened tonight. “I have no idea who she was, but she’s got to have connections here.”
“No one will know you’re here.”
I hang up with him and call Nicolai. After I tell him what’s happened, I tell him we’re heading incognito to Moscow’s compound.
“All good here, except there’s something I need to tell you,” he says.
I rub the back of my hand across my brow and nod into the phone. “Yeah?”
“It’s Taara’s mother.”
Shit.
“What about her?”
“She’s not doing so well. A few hours ago, they found her in her room, and it appears she’s had a heart attack and a fall.”
Jesus.
“It’s not looking good, if we’re being honest.”
And we just fucking landed here. Part of me wants to turn right back around and take her home, but that makes no sense. Taara meets my eyes and smiles. She has no idea how the information I’m hearing will impact her. I force a smile and squeeze her hand.
I sigh. “Alright. Thanks for letting me now.” I’ll tell her, but not now. Not when we’re twenty minutes out from the compound, on the run, having undergone so much in a short time and only just arriving in Moscow. Jesus.
“Thank you. And how’s Marissa?”
“Doing alright,” he says. “Little bit of a scare earlier. It looked like she might’ve been in pre-term labor, but thankfully fine.”
I should be there, not here. Ready to help my son usher another child into this world. Back where Taara can visit her mother. But hell, if we don’t find out why they want me dead, what possible good am I there?
Taara hears my phone conversations, but doesn’t interject or say a word, until we’re just outside the Moscow compound.
“Anything I should know?” she asks.
“No one knows we’re here.”
She nods slowly. “Alllrighty then…” her voice trails off. “Got it.”
I don’t tell her about her mother. There’s nothing she can do right now, not when we’re this far away from home. I will tell her when the time is right.
We exit the plane and head to our waiting car. I recognize the men who wait for us and greet them each in turn. Part of Demyan’s Moscow strike force, they visited us a year or so ago when they had dealings in Atlanta. They’re strong and brawny, each bearing the signature Bratva ink.
Taara’s head bobs to the side as we head to Demyan’s. She’s so tired. Soon, we arrive, and the sun is high on the horizon. Thanks to the length of our flight and the time zone change, it’s early evening here in Russia, and the cities are alive with merchants and their wares. But my only concern is to get Taara back to safety.
“How do you know you can trust him?” she asks.
“Trust who?”
“This man in charge in Moscow.”
“You’ll know when you meet him.”
One of the men in the front of the car looks at us in the rearview mirror but doesn’t interject in the conversation.
“Your flight was good, then?” one asks.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Larissa’s prepared dinner for you,” a second says. These men, unlike the men in my Bratva group, have heavier Russian accents and bear different ink, though all have the same stern and formidable air.
And we don’t have to wait long for me to prove to Taara she can trust Demyan. The ride from the airport to the compound is swift, the roads clear.
“Does Larissa cook, too, like Caroline?”
The man driving us smirks and shakes his head. “Not quite. But the staff does whatever she asks, and she’s arranged this for you.
Taara nods and yawns. “So weird how we’re here, and we basically flew the whole day away.”
“Have you flown this far before?”
“Well, not that I remember,” she says. “I was a child when we flew to America.”
Yes. She was a child. It’s a stark reminder of how much younger she is than I am. But in the back of that car, with her head on my shoulder, I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. I’ve long since discarded any proper notion of love and relationships. Taara is honest and kind, and she’s put up with my shit better than any other woman I’ve known. That matters.
“Here we are.” The driver pulls into a long driveway, our tires crunching on gravel.