Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Even before I spot Dima, I know it will be him. The knowledge comes neither with warmth nor rancor. Just certainty. Dima and I can’t help but orbit around each other, even after we’ve agreed we don’t want to.
“Okay, okay.” Dima immediately spreads his arms out to the side, his fingers lifted away from the gun as he slowly bends his knees and lowers it to the ground. He keeps his eyes glued to Alex.
“Kick it this way,” Alex orders.
I try to jerk my face away from Alex’s hand. His palm smells like sweat and metal. My legs barely hold me, so I’m slumped heavily against Alex’s body for support. Maybe that’s a good thing if it will keep him off-balance. I make myself heavier, tottering against him.
Dima complies with the order, gingerly kicking the gun in our direction. It skids across the asphalt, spinning to a stop halfway between us. “Let her go.” He slowly lowers to his knees with his hands behind his head like he’s under arrest.
My stomach sinks as I realize he’s surrendering to Alex—for me.
“I asked for Ravil,” Alex snarls.
“Ravil’s on his way,” Dima promises. “I followed from Starbucks. Listen to me—you want Ravil, no? Take me instead. Let Natasha go. She’s not part of this.”
Alex’s hold on my jaw tightens, wrenching at my neck. “No, she stays right where she is.”
Dima shakes his head. He’s twenty-five yards away, but even from here, I see he’s pale and sweating—afraid for me. “She is nothing to Ravil. Just girl in building.” His accent’s thick with fear. “I am bratva brother to him. Take me instead. Just… let her go.” He inches forward on his knees.
“Stay where you are!” Alex yells.
Dima freezes. “Let her go. Please—pozhaluysta.” He’s begging for me now.
Yesterday—a lifetime ago—I would’ve been moved to see the depth of Dima’s fear for me. Right now, though, I register it with only pain. I’ve shut the door to my feelings for Dima. Nothing will make me open it back up.
Dima shifts on his knees. No, he’s creeping forward again.
“You move another fucking inch, and Natasha gets hurt. Understand?”
I note that Alex says hurt, not killed. Maybe I’m loony, but I don’t believe he’d actually shoot me. Of course, I thought he liked me, and I didn’t believe he was using me to get to the brava, either.
Dima’s lips peel back from his teeth in rage, but I watch as he sucks his fury back down. When he speaks, he makes his voice conciliatory. Pleading, even. “Alex, you don’t want to hurt her—I know you don’t. You didn’t mean to shoot Nikolai, either, did you? Put the safety back on the gun. We don’t want another accident.”
Something he says must get through to Alex because he eases the butt of the gun from my head. It’s still pointed at me, but the metal isn’t pressed to my scalp anymore.
Dima’s careful to keep his eyes on Alex, only flicking to me for milliseconds. “What’s wrong with her?” he demands now.
“She’s all right. I gave her a muscle relaxant.”
Yes, and it’s made me a confused stew of uselessness. Sluggish heartbeats hit my ribs with sickening thuds of fear.
“Please. I won’t move. Let her come to me. Then you can put gun on both of us at the same time.” He spares a quick glance at me. “Can you walk, Natasha?”
Alex pulls my body in front of him as a shield. “She’s not going anywhere,” he snarls. “Where is Ravil?”
The elevator dings and Alex swivels to face it, keeping me in front of him as a human shield. The doors open revealing Ravil with his hands in the air. He’s in khakis and a dress shirt, open at the throat. His body language is relaxed, despite the hostage situation playing out in front of him. He steps out and walks toward us, his pace neither slow nor fast, his bearing one of unflappable calm—even ease.
“You’re looking for me?” His mild-mannered question seems to irritate Alex, who brings the butt of the gun against my temple again.
I whimper.
Dima inches forward on his knees in the direction of his gun. I catch the movement of shadows emerging from the ramp area. The bratva is here.
Ravil stops, perhaps recognizing that his advance was antagonizing Alex. “This is personal, no? What have I done to invoke your wrath?”
“You killed my father,” Alex spits.
Ravil’s brows lower. “Oh? It’s possible. Who is your father?”
“Sergei Litvin. Do you remember him? Your bratva cell killed him.”
“Sergei Litvin?” Ravil scoffs. “Your father is not dead.”
Alex splutters, shaking me like I’m the one telling him lies. “He was killed in 1998 in Russia—Moscow.”
Ravil walks forward at that same leisurely pace. “Sergei is my bratva brother. He is alive and well in Moscow. Who told you I killed him?”
Alex is breathing hard through his nose, but his hold on me loosens. The gun drifts away from my head.