Chapter 2

“Who the fuck is it?” The man still gripping me like I’m his property turns toward the guy who just showed up. I thought they were together, but maybe not. Maybe, finally, someone heard me screaming and came.

“It’s me, you stupid fucks.” He steps into the light, and I see him more clearly now. My mouth goes dry at the size of him, tall, easily more than six feet, and broad. Those shoulders could lift a boulder. He’s wearing a dark shirt and pants, and he looks like sin, like he walked straight out of one of my dark fantasies. Black hair cropped at the sides. He makes me forget I’m surrounded by men. I can’t even understand what he’s saying, literally, he is speaking Russian.

“What are you gonna do?” His hands stay buried in his pockets, that lazy, casual air still hanging on him as he stares the men down.

“Shit. It’s Drognov,” one of them mutters, shoving the guy next to him. That pulls my attention to him. “Let’s get out of here.” They’re all speaking Russian, which I don’t understand a word of. The guy still gripping me lets go like I’ve caught fire. He snaps something quickly, but the new guy just watches them in silence, like they’re boring him.

“Don’t touch women,” he says once they pause. “At least not where I can see it. You wanna die?”

“We didn’t know you were in the area, Drognov.”

He lifts one hand and waves them off, like he’s shooing flies. They scatter fast, no questions asked.

I turn to him, relief washing over me. “Are you a cop?” I ask. He doesn’t look like one, but the security he brings and the way those guys respected him, it feels like maybe he is. Maybe he’s just off duty.

“Cop is how you say…” He thinks for a second. “Militsiya?” Then a strange smile curls his lips. “What a naive woman.”

“Hey, please don’t speak Russian, I don’t understand even a little bit,” I say, hoping he’ll be one of the decent ones. From everything I’ve heard, Russian men aren’t exactly known for being kind. And while he’s hot, I’m still scared. He might be just as much of an asshole as the rest of them.

“My English is difficult,” he says, leaning down toward me. “And I don’t have time to entertain naive women.” The second part is in Russian, but I respond to what I can understand.

“It’s okay. I’ll manage.” His accent is thick, but he speaks. I smile and ask, “What’s your name? Thank you for saving me back there.”

“What is a woman doing walking out here at night?” he asks instead of answering.

“I was just trying to go home, but I can’t find a single taxi.” I glance around. The street is way too quiet, too empty.

“You won’t find one. Not until morning. Drivers don’t come here at night.”

My eyes go wide. “Are you saying I have to walk all the way back to the hotel?”

He shrugs like it’s not his problem and starts walking away.

“Wait!” I run after him. Just three of his strides already put a ridiculous distance between us. “What do I do? How can I get back?”

He makes a weird sound in his throat, like a growl, and his lazy eyes lock on me. “Why is that something I have to tell you?”

“Please. I’m begging you. I’m really stranded, and I don’t know anybody here.” We didn’t rent a car, it would’ve made an already expensive trip worse. And I walked away from hitching a ride with the others when they were ready to leave, which now feels like the dumbest decision I’ve ever made in a foreign country.

“Call someone,” he says, still walking.

I’m practically jogging to keep up, breath fast and shallow, and he’s not even walking fast. “I don’t know anyone. My–” I stutter, the thought catching in my throat as I remember the people I came here with. The ones I’d planned to spend what was supposed to be a fun, once-in-a-blue-moon trip with. Turns out they were all assholes. I drag my mind back before it spirals, I’m not ready to deal with that yet.

He’s not even listening. He’s looking straight ahead like I’m a mosquito buzzing around his ear.

“Hey.” I reach out and grab his sleeve. He stops when the fabric snags in my hand. The way he looks down at it, at me, makes me swallow and let go fast.

“Look,” I say, “I’ll pa–pa–” The word dies in my mouth the second I see his Rolex. His designer shoes. The diamond studs in his ears, I pray they’re fake. My brain stalls, tripping over the thought before it can land.

That gets his attention. One corner of his mouth twitches upward. “You’ll pay me?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, I meant, ” I scramble, desperate. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?” he repeats, and the way he says it, it belongs in a book of banned words. I flush. His black eyes rake over me, and suddenly the neckline of my gown feels way too low. I tug it up and clear my throat, trying to meet his eyes.

“It’s not like that,” I say.

“It’s not like what?” His brow arches, and I realize he’s teasing me, maybe even baiting me.

“I mean, ” I wave my hands, fumbling. “I’ll give you anything you want. Not that I have anything right now, I know, but if you help me today, I’ll... I’ll figure something out.”

He just gives me a look, then pulls out his phone. In Russian, he says, “Niko, get the car here. I’m at Zernov and Parkov Street.” The call ends after what sounds like a barked order.

I glance at his hands, tattoos cover his knuckles, two heavy signet rings glint under the streetlight. A small warning bell rings in my head.

“What’s your name?” I ask, pulling out my phone. I want to type it down and send it to Jenna or Freya, even though they’re both on my shit list right now. At least if I don’t make it back to the hotel, someone will know who last saw me.

“You don’t want to know,” he says.

“Why? Are you a secret agent or something?” I try to laugh, but it sounds hollow. He probably hears the fear under it.

“It’s Aleksei,” he says. “But don’t go around telling people you know me. That’ll get you killed.”