Chapter 3

He says it with a smile full of teeth. My laugh comes out strained, my breath shallow. I glance at the tattoos curling up his neck, the metallic glint that might be a gun under his shirt. Why the hell did I think he was a cop?

Maybe... maybe he’s a detective. Or some kind of undercover agent.

Or a freaking mafia Claire. God. I just walked straight into something.

Before I can spiral further, a black Audi pulls up. Another sinfully attractive man steps out, black hair, graying at the front, cut sharp. He doesn’t say a word. Just tosses the keys to Aleksei.

Aleksei catches them without looking. Says something quiet in Russian. The man nods.

That must be Niko. His ashy eyes flick to me, and I freeze.

“Come here, naive girl,” Aleksei calls.

I rush over and climb into the passenger seat. The car smells new, like leather and clean steel. Everything gleams. I’ve never been in an Audi before. I sit for a second, wide-eyed.

Then I turn to Aleksei, who’s already pulled onto the road and is gunning it like we’re in Fast & Furious 2.

"My name is Claire," I say, like I'm introducing myself at a job interview. I just hope if I sound nice enough, he’ll drive me to my hotel and not some abandoned warehouse. "Claire Morgan."

He glances at me from the corner of his eye, then smirks, like I’ve just said something funny. “Are you afraid, Claire Morgan?”

“No,” I lie, shaking my head quickly.

“Naive girl.” He chuckles, a rough gravel voice that raises goosebumps on my arms. “At least you know how fast this can turn dangerous.” He doesn’t look at me as the car speeds up even more. “You caught me on a bad day too.”

“Huh?” My breath catches, fear crawling up my throat. My fingers search for the door handle. I’m ready to leap out if this goes south. “You’re not a cop, are you?”

He mutters something in Russian, whatever it is, it’s not flattering. “What part of me looks like a fucking cop?”

Yeah. In the cold light spilling from the dash, I can see it clearly now, he doesn’t just break laws, he breaks them and dares them to fix themselves. He looks like someone who holds the world by the throat and asks it what it’s going to do about it.

I’m in deep, deep shit.

Tears sting my eyes. Everything goes blurry. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just came here for a wedding. I didn’t mean to offend you. Please... let me go.”

He scoffs and says something else in Russian. “Now she cries,” he adds, almost to himself. “What a little bunny you are. Not a spine in you.” His tongue clicks. “Or are you just pretending? Trying to make me pity you?”

“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head, my lips trembling. “I’m serious. I don’t even travel. This is only my second trip out of America. I don’t know how to do anything but code.”

“Code?” His tone shifts, confused now.

“I’m a cyber security specialist,” I explain softly.

“Ah. Technology,” he nods, as if that answers everything. “Then you know about those I* and TikTok things.”

I blink, shoulders sagging in disbelief. What is he even asking? “Yeah. I mean… everybody does.”

He frowns. “It’s not important.”

“It kind of is,” I counter, cautiously.

“It’s not. Plenty of people I know don’t use it. What even is it?”

Now I’m gaping. He doesn’t know TikTok or I*******m? And he thinks that’s what I do? That’s not even remotely close, but it’s such basic knowledge. I grab my phone and just pull up TikTok and hit play on a random video.

Aleksei suddenly pulls the car over.

I clutch my chest and exhale sharply, relieved. I never even gave him my hotel’s address. God only knows where he was actually taking me.

“Let me see that,” he says, snatching the phone out of my hand. He squints at the screen. “This is the TikTok?” He snorts, unimpressed. “So I’m considered an idiot for not knowing this?” he mumbles in Russian.

“It’s just a platform where people post short videos. It’s kinda fun,” I say, shrugging.

“And this I* thing?”

He hands the phone back, and I switch over to my I*******m. I show him my feed, but he snatches it again the second a photo catches his eye. He scrolls, pausing to whistle low when a bikini pic pops up. One of my favorite fitness models. His fingers swipe like he’s playing with a shiny new toy.

Then, suddenly, my voice comes up.

“Here’s my cute cat, Munchkin! Isn’t he the cutest?”

My heart seizes. Not that video.

Before I can stop myself, I lunge for the phone, and somehow I end up right in his lap. We both freeze. His hands are up, holding the phone just out of reach. I’m straddling him, one hand on his chest, and his dark eyes are locked on mine, eyebrows raised.

We stare at each other. Him with my phone in one hand. Me sprawled across his lap like a girl in serious need of better decision-making skills.