MADISYN
Sleight of hand.Isn’t that how magicians keep their tricks from being revealed? Apparently, I’m not too bad at it, either.
My cousin gave me a magic kit for my seventh birthday, and it turns out it’s the best gift that I ever received.
The thumb drive moves from my hand to my palm, to the tips of my fingers. Thankfully, it’s incredibly small, and Mikhail hasn’t noticed that I have it in my possession as he searches every inch of me.
I need to do something with it and store it some place until I leave, which could take some time. I’m supposed to call Agent Lexington on a number that’s being routed to appear as a tow company if anyone investigates the call.
Except Mikhail is giving me the number of someone he knows, and if his friend shows up, how will I explain the situation? I need to get close with Mikhail, not blow my cover at the first opportunity possible.
I dial the number Mikhail relays to me and wait for someone to answer. Except it rings endlessly. I shake my head. “It’s just ringing.” I’ve lost count of how many times the phone has rung, but they don’t have voicemail to leave a message.
Relief floods through me. “Do you have another number? Someone else we can call?” I suggest, hoping that he takes the bait.
“I’ll text him,” Mikhail says, and gestures for me to hang up the phone.
My hair is still damp and sticking to my clean, dry t-shirt, making me chilly. There’s a fireplace on the opposite wall, but it’s not turned on.
I approach the fireplace. There are fake logs, and it looks like a gas fireplace.
“Does it work?” I ask, hoping it produces heat. I’m still cold from the rain. It doesn’t help that my hair is damp. I rub my hands together, trying to warm myself up.
Mikhail strides across the space between us and reaches for the switch on the wall. Immediately, the fire comes to life.
There’s a warmth that radiates from the fake flames. My nose tickles with the smell. It has a faint odor of gas, but it seems to dissipate after a few seconds. “Thank you,” I say.
He grabs a throw blanket tucked away in a drawer and drapes it over my shoulders like a shawl. “You might want to borrow this for a bit, too,” he says.
While his demeanor is gruff, the simple act of kindness feels almost unnatural. But I take the blanket, nevertheless. I’m freezing, and it offers me a bit of warmth to get comfortable.
“I have to admit…” Mikhail’s voice is low and rumbly. He folds his arms across his chest. His gaze latches on me.
I wait for him to speak and pull the blanket tighter around myself. My hands clutch the scratchy navy fabric.
“I would have expected Steele to pay their nurses better.”
I tremble from the chill in the air, along with his icy words. “What do you mean?”
How does he know what I make? Or what I supposedly make for a living.
“That piece of shit car outside,” Mikhail says and gestures with his thumb toward the front of the building where I broke down.
“I don’t have the best credit,” I say, thinking up an excuse as quickly as I can. “And aside from the monthly payments, the interest is just obnoxious.”
He lets out a slight huff, and his gaze narrows. “Well, then you'd better learn to pay your bills on time. You’re not going to make it into work with that hunk of metal sitting in front of my house.”
“I’ll pay to have it towed,” I say.
“You will pay, but not with money,” Mikhail says.
I can’t believe the nerve of him! Does he think I’ll just fall into his bed because I’m under his roof?
“Excuse me?” I remove the blanket, no longer cold.
No, I’m steaming. Fuming with rage as I break the distance between us and come to stand toe-to-toe with him. My hands are balled into fists, and I shove the blanket at his chest.
“You heard me,” Mikhail says, a snicker on his face. “You come into my home, wear my clothes, and use my phone. You can expect to owe me something in return.”
“Owe you?” I’m appalled by his suggestion, and I downright ought to be. “I’ll be going,” I say and brush past him for the open door into the hallway.
Mikhail grabs me by the arm. “You’re not going anywhere without my permission.”
“Excuse me?” Who the hell does he think he is? I yank my arm and attempt to break free from his grasp, but his hold on me tightens. “Let me go,” I seethe.
His darkened stare glides down my body. “And you’ll go where, exactly? Your shoes are soaked. Your clothes are in my dryer. And if you’ve forgotten, it’s still raining outside. The streets are icy by now, and no one is coming to get you,” Mikhail says.
My shoulders slump at his words.
Defeated.
I feel like he’s treating me as though I were a child, berating me for having a temper tantrum of some sort. Except this isn’t an outburst. It’s me trying to get away from the monster towering over me.
He blocks my escape, his body large enough to keep me from slipping past him and into the hallway.
“I’ll walk home,” I say, staring up into his cold gaze. “I’m not afraid of a little rain.” Does he think I’ll melt?
“It’s icy and dangerous outside,” Mikhail reminds me. “You’re lucky your car broke down and you didn’t crash into something outside. Now, come with me.” He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the study.
I wanted to leave that room, but now that he’s in control and dragging me through his enormous home, I don’t want to follow him.
“Get off me!” I try to shrug out of his grasp, but his hands are massive, and he’s strong. A few maneuvers I learned at the academy in Quantico could take his ass down, but I don’t want him suspecting that I’m a federal agent.
Instead, that leaves me with being dragged by this mammoth of a man. Hairy. Beastly. And not the least bit pleasant to be around.
“You could say thank you, Mikhail,” he quips, mocking me. “I did save your life,” he snarls at me, and I shudder.
There’s a smile that shines in his eyes, a glint of humor and joy behind his darkened gaze.
“Thank you,” I mutter under my breath.