VANNAH, ONE WEEK LATER
Islip the key into my father’s lock and ease inside the dark space. I’ve been staying low for the past few days at his place and it seems to be paying off. Well, knock on wood. So far so good anyway. No Maxim and no East Syndicate. The former doesn’t know where to find me given he doesn’t even know my last name and the latter thinks I’m tucked beneath the waves.
Well, screw them both!
I toss my keys on the table beside the front door, the sound echoing off the bare walls. It’s eerie not seeing family photographs or smelling his favorite cigar lingering in the air after dinner.
Nostalgia for how things used to be rips at my heart as I strip out of my uniform letting it drop to the floor.
“Shower, food, pack another couple of boxes and then bed.” I got this.
I’ve kept the lights off and use my phone’s flashlight feature to keep from drawing attention while I try to sell the place. Nosy neighbors are a real thing to fear. So far, I’ve kept Serenity at bay as she waits for the arrival of her newborn but it won’t be long before she hunts me down. I had to take a day’s worth of docked pay for the day I missed. I didn’t try to sell them on the fact I was tied up and being dumped in the middle of the ocean. I don’t think they would believe me. I barely believe myself.
I kick a box out of the way and stack a few others. After a few calls, I finally found a real estate agent willing to sell the place as is. She’s due tomorrow and assures me the dreamy staircases and massive libraries will put money in my bank account fast. I like that. I’ll take a hit on the asking price because of the nail holes and unpolished banisters. But I’m sure the ritzy two-story marble-covered villa will net me enough to start over in California.
In nothing but black panties and a matching bra, I pad barefoot toward the stairs. The bottoms of my feet are the only cool things about me but a cold shower will help. The AC unit broke long before I moved in and a Florida summer is akin to living in the bowels of hell. I make a turn at the foot of the stairs to double-check the windows and make sure everything is locked down tight. I can just sleep in the freaking shower tonight and then maybe beg a repairman to take a look at the two-decade-old broken unit at the back of the house before the agent arrives. I gather my uniform and check the tips I earned from job numero uno.
Err…twenty bucks probably won’t pay even half of the repair bill. I take out the tips from job numero dos and ditto.
Shit. Why did my dad have to move us to Florida?
I release the tight bun holding my hair from my face and let it fall around my shoulders. The relief is instant.
Maybe Serenity’s offer isn’t so bad after all, but knowing the East Syndicate is possibly lurking around I can’t risk bringing danger to her doorstep.
I flick my phone’s dim light around and start back toward the staircase and jump so high my phone clatters to the floor. The puny beam washes the immediate area around me in dim white light. Not enough to see the features of the hulking man rising from the armchair in the far corner of the entryway, but enough to tell me I don’t stand a chance.
The room is silent as I face off with the shadow. “What the fuck do you people want?” I shriek.
Waiting for a knife to be driven into my midriff in the form of an answer isn’t my style. Bare feet hit hardwood as I bolt for the front door but the large shadow moves faster.
I’m hauled against solid rock and my lungs clench closed.
Warm lips press against my ear and my body does an impression of a steel rod.
“Krasivaya siren, what did you do to your beautiful hair?” That voice has my chest easing enough to where I don’t pass out. When I draw in air, I get a lungful of smoky orange with an undercurrent of bourbon.
Maxim.
My scared brain didn’t recognize the formidable shoulders or the unique calluses on his thumbs and index fingers. But now that I’m more pissed than scared I can’t help but think I should have known he would eventually find me. And if he could, so can the East Syndicate.
Maxim pins me to his chest with one arm while he reaches for tumbling strands of hair falling over my shoulders. I try to bat his hands away but you can imagine how that turns out.
He only mutters something in Russian and continues doing whatever the fuck he wants. Because he freaking Maxim Novak.
He rubs the ends of my hair between two fingers and considers it like it offends him personally. “What does it look like? I dyed it.”
His forehead wrinkles with a scowl. “It looks like you dunked your head in a barrel of oil, malyshka. Didn’t the stylist tell you raven black is not your color?”
My mouth drops open at his frankness. “Excuse me? I don’t think I asked your opinion of my hair color choices.”
But he’s right. No way I’ll ever say that out loud, though. I went with anything that would help my honey-red hair not make me stand out like a shiny beacon in the Florida sun. Besides, L’Oréal’s Black Sapphire was on sale.
The puckered scowl on his face drives another nail into my wounded pride.
“It will wash out, da?”
“Nyet, asshole. I plan on keeping this color for a long time.” I bought a Russian English dictionary. I’m learning one word at a time.