Kristian’s eyes sharpen to dark points. “The reason you’re here is that your father was stupid enough to take a loan from us. One that he had no chance of repaying.”
I give him a blistering smile. If I never see Kristian again, it will still be too soon. “If you’ll excuse me,” I say, ripping my arm from his grasp, “I have tasks to attend to.”
“I’m sure you do,” he mocks. “Better hurry along. You’ll be busy tonight.”
It takes everything in me not to knee him in the balls, but I force myself to keep on going, taking the stairs two at a time.
I head straight for Oleg’s suite.
It’s the last place I want to be, but it’s the only room that offers an escape.
I should know. I’ve cataloged every inch of space in this house. Memorizing the floor plan, camera angles, guard turnover, and noting anything that could be useful to help me escape. That’s how I know of a small west-facing window in Oleg’s bedroom. There is a Juliet balcony with a drainage pipe running parallel to it.
But the cherry on the sundae—stacks of hundred-dollar bills stuffed under Oleg’s mattress. I found it when I was cleaning his room the other day and nearly wept with joy. This money equals freedom for me and my father.
Dad is still at home in the Brighton Beach area of Brooklyn, unharmed, as part of the deal I made with Oleg. But the moment it’s realized I’m gone, they’ll go after him. That’s why I have to act fast. Get Dad, leave town, go somewhere far from here where the Antonov brotherhood can never find us.
Emerging from the stairwell, I knock a few times on the door to his suite to ensure it’s empty. When there’s no response, I cautiously turn the knob and let myself in.
His cologne hangs heavy in the air, and it’s enough to make me lose my breakfast. Or maybe that’s just nerves. I’m a regular girl born and raised in Brooklyn. I’ve never even been out of state! I’m not especially brave or daring, but today I’ll have to be in order to make it out of here alive.
Dropping the cleaning supplies, I bend down beside the sprawling California king. The mattress is heavy. It usually takes three of us to change his sheets, but now it’s just me, straining with all my might, as I shove my hand between the mattress and box spring, groping wildly.
Footsteps echo past the doorway, and I pull my hand back. A cold sweat breaks out over my skin as two male voices approach, talking in panicked tones. Shit. What would I say if I were caught right now? It certainly wouldn’t look good.
When their voices fade in the distance, I release a tight breath. Plunging my hand under the mattress again, I’m more successful this time. It doesn’t take long before my fingers collide with something, but it’s not cash. It’s cold metal. I hesitate for a moment. I’ve never even held a gun before, and I certainly don’t know what to do with one. Indecision tugs at my gut as I drag the pistol out into the light. A weapon would be useful in case I run into trouble, but the chances are I’ll shoot myself before I’d use it in self-defense.
I abandon the gun under the bed and dive back in for the cash. I pull out two stacks of bills and shove them into my bra because this teeny tiny uniform—if I can even call it that—has no pockets.
With my heart thumping wildly, I head towards the balcony.
That’s when I hear it.
The unmistakable roar of a helicopter—the whirring gets louder and louder until finally not one but several big black choppers come into view. I plaster myself against the wall, inching forward just enough to watch as they land on the back lawn.
Out of nowhere, the air ignites with a massive explosion. My pulse jumps in my throat as I drop flat on my stomach. Gunfire erupts throughout the home, followed by screaming and heavy footsteps.
An icy chill wraps around my skin. The house is under attack.
Outside, all I can see is smoke and chaos. People run in all directions on the lawn below. And like the house, my dream of freedom goes up in smoke.
My best bet is to hide and hope like hell I escape notice.
Scanning the bedroom, my gaze snags on the linen closet discreetly built into the wall on the far side of the room. On unsteady legs, I force myself to move, tucking my body into the closet just as the bedroom door flings open. A predatory presence stalks through the room, moving beyond my little hiding place. I sit frozen in this nightmare, arms wrapped around my legs, stifling the sobs threatening to erupt from my throat.
I don't move. I don’t breathe.
All I can do is pray to the gods above that somehow I get out of here alive.
Chapter2
ANDREI
He’s not here.
That dirty rat fucker abandoned his men at the first sign of trouble. If I wasn’t so irate, I’d laugh at Oleg’s cowardice.
Shots ring out from downstairs and I know my men are making quick work of clearing the rooms in the palatial compound, rounding up Antonov soldiers that seem more confused and disoriented than anything else.