The Kovalyov Family Compound—Los Angeles, California
“Stop fucking struggling, you little bitch!” the guard snarls at me. His hand is wrapped around my forearm in a vise-grip that I can’t shake.
Phoenix is struggling in my arms. He’s been crying for so long that I’m starting to get worried by the color in his cheeks.
All through the chaos at the café, the car ride here, the rough drag up the steps and into this mansion, he’s been crying.
I don’t blame him.
I feel like crying, too.
“My baby!” I say desperately. “He’s scared.”
“He’s a baby,” the idiot replies. “He doesn’t know shit.”
Then he shoves me into a large room off the hallway, follows me in, and slams the door behind me.
Phoenix throws his little fists in the air and screams with indignation as I stumble through into the room. I collapse into the first chair I see and press my son against my chest, trying to shush him, calm him, soothe him.
As I do, I glance around at the windows. They’re all either out of reach or barred outside with iron. No chance of escaping through there.
“Why am I being held here?” I demand.
I’m a lot more confident now that Eagle Tattoo is not here. He disappeared right after we arrived on the compound.
It’s a sprawling estate that reminds me of Papa’s in terms of size, if nothing else. Papa’s was white and linen and beachy—this place is dark, stone, foreboding.
Well, actually, they’re similar in another way—both places are impenetrable fortresses.
But Artem knows this place.
He’ll find us.
He’s save us.
I say that to myself again and again. I whisper it to Phoenix, too, and it seems to help somehow.
But doubt has planted itself inside my chest and made it difficult for me to breathe.
I glance at the guard who’s ushered me in here.
Maybe I can take him.
It’s just me and him…
If I hit him with something hard…
I may have a chance to escape.
But the idea of putting Phoenix down to take such a reckless gamble makes me want to gag.
And, seconds later, the choice is removed from my hands when the door opens and three more guards stride into the room.
They surround me. More men trying to intimidate me into silent submission. It’s been that way my whole life.
I’m fucking sick of it.
I ignore all of them and look down at my son.