I’ve walked into the forest without any notion of what I’m going to face.
I have no protection, except for the gun in my hand, which isn’t much, seeing as how I’m barely confident in which end to aim where.
I should have listened to Artem.
I should have listened to Cillian.
I should’ve never left the lodge.
I hear the sound again, and this time, I’m certain of what it is—footsteps, coming right towards me.
The night air turns cold against my skin. I hear the trill of frightened birdsong, the chirp of crickets, the whistling and crunching and motion in the brush that surrounds me.
And underneath it all, those footsteps, like thunder behind the storm clouds.
Please, dear God, let it be Artem. Let it be Cillian.
The owner of the footsteps appears from between two tall trees.
It’s not a friend.
I don’t know who it is beyond that. But he sure seems to know me.
“Well, well, well,” the man says. “I thought I got stuck with the grunt work, scanning the area for Artem’s men. And I stumble across Artem’s woman instead. Lucky me, huh?”
I take a step back and keep my arm sheathed behind my hip. I don’t want him to see that I have a gun until the last possible second. The element of surprise is all I have at this point.
“Budimir will be thrilled,” the man continues in slightly accented English. “He assumed you’d escaped us. A smart woman wouldn’t have chosen to stay with Artem. He’s a dead man walking.”
I flinch back at his words, but I can’t move. I can see the gun in his hand, too. He’s probably a hell of a lot more skilled with it than I am.
“He’s going to kill you all,” I snap.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“No.”
“Why did you stay with him?” he asks.
The way he speaks to me strikes me as odd. It’s as though we’re old friends and he’s resuming a conversation we left half completed.
“He’s my husband,” I reply, chin held high.
He raises his eyebrows. “Is it possible that you actually care for him? That he cares for you?”
The shock is evident in his tone, but I bite down on my tongue. He’s going to use me as leverage, as bait… and I’ve just offered myself up on a silver fucking platter.
He takes my silence as an answer. Whistles softly in surprise.
“Well, that’s going to make this a lot harder for him, isn’t it?”
That gets my attention. “What are you talking about?” I demand, unable to keep the fear from my voice.
He drops the “old friends” voice and lets the real underlying venom glisten through.
“I’m talking about the fact that I’m claiming you for my own,” he hisses, a dark smile playing across his face. “Then I’m going to drag you to Artem and he can watch as my seed slips out of you.”
A shiver of fear of runs down my spine, but I’ll be damned if I let him see that.
This son of a bitch is confident he can overpower me. Like it or not, the odds are definitely in his favor.
Bu I’m not about to go down without a fight.
I’m stronger than I look, motherfucker.