I narrow my eyes. “I hardly think reading a few banned books makes me a criminal, do you?”
He tilts his head. “The KGB would.”
The mention of the KGB makes my stomach churn as I glance around.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them.” He arches a brow. “So, would you like to dance?”
The thought of dancing with him makes me sick. “I’m not a very good dancer.”
“I don’t mind.” He holds his hand out.
I glance around, wondering whether my father is lurking to see if I behave as he said. “Honestly, I have two left feet. I’d rather not dance.”
His expression turns sour, as if he’s only just getting the hint that I’m not interested in him or dancing with him in the slightest. “Your father made it clear that you would be willing tonight, as he wants us to get to know each other.” Boris steps closer and grabs my arm rather forcefully, trying to be intimidating as he looks down his crooked nose at me. “You would do well to listen to him and do as you are told.”
I yank my arm away from him and shake my head. “I need to use the bathroom. Excuse me.” I dodge around him, my heart hammering at a hundred miles an hour as I escape the creep. I don’t care if my actions will anger my father, I’m fed up of these men my father keeps trying to match me with.
As always, he has picked an absolute asshole. Boris is a classic example of the kind of men my father has his eyes set on for me. A political match is probably going to be most likely for me, which sucks because there’s no man under forty-five in politics.
A woman steps backward, almost barreling into me, turning to glare at me. “Watch where you are going!”
I bite my tongue and move around her quickly, finding it ridiculous that a woman can speak to me like that in my own home.
Once I’m out of the ballroom, I head down the corridor toward the bathroom in the west wing of the house, where guests aren’t supposed to venture, as I need a break away from everyone at that stuck up event.
As I round the corner to the bathroom, a man steps out in front of me in all black, including a balaclava over his head. My stomach drops and I know instantly I need to run.
Turning around, I find a man dressed exactly the same.
“Hello, princess,” the man in front of me says, smirking maliciously.
I swallow hard. “Get out of my way.”
The man behind me chuckles. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
I glance at him over my shoulder, my mind racing as I try to work out how I’m going to escape.
This corridor is far away from the party, so no one will hear me scream for help.
“Whatever you are thinking, don’t.” The man in front of me steps forward, forcing me to retreat toward the other guy.
“There’s nowhere to go,” the man behind says.
And when I glance back at him, he’s closing in on me, so I’m being approached on both sides with no possible escape. “Stay away from me.”
Suddenly, the man in front of me lunges and grabs my wrist, yanking me into him, and then I feel a sharp pain in my neck from behind.
“What the fuck?!”
I try to struggle, but he’s too strong as the other guy shoots me with some kind of drug.
Instantly, my vision begins to blur, and I know I’ve got no chance of escaping now.
My father has many enemies in Moscow and Russia, and there’s no doubt that these men are enemies of the Lebedev Bratva, who are taking me as a hostage.
The question is, what do they want? And do they realize my father values me about as much as he does a shipment of cocaine?
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