His fingers brush my hair back and graze down my collarbone. Each touch is electric and wild. “I’m a neutral third party.”
“Except you’re working for Balaska. Why not use his own people?”
“He doesn’t trust his own people. And yes, I’m working for him, but picture me like a contractor.” He touches down my side and along my lower back again as his mouth brushes mine. “I’m doing a job and getting paid for it. Beyond that, I owe him nothing.”
“And my sister? How’s she involved?”
“She works for Le Milieu. She’s their representative here. And I’ll admit, I’ve worked with her in the past.”
I pull back, eyes narrowed. “Youwhat?”
“Relax,” he says, giving me a smile that makes me want to stab him in the throat. “Weworkedtogether. She had some stolen goods she wanted to move in America and my family happened to know some solid, discreet buyers. That’s all.”
I grind my jaw. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“You weren’t working for me before.” He pulls me tight against him, my hands flat on his chest. “Any more questions?”
“I think I’m done for tonight. You can let me go now.”
He holds me for a moment too long. His left hand brushes down my hip and grazes over my ass, and I’m about to tell him to go to hell, despite the cascading tingling pleasure that overwhelms my spine, before he finally releases me.
I step back and adjust my dress. The look he gives me could melt steel—he’s staring at me like he really does want to pin me back into the shadows, rip off my clothes, andfeaston me.
I have to wonder if this is about hiding in plain sight or something else.
But I don’t get to ask. Instead, he takes my hand and pulls me out the door and into the street.
My heels clack over stone as we hurry away from the line. He takes out his phone, flips through his apps, and starts to order a car. While he’s distracted and tapping away, two figures step out from a doorway nearby.
The first man says something in Greek. I don’t know what it means, but his tone is sharp and dangerous, and Peter instantly shoves me away from them. I stumble and nearly fall, catching myself on a wall. The man comes at him hard and I spot the glint of moonlight off metal as a knife thrusts forward, barely missing Peter as he turns and jams his elbow into the attacker’s throat, catching hold of the knife arm and twisting the wrist.
The attacker shouts and the knife drops. I try to yell a warning as the second attacker slams a baton into Peter’s back but it’s too late. Peter grunts and turns, punching the man in the stomach, but the first attacker balls his hands into one big fist and slams them down on Peter’s spine. Peter stumbles forward and nearly falls, twisting in time to barely avoid another baton strike aimed at his skull.
He drops to a knee and draws his gun, snapping something in Greek. The first attacker turns and runs as the baton holder swings against Peter’s head. Peter ducks and fires, shooting the man in the stomach. Blood blossoms on his black shirt and Peter stands, kicks him in the knee, and knocks him sideways to the ground.
I stand there, horrified, hands over my mouth, unable to move. It all happened so fast and while Peter fought for his life, it felt like a pin connected me to the ground and left me there, wriggling and helpless. I wanted to do something—I still want to do something—but it’s like my body won’t move. And besides, what could I do against two grown men? Two attackers sent here to hurt us for reasons I don’t understand? Speaking a language I don’t know? I’m helpless, weak, worthless, and I hate it so much it makes me sick.
Peter turns to me and holds out his hand, and in that moment, I know what I need.
I think of Katarin. The way she carries herself like she’s staring down at the world from a great height.
I think of what she said to me:what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. I think of what I told her, why I was doing all this.
To be strong.
Peter can teach me. He can show me how to fight. How to defend myself. How to never,ever,be a victim again.
The Russians broke something inside of me when they kidnapped and beat me all those weeks ago.
But watching Peter take down two attackers and possibly kill one of them without hesitating—
That woke something new inside of me.
No more weakness. No more wounded puppy.
No more being a victim.
That’s why I’m doing this. For strength.