1
MOLLY
“Just wait for me.”
Kirill’s last words echoed through my head as Nikolai led me to a waiting car at gunpoint. As we approached the door, my eyes shifted to the heavy traffic passing at the other end of the small alley he’d parked in. Maybe I could make it? I’d rather take my chances getting hit by a car in traffic than willingly leave Kirill again. It was a cold, hard truth that was upsetting to realize. Crazy or not, there was no denying it.
“Don’t even think about it,” Nikolai warned. “I’ve no need to keep you alive, so don’t push me.”
Those words chilled me to the bone, and my momentary hesitation was enough for him to push me into the car. He’d parked behind The Tower, the exclusive building in uptown Manhattan where I’d been imprisoned for a little over a month. Although “imprisoned” might be a stretch, considering I had locked myself inside freely.
Nikolai’s car was hidden behind the huge dumpster that blocked the alley from sight. No one was going to help me here, not even Kirill. The knowledge landed hard on me as I scrambled across the seat, planning to shoot out the other side and run.
Nikolai opened the door before I could manage it, and the black, shiny nose of his pistol poked into my temple. I froze.
“Move,” he instructed me quietly, sitting in the roomy backseat beside me. “Now.”
When I looked around, I realized this ride was nothing like how the Chernov bratva usually rolled. Their vehicles of choice were bullet-proof, while this was a beat-up minivan. A teddy bear lay on the front seat, chilling me to the bone.
“Whose car is this?”
“A nice family with a little boy called Toby,” Nikolai said, folding his long body into the back beside me.
He looked as deadly as usual.
Kirill—the man I’d loved, lost, and only just found again—looked imposing in his black suits and sharp shirts, with a hint of the tattoos covering his body visible in clothes.
Nikolai, his half-brother, was a different story. He was tall like Kirill but less broad, with a lithe grace that fitted his tightly muscled, tattoo-packed style. He looked like what happened when a rock star met a sideshow, but with a psychopathic edge. He was the kind of guy who drew eyes wherever he went with his tanned skin and magnetic dark eyes. People were drawn to his brutal good looks with no idea that his façade was no act. Underneath the bad boy look was a merciless monster.
“Did you kill them?” I asked numbly.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I don’t have to kill three people to steal a car; it’s not that difficult.”
“You killed four men upstairs.”
“That’s different. They’re bratva. They’re my men, and I’m the one to decide their fate.” Nikolai said dismissively.
“It’s not different.”
“Agree to disagree,” Nikolai shrugged.
With the quick movements of a rattlesnake, he raised his hand and sank something into my skin—a needle. The lunatic had injected me with something. I slapped my hand over the throbbing pain as he discarded the needle to the littered floor of the stolen family car.
“Mother fucker,” I gasped as warmth immediately blossomed through my chest.
He tutted loudly. “Now, now. Language, young lady. I thought my brother had taught you better manners when talking to family.”
“You’re not my family,” I snapped as my head fell against the headrest, and my strength ebbed from my body.
“Right. No one wants to be associated with the black sheep,” Nikolai said and clutched at his chest. “That hurts, Princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said immediately, and my heart broke in my chest at the thought of Kirill.
“Why not? Because he does? You love that sick fuck, don’t you?” Nikolai asked, his dark, bewitching eyes narrowing with genuine curiosity. “How did he manage that? Considering who he is and what he’s done, how did he make you love and not fear him?” Nikolai looked me up and down, seeming utterly intrigued. “Oh, wait. I know. He lied.”
With a devilish grin, he tossed his head and shoved his gun away now that I was a boneless heap on the cusp of drifting into a chemical sleep. With a sigh, he checked his watch and whistled loudly. “We’re running late. We have to get a move on.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, wicked-looking knife. I would have screamed if I could move my mouth, but I whimpered instead.