I have to break open the safety razor to get the blade out. Inside the first-aid kit are a couple of Band-Aids and an alcohol swab. It’s dried out, so I add a few drops of water to it and let out a long sigh of relief when the scent of alcohol hits me.
It takes me pacing the room, blade between my thumb and index finger, to get myself amped up enough. I have to do it to protect Adrian and our baby. It’s the only chance we have. That thought steadies my hand as I brace my forearm on the dresser with a towel spread underneath.
My first slice is too shallow, and I don’t see the tracker. Folding my lips in to stifle the pain-filled groan, I make one more cut, deeper than the first. Blood drips down my arm, but then I see the tiny nodule at the surface. I let out a shallow breath. I’m not religious, but I’m thanking whatever god is out there right now.
With slippery fingers, I carefully grasp it and pull it out. Taking it to the bathroom, I drop it on the tile floor and smash it with my foot, then flush the pieces for good measure.
After the toilet stops swirling, I notice the red splotches on the floor dripping from my arm. I race back to the towel to clean my skin, then wipe up the bathroom floor afterward.
Once the cut is cleaned up and I’m bandaged, I slip off my shoes and lie down on the bed. The practical jeans I put on earlier feel too tight. My black blouse grates against my skin as my arm throbs in time with my erratic heartbeat.
I hate this so much. For once in my life, I was happy and finally starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, someone would keep a promise to me...and I’d be safe.
The phone beside the bed rings out in a sharp blare so loud it startles me, and I scramble over the side of the bed to hide between the bed and the wall.
It continues to ring, and my mind spins. Has he found me already? Did he follow me? Did I take too long to get rid of the tracker?
What do I do? I wrap my arms around my body and hunker down, praying that when someone shows up, maybe they won’t see me. I’m small and easily missed in most cases.
The phone stops ringing, and suddenly, I can hear my breathing sawing in and out of me in ragged pants. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself and my heart.
The temporary safety I thought I found is fractured, broken, just like that photo of Adrian and his mother I dropped.
I grab the pillow and blanket off the bed, check all the locks on the door, unplug the cord from the phone, and then slide the closet door open to step inside.
Once I make myself a little pallet and fold myself up in the dark, I close my eyes. It’s not Adrian’s face that comes to mind first, but Rose’s. She’d know what to do right now. Without a doubt, we’d have already crossed into Canada on our way to the nearest bar for a celebratory drink to ring in our escape.
But she’s gone, and it’s just me now. I have to learn how to keep myself safe. For so long, I failed…
I failed myself.
I failed Rose.
Hell, in the end, I failed Adrian too.
It led me to this moment. I’ll be the mother neither of us had, and I won’t fail our child. As long as I’m still breathing, I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect them. If only I could explain that to him. Maybe he’ll understand and see reason? Knowing him, though, he won’t stop looking for me, not for one single second until I’m back in his clutches. If only that isn’t where I want to be too.
Now his face comes to mind, the soft press of his lips against my neck, right below my ear. He always knows just where to kiss me to make me shiver. Then I hear him whisper, “Angel,” and it’s enough to let me fall asleep.
2
ADRIAN
I don’t regret killing Sal. If anyone deserved to be gutted, it was that bastard. What I do hate is being in society’s crosshairs. I hate that my people are suffering because of my actions. I fucking hate that Andrea will never be the same because I failed to keep her safe.
The leather of my seat creaks while I shift, and the seat belt cuts uncomfortably across my neck until I yank it down in disgust. I spent the better part of the day listening to assholes questioning and berating me. My father would have never stood for it, yet I endured, all in hopes of ensuring Valentina’s safety in the end. If I give them a reason to dig, they’ll find her, and maybe, if I’m not strong enough to keep her safe too, they’ll take her away.
I’ll have nothing left to live for.
Michail—solid, immovable Michail—drives faster, sensing my restlessness without me having to say a word. His black curls are disheveled, making him look younger than his twenty-eight years. He grips the steering wheel with white knuckles, and I draw in a slow and steady breath.
“If you have something to say, then say it.”
He carefully shifts his hands on the wheel, sliding them around the leather to cup the circle from the bottom. His shoulders stay tight despite the casual posture, his black suit jacket bunching along the top. “I didn’t like that. I don’t like them watching you so closely.”
His silky soft voice, threaded with steel, breaks the tension a bit. Of course he’d be worried about me. All my men worry about me. It’s the only reason I trust them so implicitly.
I settle in the seat again and reach up to grab the handlebar to stretch out my stiff shoulder. It always aches when it’s about to rain, ever since my fighting days. “I don’t like it either, but it won’t be for long. Once they figure out there’s no body, and they have no proof, there’s nothing they can do to me or any of us.”
“What about Andrea?” he asks.
I tighten my hold on the handle. “I will hunt those bastards down, rip their dicks from their bodies, and present them to her in a decorative box. Maybe she can have them mounted and framed. Alexei will love that.”
He snorts but then sobers, remembering our friend is hurt so badly right now. “Good. All of us will help.”
“But we can’t do anything until this council shit is cleared up, and Valentina is safe and secure. I’ll feel better when her father is dead too. Then I’ll feel like no one can touch her.”
The memory of her scent hits me, the silky warmth of her curls in my fingers. I’m itching to get my hands on her, ease some of this worry about her safety for a while. I don't worry when she’s in my arms because no one would dare touch her. Being away from her isn’t an option until everything is settled.
Which brings something to mind. I point out the window. “Turn up here and head to the second safe house. I want to check and make sure it’s in order in case anyone needs to use it.”
“Why not the first one?”
I scoff. “Everyone knows the first one is never really safe. It’s the one all the other families seem to know about. Look at us chasing after Sal.”
“We knew most of his safe houses,” Michail points out.
“Yes, but that’s because Kai is the best at his job. Obviously, we didn’t know the most important one for far too long.” Thinking about how long it took to track and kill that bastard makes me angry all over again. I tighten my grip as he makes the turn hard, scanning the rearview mirror for any tails.
The streets are already growing quiet in the post-rush-hour lull. This street in the suburbs is particularly quiet, which is why I chose it for the safe house. A quiet two-bedroom ranch in the middle of abso-fucking-lutely nowhere.