Page 9 of Seduction (Wicked Vows)

The second most important job is to engage with the Ivanov Bratva and make them believe I am who I say I am.

I check the driver’s GPS on the dash and see we’re only two minutes out. I need to prepare.

Most people think airports are adventurous, unless they travel a lot for work, in which case they might find them tiresome and tedious. Some of us, however, know them for what they truly are—dangerous hot zones for criminals, enemies, and anyone you don’t trust. Fugitives escape under false identities, people are robbed and kidnapped. I trust no one, especially at an airport.

It’s late at night when we pull into the drop-off area. I haven’t flown with normal civilians in years. Her father’s an asshole for allowing it. If my sister Polina went on a trip to Moscow, not only would she have a team of bodyguards with her, they’d be in constant contact with us and she’d fly privately. I never understood why some Bratva don’t take care of their women.

But that’s none of my business. She’s nothing to me.

I exit the car and go to Vera’s door to open it for her. I may not be her real bodyguard, but I’ll play the part. She’s young and innocent. Beautiful and vulnerable. She needs a bodyguard, and goddamn if I’ll let anyone hurt her.

I won’t think of what I have to do.

When I open the door for her, she looks up at me with her wide, intelligent eyes.

“Spasibo,” she says with a smug little smile. Thank you.

Ah. So that’s what she was doing on her phone. Studying Russian.

I can’t help but smile at her and nod. “Pozhaluysta.”

You’re welcome.

The driver looks at both of us, tapping his steering wheel, but doesn’t make a move to get our bags. Asshole. I tap the trunk of the car for him to open it so I can get our bags and look in surprise when Vera reaches for one. I don’t think so. My mother raised me better than that, and I’ll be damned if she carries her bags on my watch. I give her a silent shake of my head and a stern look. “Nyet.”

When she huffs at me and reaches for the heavy bag to outright defy me, I make my decision. I turn to her and pick her up, hands under her armpits, before I deposit her on the sidewalk. When she flails and lets go of the bag, I take them and point to her little purse. There. You can take that.

“I’m a modern woman, you know,” she says with a little huff, but the slight flush to her cheeks tells me she’s a little flustered by being manhandled. Is she, now?

I’m arranging all our bags on a cart to take them inside when she tries to march away from me. Apparently, her little Russian tutorial failed to teach her the Russian way of telling me to fuck off, which makes it a lot easier for me to ignore her.

Instinctively, I grab the cart handle in my left hand and reach for her with my right. My fingers tighten on her slender arm, not too hard to hurt but enough to stop her.

“Let go of me!”

I don’t bother to try to communicate but snap at her in Russian. “Ne uhodi ot menya v aeroportu!”

Do not walk away from me in an airport.

Jesus, what is she thinking?

Of course she doesn’t understand a word I say, so I only keep my grip on her arm and repeat what I said.

“I’m just getting one of those things for the luggage,” she says, pointing about twenty feet away to a stack of trolleys. I scoff and shake my head and get one myself.

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” she mutters under her breath. “An overprotective bodyguard I can’t talk to?”

What kind of bodyguards has she had?

We stalk in tense silence to check-in, where I plunk our bags down beside the kiosk and glare at her.

“Fine!” she snaps. “I won’t pick up the bags, okay?”

Guess I communicated that clearly enough. Good. She’s damn lucky she isn’t mine with an attitude like that.

I shake my head and scan our boarding passes. I notice her stiffen beside me.

“Um. You cannot take that on a plane,” she whispers.

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