Page 2 of Deceitful Promises

“Is that your catchphrase?”

“It’s easy to remember.”

NowI’mthe one who has to wipe away a smile. I hide it behind my hand. I can’t let him think that my coping mechanism is how I really feel. I can’t let him believe he has the right to break into my home, take me, and then, just like that, everything’s okay.

“So I assume you’re working for another big bad Bratva,” I say, my voice cracking. There’s panic in there somewhere beneath the numbness.

“I don’t work for anybody,” he grunts.

“That can’t be true,” I tell him. “There’s no other reason anybody would take me.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm,” I echo. “Hmm, hmm, hmm. Do you think that makes you cool and mysterious? It just makes you annoying.”

Another glance into the rearview, another smirk he seems guilty about, then,“Hmm.”

I shake my head, wondering if this is what flirting feels like. It’s a crazy thought, but smiling suddenly feels much easier. “You know who my brothers are, though.”

“Mikhail and Dimitri Sokolov. Of course.”

“You know they won’t be happy about this.”

“I don’t place much stock on the opinions of criminals, Ania.”

“They’re not criminals,” I snap, only realizing how ridiculous that must sound once the words are out of my mouth. He doesn’t reply; he keeps driving with that subtle smirk. “I mean, fine, but not like how you’re making it sound.”

“They draw the line at trafficking. Let’s give them a medal.”

“They don’t hurt people.”

“Everybody hurts people,” he growls.

“How poetic.”

“We don’t have to talk,” he says.

“Then maybe you should gag me.” I fold my arms, staring a challenge at him.

“Don’t tempt me,” he says, eyes flitting to me in the rearview. He says it with a huskiness that makes me think those silly thoughts again. Iseriouslyneed more experience with men, except the idea of getting experience with anybody other than my kidnapper seems disgusting to me. What the hell? That’s weird, isn’t it?

“You’re hurting me by taking me away from my brothers. We’ve had a crazy couple of weeks.”

“I know,” he says.

“What, you’ve been watching us?”

“No, just you.”

“Why?” I snap. When he doesn’t reply, I say, “At least give me your name. Yourrealname.” My voice gets louder, panic entering it. “You can’t just take me and?—”

“Aiden,” he cuts in.

“Aiden,” I repeat, as though it makes any difference, and knowing his name will make this any easier. My chest is getting tight. The world is moving fast, and suddenly, I’m about to be sick. “Pull over.”

“Ania—”

“I’m going to puh-puke!”

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