Page 31 of Sweet Animosity

Holding a gun trained on me.

“We need to talk. If you are bleeding out for that conversation is no matter to me.”

Russian.

The man was Russian.

Dammit. What the hell was with all the fucking Russians!

I raised my arms over my head as I turned to face him. “All right. Don’t shoot.”

He nodded as he lowered the gun. “They told me you were a smart girl.”

They?

Who the hell were they?

Was this man sent by Var? Did he know I hadn’t gotten on the plane?

I scanned his features as he reached behind him to tuck the gun into his back waistband. Similar to Var, the man was impossibly tall and built of solid muscle. Also like Var, he was clearly covered in tattoos, as evidenced by the neck ink poking out above his suit collar and past his cuffs.

He wore an expensive suit that was clearly tailored for the breadth of his heavily muscled biceps, so the man had money. He wasn’t some petty street criminal.

“I don’t know anything,” I blurted out.

Without responding, he snatched my upper arm and half-dragged me across the loading dock to a waiting black SUV.

I pushed down on my boot heels and resisted. “I’m not getting into a car with you.”

“Relax. You are no good to me dead. I just want a place where we can talk.”

“We can talk here. It’s a nice day. You look like you could use some sunshine.”

He stared down at me without smiling.

Okay, flirtatious banter won’t work. Duly noted. “Please, I don’t want any trouble.”

He opened the passenger side back door and gestured for me to enter. “Then you shouldn’t have gotten into the art world.”

My gaze scanned the horizon. There was nothing but broken-up asphalt and weeds over a massive empty parking lot. I’d be an easy target. Hell, he wouldn’t even have to shoot me. He’d have plenty of time to get into his car and run me over before I even got out of the lot.

The man held up the car keys. “Here. So you know I’m telling the truth.”

I snatched the keys from his hand and climbed into the back seat.

He slammed the door shut and crossed in front of the car to then take a seat in the back behind the driver’s seat. The moment he entered, the car seemed to shrink to half its size.

Damn, what the hell did they feed these Russians? Wild bear meat and shards of glass?

The man turned to face me as he adjusted his cuffs, but not before I saw an expensive silver Rolex on his wrist. “You have something that belongs to my employer.”

I blinked as I forced air into my lungs. The air inside the car was thick with tension and fear. “I promise you, I do not.”

He tilted his head to the side as he narrowed his gaze. “The paintings?”

At least that solved one mystery. Something told me that if Var had found out I was the art forger, he would have tracked me down personally, not sent some henchman.

So this man was part of a different group of Russians now threatening my life.

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