Page 49 of Sexting the Silverfox

“I know. We didn’t hear about it until the hotel called the police. Andrei and Yuri were supposed to check in with me on the hour, so there was a forty-five-minute window where I actually thought you were okay. But then they didn’t check in, and Papa was busy chewing my ass six ways from Sunday. That’s why I couldn’t pick up.”

“I’m sorry, Anton,” I say. “I’m sorry he broke you beyond repair.”

“Don’t talk down to me,” he replies. “I’m a Fedorov, and I’m proud of it. Just because you want a life outside this family doesn’t mean that Vitaly and I want that for ourselves, too.”

“I never said that. But I’m sure the three of us can agree that there are certain Russian traditions that really need to be left behind.”

“Not while the old man is still alive.”

“Which leaves me screwed, either way,” I reply. “Anton, I can’t go back to New York. You know that, right?”

He nods slowly. “I can’t help you, Audrey. Not now. Not anymore.”

“Anton—”

“Don’t push it,” he snaps and walks out as well.

I’m all alone in this massive suite. On any other day, I would’ve appreciated the fine design and the opulent luxury a lot more.

But I’m a prisoner here.

I cannot let them take me back to New York. There, I will be truly powerless. I will be radioactive, and nobody will wish to even get close to me, let alone try and help me. New York is deathly afraid of Grigori Fedorov.

Even the mayor owes him a couple of favors, not to mention the state senators who have been living in his pockets for the past few election cycles. The Bratva influence runs deep, and there isn’t a single corner in the Big Apple where I will be truly safe on my own.

I need to figure out a way to leave this room and run as far away as possible, at least until all this drama dies down. I need to warn Jason, as well, because if I do somehow manage to escape again, his is the first place that Papa will hit. Nobody wins in this story, that much I know. No matter what path I choose, someone will get hurt.

I can’t let myself fall back down the rabbit hole again. My father calls me his little zaika, but I am not his little zaika anymore. I’m a grown woman, and I will fight him with everything I’ve got until I’m free again. I will live the life of my choosing. I will sacrifice my brother’s and my safety if I must. But I will find my way out of this hotel room and out of the Fedorov shackles.

Chapter 20

Jason

Aday has passed since Audrey was taken from me.

I’ve been making plenty of calls in the meantime. While I’m not connected or knowledgeable about the Russian mob, I did serve with a wide variety of people in the Army. We spent countless nights in the trenches together, not caring where we hailed from. We were all the same in the heart of war.

“Paddy, you son of a bitch. You’re getting younger while the rest of us are getting older,” I declare as I meet with one of my former staff sergeants, Patrick Maguire, in his family-owned pub, the Golden Shamrock.

The cops know this place well. The Irish mob owns it. It’s where they run some of their business, even though the judicial system was rarely able to pin anything on them. Patrick is the youngest of the Maguire clan, heavy hitters in the aforementioned Irish mob. He’s the only one who can give me some intel about the Bratva.

Ironically, we never talked about his family or their dealings while we were in the service, nor after we came back. Today, however, is different. Today is the day I cross every boundary I swore I’d never cross in order to get my woman back and save her from whatever nasty fate awaits her in my absence.

“That’s a crock of shit,” Paddy replies and traps me in a bear hug as he steps out from behind the bar to greet me. “You look ten years younger, my brother!”

“I just dress better,” I chuckle.

“How’ve you been, Jace? It’s been ages!”

I nod at one of the corner booths. “I need a word in private.”

As soon as the words come out of my mouth and he registers the tension in my voice, Paddy’s body language changes. He’s not the warm and friendly, red-haired and green-eyed, freckled pub owner who’s nice to everybody anymore. Now he’s downright menacing.

“What’s wrong, Jace?” he asks, his tone low.

“I need your help.”

Immediately, he barks a few orders at his bartenders, letting them know that he’s going to be busy for the next hour or so, then makes sure we get some of today’s specials brought to our table straight from the kitchen, along with a couple of draft beers.

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