Page 33 of Fallen Roses

James completely ignores me and says roughly, “There is something you’re not telling me, Annabelle. Secrets surround you and the red flags are flying. You followed me into that alley for a reason and any attempts to discover anything about you is met with a change of subject, so forgive me for being concerned and the way I’m extracting the information but self survival is something I’ve become accustomed to.

“Please, James. I’ll tell. Just put the phone down.”

I am frantically thinking up excuses, anything but the truth, because I can’t lose him and I can’t fail my mission either.

James merely shrugs and from the sudden spark of anger that lights his eyes, I watch my new found freedom crash and burn.

CHAPTER 18

JAMES

When Ana changed the subject the moment I asked her a personal question, the alarm bells set off a siren in my head. Something isn’t right about any of this and the alley, the subsequent events that followed and her caginess tonight, triggered something inside me.

I’m not ashamed of my methods of extracting the information I need. It’s always been about survival of the fittest and I’ve done pretty well until now. I suppose it was the accent that changed when she dropped the facade. The constant edging around her past and the completely white apartment.

Annabelle Starling was always trouble for me. I knew it from the moment I met her, but I didn’t realize just how much until now.

I peer at the last text message she sent to a man named Titus.

The conversation makes for interesting reading and disappointment in her hits me hard.

“You’re spying on the business.”

I glare at her in shock and she shakes her head vigorously. “Let me explain.”

I carry on reading and then flick to her contacts, searching for one name.

It glares out at me from the list with a violent warning attached.

Mikhail.

I punch it into her messages and it reveals a steady stream of conversations that make my head spin.

“Who are you?” I hiss as I stare at her with retribution weighing heavy on my heart.

“Untie me and I’ll tell you.”

I note the defeat in her eyes and the tears brimming inside them.

“No.”

“No?”

I nod, my eyes greedily absorbing every single one of their conversations.

“You know him.”

“Who?”

She is pretending, even now, and I shout, “That man! Mikhail. The man who rescued us in the alley and took over my life. You are working with him.”

She says nothing, but I sense the defiance in her expression as she turns her head to one side.

“Who is Titus? Is he part of your—I’m not sure what to call it, group, gang, family perhaps?”

The dots connect and her accent is placed and I groan, feeling like the biggest fool that ever lived.

“You’re Russian. You are working for him.”

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