Page 19 of Saint

“Can you help me or not?” He wasn’t in the mood to play games, especially not with someone as intelligent and conniving as Nadia. There was a reason she was known asRusalka, a Slavic creature from folklore who lured young men to their deaths after seducing them. She’d been married five times and all five husbands had either died or disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

“I’ll be in touch.”

Click.Fuck.Well, that didn’t go as he had hoped. And, right on cue, Mia’s eyes slowly fluttered open, as if she were just waking up.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked, sitting up.

“An old friend. I’m hoping she has a place off-grid where we can stay.”

“She?” Mia echoed innocently.

“Nadia,” Saint clarified, unable to miss the way Mia scrunched her nose.

“Hmm.”

Was he losing his mind or had he detected a note of jealousy?

“Can you trust her?” Mia asked.

“I don’t trust anyone,” he responded.

Nadia and Saint went way back. They’d met on the streets when they were young and poor, and both had been lured into the Bratva. They’d briefly been a couple, but it hadn’t lasted. She’d set her sights on seducing a high-ranking member of Anton Petrov’s organization and Saint had wound up in prison.

Nadia had helped him in the past and vice versa, but they had no allegiances to each other. So, trusting her meant going out on a limb. But, as long as he stayed one step ahead, he figured it would be okay. She’d cut ties with Petrov, too, so that sort of put them on the same side.

As he settled down into his seat and let his eyes drift shut, memories of his time with Nadia flooded his head. Their relationship had always been one of convenience. When they’d been cold, they had slept beside each other, soaking up the other’s warmth; when they’d been poor, they had worked together on various cons; and when they’d been horny, they had had sex.

Emotions never played a factor, and they used each other to get whatever was needed at the time. Like now, Saint needed a safehouse and some equipment. And, of course, Nadia would need something in return. He didn’t know what yet, but he knew she’d demand a favor. It was inevitable.

For the rest of the flight, Saint dozed on and off, the steady rumble of the plane’s engines lulling him into a light sleep filled with memories of Russia and his time there. They say you can never go home again, but in his case, the old adage didn’t hold true. He held no fond nostalgic memories of his childhood and certainly none when he’d been in the Bratva, prison and the FSS. His life in Russia had been hard and brutal in so many ways. The moment he’d been able to leave, he did so without looking back. But, he found out fast that even though he left the country, he’d never escape the pain of his past.

When Hunter announced they were on their final approach and told them to buckle up, Saint drew in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. He didn’t return to Russia often, but whenever he did, he knew there was always the chance he wouldn’t leave. That his lifeless body would end up in a snow mound somewhere.

He’d told Braxton he had informants and friends—which was accurate, if incomplete, information. Because he also had enemies who’d sworn to kill him. Knowing who to trust was never easy, and if things went south with his contact, he had to make sure Mia got out safely. He pulled his emergency burner out and offered it to her.

“Take this.”

She accepted it and frowned. “Why’re you giving me your phone?”

“It’s a burner and there’s only one number on it. If something happens to me, call it and you’ll be connected to Pharaoh. There’s a tracking device that will show him your exact location. Keep it close to you.”

“Why would something happen to you?” she asked warily.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t.”

???

Mia looked out the ice-covered window as the jet landed smoothly despite the snow. It was everywhere out there, a winter wonderland, and looked beyond freezing cold. They’d both changed into warmer clothes earlier and a wave of anxiety filled her.

Once the plane taxied to a stop, the flight door opened and Hunter “Pyro” McGrath appeared. Her russet-colored hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and she turned sharp brown eyes on Saint.

“I’d rather not hang out here too long,” Hunter said. “It’s colder than penguin snot and my Russian is rusty. Any idea how long this little trip will take?”

Saint shrugged a shoulder. “Hang tight. I’ll be in touch.”

“Not exactly the answer I wanted,” Hunter grumbled.

“Sorry, Pyro. I’ll do my best.” Nik turned his attention to Mia. “Zip your jacket up and put your gloves on. You’re not used to the kind of cold Mother Russia is capable of.”

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