Page 18 of Wicked Embers

I hate fucking child locks. They should be illegal! I fold my arms across my chest and look out the side window watching my freedom disappear as we pull away from the curb.

The car ride is a tense affair, the air thick with unspoken threats and the weight of Radomir’s power. I fidget in my seat, trying to ignore the way Dolph’s eyes track my every move in the rearview mirror.

“Keep your eyes on the fucking road. A child or dog could run in front of you. I’m not going to jump out!” Although to be fair, I would if I could. “You’ve trapped me in here, remember? So if we get hit by a truck and the two of you are knocked out. I can’t get out of here to pull you from the vehicle when it catches alight.” My eyes narrow at him in the mirror. “We’ll all just burn!”

“We’re just going three blocks,” Fredrik turns to me from the front passenger seat. “The chances of that happening are slim.”

“Your part of a crime family,” I point out. “I’d say that while the chances of that happening to a normal person are slim.” I suck in a breath through my clenched teeth. “For you guys...” I tilt my hand, indicating fifty-fifty. “Ehhhh.”

“I’m still not releasing the child lock,” Dolph tells me. “If that happens, you’ll have to climb over the seat.” He catches my eye and grins. “Then you can run off and leave us to burn.”

Is it wrong that I’m hoping a truck or bus hits us? I shake the thought off, and as soon as I do, the image of Radomir’s angry, burning eyes standing in the middle of the shitshow I caused flashes in my mind. A cold shiver slices down my spine, and I gulp nervously as we turn toward the parking garage—fuck, there’s never a bus or truck when you need it.

The car descends into the Diamond Hotel’s underground parking garage, a cavernous space that seems to stretch on forever. The sleek lines of luxury vehicles gleam under the fluorescent lights, showing off the wealth and power surrounding me.

We glide to a stop. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the tinted window—auburn hair tousled, green eyes blazing with a mix of defiance and trepidation hiding the fear. I looked like a woman on the edge, and I suppose, in many ways, I am—on the edge of my last hours on earth or breathing fresh air when I’m locked up in some underground dungeon.

Dolph exits the driver’s seat, moving to open my door. He watches me wearily as Fredrik joins him. I slide out and stand between them.

“A lot of women would kill to be going to meet the boss in his penthouse,” Dolph tells me. I’m not sure if that’s meant to make me feel better. But it doesn’t. “And don’t worry. If he wanted to kill or torture you, we’d be going that way!” He points to a door marked Private, and I stifle a shudder.

“I’m sure most of the women that go to your boss’s penthouse aren’t being taken there against their will,” I retort,my gaze darting around the garage, searching for any means of escape. “Could we rather go that way?” I point to the private door that leads to Radomir Molchanov’s hell.

But Fredrik shakes his head, realizing I’m trying to distract them to make a dash. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns. “You wouldn’t make it ten feet before theother guardscatch you.”

I swallow hard, my bravado faltering in the face of his quiet intensity. I know he’s trying to be as kind as he can, and he is right, of course. Even if I could outrun them and the invisible men lurking in the shadows—where would I go?

My best option is to play it smart, bide my time, and wait for an opportune moment.

Dolph leads me towards the elevators. I can’t help but marvel at the grandeur of even the Diamond Hotel’s parking garage. This place is a world unto itself, a glittering oasis of luxury and excess that seems to mock the gritty reality of the streets beyond its walls—where I’m from.

The elevator whizzes upward, each second carrying me closer to my doom. Beneath the facade of luxury, danger lurks in every shadow... It’s in the watchful eyes of the security guards and the hushed conversations that fall silent as we pass. The air all around me hums with a kind of coiled tension.

Fear starts to escalate as we get nearer to the top floor.What the fuck has my father gotten me into?My heart is hammering against my ribcage as the elevator doors slide open with a soft chime and a tiny bounce.

Dolph ushers me inside, but Fredrik stays in the lift. He has an exchange in Russian—of course it’s one of the languages I don’t speak. Why couldn’t my father have lost me to the Italianor Greek mafia? I speak those languages. Shit, I’d even do better with some Spanish warlord, as I’m fluent in that too.

Fredrik nods goodbye, and the elevator doors slide closed, sealing us inside the sprawling penthouse suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city below, the lights of the Strip glittering like a sea of stars. If I weren’t petrified and trying to rack my brain on how to get the fuck out of here, I would’ve been gaping at the sight sparkling outside the spotless windows.

Dolph ushers me through to the living room. I’ve only ever seen places like this in magazines. Plush leather sofas, gleaming marble floors, and an enormous crystal chandelier casting a soft, ambient glow over everything.Fuck! It’s magnificent.A lifestyle I’d only ever dreamed of. And how the hell does the Dark Lord’s cleaning crew get everything so shiny and clean?

“The boss will be here soon,” Dolph assures me as if I wanted to know that. “While we wait, I’m going to have to ask you to hand over your purse.”

I hesitate, my fingers tightening instinctively around the strap. My eyes meet Dolph’s. His has a terrifying hard edge, but they soften slightly looking at me. Like he’s trying to be gentle and not scare me. Well, it’s not working that well because I’m fucking terrified—well, on the inside, I’m terrified. But I’m damned if I’m letting anyone else know.

He steps forward, holding out his hand, and I know I have no choice. Slowly, reluctantly, I slip it off from around me and hand it to him. Letting the strap slip from my grasp, I watch as Dolph immediately unzips it and rifles through it like a mall cop looking for stolen goods.

As Dolph rummages through my purse, I fight the urge to snatch it back. There’s a lot of personal shit in there.

“Seriously?” Dolph says, holding up my lockpicking set. “

I force a smile, trying to look indifferent. “For when I accidentally lock myself out of my apartment.”

Dolph raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “And the pepper spray?” he asks, dangling the small canisters between his fingers. “Expecting to be caught in a mob raid? How many cans of the shit do you need?”

I shrug, remembering that the one tin must be nearly empty after I dumped it out in my father’s face. A twang of guilt hits me, but I harden my resolve—the fucking bastard deserved to have his eyeballs burned out their sockets for what he’s done to me.

I look at Dolph. “A girl can never be too careful these days.”

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