Page 53 of Sinful Embers

We rent another car—an old but sturdy SUV—and start the final leg of our journey.

The closer we get to Dragunov Village, the thicker the tension gets.

Sabrina reads the map, guiding us toward the outskirts of town, near where Wanda Manning’s so-called palace is located.

“Two mile to Golubaya Laguna.” Sabrina yawns. “According to the travel book-there’s no accommodation and the place doesn’t fucking exist. So I do hope we find something, or I call dibs on the back seat.”

Sabrina has been a champion. The entire trip she’s kept me going. I know she’s just as fucking worried about Leigh as I am and as we draw closer to our destination we’re both trying not to think of the worst. I keep my hands on the wheel, my mind locked on one thing.

Leigh.

I don’t know what I’ll find when we get there.

But I do know one thing.

Whoever stands between me and my wife?

They’re already fucking dead.

We finally arrive at Blue Lagoon, a shadowy little fishing village clinging to the Black Sea’s edge. The air is thick with brine, diesel, and the faint scent of smoked fish. The streets are narrow, winding through clusters of old, weather-beaten buildings that look like they’ve stood against centuries of storms—and men with secrets.

Near the docks, a pub squats low against the tide, its timbered frame sagging under years of wear. The windows glow dimly, shadows moving behind the thin curtains. A sign out front, half-hidden by rust and peeling paint, advertises rooms available.

“It’s shady and sleazy,” Sabrina mutters, eyeing the place like it might give her tetanus just from looking at it. “We’re probably going to catch something, and it’s not fish.” She sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “But I’m so fucking tired right now, I’d sleep on one of those fishing boats.”

I cut the engine and climb out of the SUV. “Come on. Let’s see if there’s room at the inn.”

She doesn’t follow immediately. When I glance back, she’s hesitating, shifting on her feet. For the first time since we left England, I see a flicker of something close to fear in her eyes. It’s gone just as fast, masked under her usual sharp wit, but it twists something in my gut.

“I’m not being funny or forward,” she says, her voice quieter than usual. “But… can we share a room? Twin beds, maybe.” She clears her throat, eyes darting around the darkened streets before locking onto mine. “I—uh—don’t do well in strange places.”

That explains a lot. The light in her room was on every night in England. She never said anything, never let on, but I should’ve noticed.

I nod, keeping my voice even. “I was going to suggest it.” A lie, but one that lets her keep her pride. This woman has more courage, more honor, more fucking loyalty in her little finger than most of the so-called men I’ve trusted. If admitting something like this took effort, I’m not about to make her regret it.

“It’s safer this way anyway,” I add. “We don’t know what we’re walking into here, and it’s best if we stick together.”

Her shoulders relax slightly. She nods once. “Good.”

Without another word, we head inside.

The interior, it’s dimly lit, thick with cigarette smoke and the low murmur of Russian and Ukrainian. A few grizzled men sit at scattered tables, nursing vodka like it’s the only thing keeping them alive. Sabrina leans against the counter, doing what she does best—blending in, reading the room.

A woman with sharp cheekbones and tired eyes stands behind the bar. “Rooms?”

“Da,” I answer, keeping my voice low. “We need one.”

She doesn’t ask for details. Just names a price. Sabrina hands over cash before I can, and a key is slid across the counter.

“There is still food being served and breakfast at six,” she tells us in Russian.

I nod and am painfully aware of how bone-weary Sabrina is. We both are. Running on fumes and tension. This isn’t over, but we need rest if we’re going to save Leigh.

We find the room. It’s small, spartan, but surprisingly clean. Even the bed linen is crisp and fresh. The locks are sturdy. It’s good enough.

Sabrina tosses her bag onto one of the beds and turns to me. “You can have the one closest to the door.” She yawns. “I’m going to shower.”

I nod. “I’ll get us food.”

---