Page 112 of 10 Days to Ruin

I grimace. But the chain is latched and Mr. DeMarco is about five-foot-five on his best days, with a bum knee that makes climbing the stairs a marathon for him, so I’m not really worried about him doing anything crazy.

I undo the deadbolt and twist the knob. The door opens an inch, stretching the chain taut.

Mr. DeMarco looks at me apologetically. “I’m so sorry, dear. He said you were?—”

Boom.

I scream and leap backwards as the door explodes inward. The chain bursts and broken links go flying everywhere.

Sasha fills the frame, brows knitted together into a single dark slash. He’s in a black suit, black shirt, like he tripped and fell into an ink well on his way here.

His eyes lock onto myI Survived the Apocalypse and All I Got was This Stupid T-shirttee, then the spoonful of peanut butter I’d been stress-eating straight from the jar.

“Youasshole!” I snap. In the gap beneath his arm, I see Mr. DeMarco fleeing in terror down the hallway. “You just broke my door!”

“You tried to break our plans. It only felt right.”

“We have no plans!” I want to tear my hair out. “This has all been a bunch of bullshit! Fuck ten days, Sasha. I’m not marrying you! I’m sure as shit not doing a single day more of these ridiculous dates with you. How could you possibly expect me to?—”

“You’re angry with me.”

“Astute fucking observation,” I seethe. “What gave it away?”

“Because of last night.”

“Again, nothing gets past you.”

He frowns again. “And you think that gives you the right to break your word to me.”

“My—” Jaw, meet floor. Audacity, meet your master: Sasha Ozerov. “Myword?!”

“You agreed to the deal, Ariel. Ten days. Ten dates. We have three to go. And I will not be denied.”

Before I can begin to parse the logical holes in that crock of shit, Sasha is moving.

One stride. Two. My peanut butter spoon clatters to the floor as he hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Sasha— what the— PUT ME DOWN!” I hammer fists against his back, his shoulders, anywhere I can reach. My knee clips his ribs; he grunts but doesn’t slow. “You can’t just kidnap me because I ghosted you!”

He kicks the ruined apartment door shut behind us. “Already did.”

The stairs rattle beneath his boots. I catch the flash of Mrs. Bernstein peeking through her door crack, her Yorkie’s manic yaps chasing us down to the lobby. Señora Gutierrez from 3B actually crosses herself.

Outside, Sasha’s black town car idles at the curb. Feliks is leaning against the hood with a to-go cup of coffee.

“I’ll fix the door, don’t you worry!” Feliks says cheerfully as he heads past us in the opposite direction, back toward my building.

I don’t get the chance to respond before Sasha dumps me into the backseat. I scramble upright, glaring as he folds himself in beside me.

“You’re insane,” I spit.

His jaw pulses. “Eyes forward, Klaus.”

The driver peels away from the curb.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask in disgust.

Sasha doesn’t bother to look at me. “Shopping.”

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