Page 21 of Sinful Promise

On the other hand, he looks as fresh as a daisy and smells good, too. His face is ruggedly handsome, and his muscular arms are covered in tattoos. I look for ones associated with a local drug ring because Albert pointed them out to me years ago and told me never to speak to them. Some criminals would shoot you on sight rather than have you look at them. Anonymity is big in the underworld. I catalog his tattoo, no skulls or crossbones, so our meeting isn’t unfortunate.

“Those men are getting closer. We need to get out of here.” My voice rises in panic. I’ve embarrassed Andrain and Papa, and if I’m caught, there will be repercussions—and I don’t mean taking my phone away. They would leave bruises or worse.

Time is running out as I hear shouts in the forest. I turn to see if my brothers are among them. All I see are middle-aged men stumbling through the trees, most of them overweight and out of breath. It’s almost comical. This will be to my advantage and give me more time to make a clean getaway.

“You need to ditch this dress. It makes it impossible for you to blend in with the crowd,” he says, as if I didn’t already know I look like the bride of Frankenstein in this hideous gown.

Tires screech, and I glance up as a car careens down the street. I jump back, anticipating the worst. The driver might be having a heart attack at the wheel and hit us. The stranger grabs me around the waist and pulls me to his broad chest.

“This is our ride.”

Mother of God, the man drips sex appeal like taffy made with honey. The feel of his chest against my back has my juices flowing. The aroma of bergamot and citrus tantalizes my nose.

He releases my waist as quickly as he grabbed it, breaking the spell. With a flick of his hand, he opens the vehicle’s back door, and I sail headfirst into the seat like a sack of potatoes. He lunges in behind me, slamming the door shut.

“Go, go,” he yells. The car peels out on the asphalt.

Hearing the tires squeal, I cover my ears and find that I can’t move. His hands are on my hips, and his body partially covers mine. I assume it’s a protective measure. I wonder if Papa’s men had guns on them today.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. He releases me, and I struggle to sit on the seat. The length of the dress hampers me as I move my legs to the floor.

“All men say that shit, then do whatever they want,” I say. I speak from experience. It’s a lesson I’ve learned in my short life—people lie.

“Not me,” he replies. He sits beside me and cocks his head to look behind us.

I find myself in an upright position and fasten the seatbelt over my lap.

“Are they following us?” I ask.

“No,” the driver says, and I get my first good look at him. He appears to be older and probably Russian. I’m not sure where he fits in this puzzle, but I rule him out as an Uber driver.

“Where are we going?” I ask my fellow passenger.

“To find you decent clothes, for starters.”

“Who are you?” My eyes examine him. He’s devastatingly handsome, with a large frame and broad shoulders. Most men would kill to look like him. Unless he’s genetically gifted or juicing with steroids, he spends a lot of time working out.

“Roman is all you need to know.”

He doesn’t seem at all fazed to be running from a bunch of unknown men for an unknown reason. Maybe he’s in on the whole thing, and my father set this all up. How else would his driver know to pick us up?

“Okay, Roman, who’s your driver? Are you friends of the Belarusian mafia?”

“Hardly.” He chuckles. “That’s Alex,” he says, and nods to the man behind the wheel.

I examine Roman’s profile and try to discern if he’s telling the truth. Hard to know for sure, but seeing as how I need his help, I’m willing to rely on the kindness of strangers until I’m safe.

We travel along in awkward silence until Alex pulls up in front of a women’s clothing store.

“Wait here, I’ll be back,” Roman says, getting out of the car and leaving me alone with Alex.

“Fancy driving, Alex. Who’s your friend?” I ask.

“Roman, like he told you.” Alex’s piercing eyes meet mine in the review mirror. “He has resources. You could have wound up in worse hands. Since we’re getting to know each other, what’s your name?”

“Dasha.”

“Do you have a last name, Dasha?”

---