Page 114 of Stricken

The SUV speeds through the streets. Ivan drives with a singular focus, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. We're racing against time, against fate, against the forces that threaten to tear apart this city.

God. Let him be fine. Let him be fine and not angry. Or even angry is okay with me.

The SUV pulls up to the hotel's front entrance and I'm out of the car before it comes to a complete stop, my feet hitting the ground with force.

I can hear the valet rushing over somewhere behind me as I walk past the sliding glass doors. Ivan's instructions are clear: don't park too far.

Then he is right behind me, catching up to me halfway through the lobby where the air is thick with the scent of polished marble and expensive perfume, but I barely notice.

Jaw clenched, I navigate the corridor and head for the elevator. Ivan presses the button, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of trouble.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open with a soft whoosh. We step inside and immediately, the walls start closing in around us as we begin our ascent. I don't know why Nico makes me feel this way. Nothing ever rattles me. Not the sight of blood or money or misery. But he does. He has my every nerve ending wound so tight, I can't think straight.

Adrenaline gushes through me. Every second feels like it's never going to end, the numbers on the display ticking by with agonizing slowness.

Finally, the doors open again, and we step out onto the twelfth floor. The hallway stretches out before me both ways and I look at the sign indicating the right direction to the room I need.

Ivan reads it before me and motions to the left.

I take off, half running now, my shoes eating up the distance made up of plush carpet as I approach room 1205.

Ivan keeps pace beside me, his hand resting on the gun at his hip barely hidden beneath the jacket.

I pause for a fraction of a second, my fist hovering in the air. A thousand thoughts race through my mind, a thousand possibilities of what could be waiting on the other side.

But there's no time for hesitation, no time for doubt. I take a deep breath, readying myself for whatever comes next.

And then I knock.

"Nico!" My breath is suddenly coming in short, sharp bursts. "Nico! I know you're there! Open the door!"

CHAPTER38

NICO

No card.

What an asshole.

Proud, insensitive Russian asshole.

I glare at the bouquet of crimson roses, velvet petals laughing at me as I press the phone to my ear. "The expansion into Santa Monica is non-negotiable, Enzo. We need that territory to solidify our—" An insistent knock at the door cleaves my sentence in two.

"Hold on," I mutter into the phone, my patience fraying like a cheap suit. This conversation hasn't been easy as it is. My California business partner Enzo is always careful about his finances. Trying to get him on board with my plan is like trying to move a mountain.

"Nico! Nico! I know you're there!" Vlad's voice shouts from behind the door.

I suck in a sharp breath.

"Nic?" Enzo asks somewhere near my ears.

"Hey, something's come up. Let's talk later." I end the call, shoving the phone into my pocket. Then I rise from my chair and stride across the room.

"Nico! Come on!" the jerk yells. "This is important. Open up!"

I hesitate for a second, wondering if thisimportantthing is him ready to apologize in person since he didn't bother to do that with the flowers that arrived ten minutes ago.

Fuck it.

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