Page 29 of Scarlet Secrets

Sister, they said fucking sister.

I close my eyes as a wave of nausea hits me. They were after me.

Max is dead because of me. My sister is gone because of me.

Erin’s speaking. And her voice brings me back. “…let me go! You’re hurting me!”

I loosen my hold just as Ilya pulls up.

“You’re not going anywhere, Erin.”

Leave the bitch. Just take the sister.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” I say to him, not letting go of her. “And get people on this. Find out who did it. They got Alina.”

“Fuck,” Ilya says, gaze shifting to Erin.

I don’t explain.

“Let me go.” Her eyes are on Ilya’s big gun.

But I push her into the back seat of the sleek, armored black car. “Until I can figure out who those men were and why they took Alina… until I know what the fuck they wanted, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Chapter Eight

ERIN

The backof the SUV is roomy, more so than it looked, and it smells, not new, but nice.

Not like it belongs to gun-wielding maniacs.

This thug is who, exactly?

For a second, I close my eyes. This thug’s the father of my child. And he’s the sexiest, most handsome thug I’ve met. Maybe thug isn’t the right word. What about brutal overlord? Dangerous God? Mafia? Criminal? Devil?

I shove a hand against my mouth to stop the sickened laughter.

He’s not good, whoever he is.

Is Alina even anything to him? What about Max? I can’t see Max hanging out with this man. He’s so cold and emotionless. I…

What would he do if I put my foot down or tried to call the police? Oh, that’s right, my bag and phone are back in that mess. Back… I swallow.

I don’t think he’ll let me go. Not then and not now.

He’s on the phone, speaking in a harsh tone in Russian, like he’s barking orders. And the man with the big gun is inthe passenger seat in the front, talking on his. It’s like I’m in the weirdest newsroom ever.

Panic and pain flutter through me.

There’s a break in his conversation, and then something cold and wet touches my arm and I almost scream.

“Here.”

I look down. A water bottle. With shaking fingers, I take it as he then pours a whiskey—I can tell from the smell—into a glass from an open little compartment on the seat’s back opposite him.

He should look cramped, ridiculous, but he doesn’t. There’s room in here and it’s clearly custom. Part of me wants a whiskey, but I open the water and drink some.

“I tried to stop them. I thought… thought if we could get to Max or safety, then—” I shake my head. “These assholes grabbed us.” I flick my glance at him. “Max must be…”

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