Page 31 of Fierce Vows

“Always so glib.”He pauses.“You don’t get it, do you?It’s not about you, Rafe.”

His use of my given name shatters some semblance of hope I clung to, that I needed all this time for my plan to work.Dom’s words earlier to Diego about desperation float back to me, and I know my original assessment was right all along.

“I already sold her.”

The enemy we both sought for so long drifts away into the mist like it’s a weapon he called to heel, cloaked in its arms and leaving us with less than what we started with.

I don’t realize my knees have hit the planks beneath my shoes until Dom’s hand grips my shoulder painfully, and he’s barking orders into his phone.Nor that my cheeks are coated with more salt than the muggy sea air can provide.

Because none of it matters.Willow’s not here.

And I have no idea how to get her back.

Chapter Twelve

That Was Unexpected

Willow

Ihave no idea whereI am or how long I was unconscious.I even don’t know if I am still in the same damn country, but I doubt it, remembering snippets from the earlier conversation.What I do know is that I am still alive because my back hurts like a motherfucker from lying on it and I am most certainly not safe.

I listen to my surroundings, trying to hear if I am alone before opening my eyes.Slowly, I take in the room I woke up in.I am lying on a sofa in what appears to be a large office.Sunlight streams through the wall of French doors beside the couch.There is a massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelf taking up an entire wall, filled with hundreds and hundreds of books.For a split second my fingers itch to run along the spines and check the titles before reality sets in and I remember the ever-present danger I am in.

On the other end is a large desk of the same wood.Seated there is the Russian man who purchased me.Fear seizes my heart and wraps its cold hand around my soul.I have no idea how I will get out of this situation.I will have to do it on my own, though, because I think this man has taken me out of the country.Rafe does not know where I am, and he doesn’t have the first clue where to start looking.This is such a fucking mess.

“You’re awake,” he says, his Russian accent as prominent as I remember.“I will have some food brought.”

It isn’t a question or even a suggestion as he hits a button on his desk before speaking in rapid Russian.Suddenly, I wish I had more interest in learning foreign languages.I stare at him in silence after he finishes speaking, waiting not so patiently for him to make the first move.

He rises from his chair and makes his way around his desk.I’ve only ever seen him seated before but the man is massive.If someone told me he was over six foot five inches I wouldn’t hesitate to believe them.He is much larger than any of the men in my life, in height and bulk.I study him as he walks closer to me, taking a seat in a black leather wingback chair across from the couch, a low coffee table separating us.

Blond hair, cut short along the sides with a little length left on the top, and eyes so blue they resemble the winter sky.He has a strong, clean shaven jaw and thick lips.If I had to guess, I would say he is in his late forties or early fifties.

He watches me just as closely as I watch him and I know that he is waiting for me as well.

“My name is Bogdan Inavoff.I amphakanhere in St Petersburg.Do you know what that means,dikaya koshka?”

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