Page 10 of The Enforcer's Vow
By the time we step onto the street, she's laughing at my story about a job in Prague that went sideways when I couldn't speak enough Czech to order coffee. The sound of her laughter is unexpected—bright and genuine, completely at odds with her previous careful composure.
"I didn't think you were funny," she says as we walk toward her building, her arms wrapped around my bicep. I couldn't have planned this evening to go better, which makes me slightly suspicious.
"I'm full of surprises," I tell her, carefully keeping her tipsy footsteps on the sidewalk.
"I'm starting to realize that."
At her building’s door, I turn to face her. The streetlight catches the gold flecks in her hazel eyes, and for a moment, I forget this is a job. She's looking at me with an expression I can't quite read—interest, maybe, or calculation. Both, probably.
"Thank you for the drinks," she says, "and the entertainment."
"Thank you for the company."
I step closer, and she doesn't retreat. When I cup her face in my hands, her skin is warm and soft under my palms. The kiss starts gentle, testing, but when she responds, opening to me, it deepens into something that feels dangerously real.
When we break apart, we're both breathing harder.
"I could join you?" I ask in a husky voice. "Have a cup of coffee." This evening has gone so well, I don't want to stop the momentum. The sooner I have her comfortable with me, the sooner I get information on where Damir is. And checking out her apartment for signs of him isn't a bad idea, either.
She smiles but shakes her head. "I don't sleep with men on the first date."
"What about the second date?"
"Ask me then..." she says, then opens the door and disappears inside without looking back, leaving me standing on the sidewalk with the taste of her still on my lips.
I walk back to my car feeling satisfied with the night's work. She's interested, engaged, exactly where I need her to be. The physical attraction is stronger than expected, but that only makes the job easier. People are more willing to trust someone they want to sleep with.
By the time I drive away, I'm already planning our next encounter. This is going better than I hoped.
5
ZOYA
The phone buzzes on my nightstand at four in the morning, dragging me from sleep. I reach for it with eyes still closed, muscle memory guiding my fingers across the screen. The message glows back at me in the dark.
Unknown: 04:17: Don't trust them. Find out what you can, then get away from those fuckers.
My chest tightens. I delete the message before I'm fully awake, before I can second-guess the decision. The words burn in my mind anyway.
I lie back down, staring at the ceiling while my pulse settles. The plaster above my bed has a crack that runs from corner to corner—thin, but deep enough to catch shadows. I've been staring at that crack for two years, watching it grow millimeter by millimeter. Now it feels symbolic of everything falling apart.
Damir's message confirms what I already know. He's aware I met with Maksim. He knows I'm walking a dangerous line, and he's terrified enough to reach out despite the risk. The fact that he's still giving me orders from wherever he's hiding tells me he's not as powerless as I thought.
But it also tells me he expects me to keep playing this game.
I shower and dress for work, choosing a navy blouse and dark jeans—nothing that draws attention. The mirror reflects back a woman who looks calm, composed. Good. I need that mask today more than ever.
The walk to the track takes twenty-five minutes. I know every crack in the sidewalk, every storefront, every face I might encounter, because I used to walk this route six days a week. Routine keeps me grounded when everything else feels unstable. But today, the familiar path feels different, mostly because I've been driving myself for nine months now, but having left my car in the parking lot last night, I have to huff it on foot today.
Maksim leans against the brick wall just outside the main entrance, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world as if he belongs there. He's traded yesterday's formal shirt for a dark sweater that fits close to his shoulders. The morning light catches the angles of his face, making his hazel eyes appear almost golden.
When he sees me, he smiles. It's warm, genuine—or at least, it would fool anyone who doesn't know better. But I see the calculation behind it, the way he watches my reaction.
"Good morning, Zoya." His voice carries that same easy confidence from yesterday. "I hope I'm not overstepping."
I stop a few feet away, adjusting the strap of my bag. "Why are you here?"
"I wanted to walk with you." He pushes off from the wall, moving closer. "If that's all right."
