Page 9 of Twisted Pact
I need another drink.
The bartender pours me a vodka tonic without asking, and I take it gratefully. The alcohol helps numb the confusion swirling through my head. Helps me forget Papa’s demands, Alexei’s smug smile, and the way my body aches for his touch.
The rest of the reception passes in a haze of forced smiles and meaningless small talk. I avoid my cousin Oksana and anyone else who might want to discuss my romantic prospects. Every time someone asks if I’m seeing anyone, I want to scream.
Finally, mercifully, people start to leave. I retrieve my clutch from coat check and prepare to escape this nightmare. My driver is waiting outside. All I have to do is make it to the car without any more humiliation.
I open my purse to check for my phone, and freeze.
There’s a slip of paper inside that wasn’t there before. Heavy, expensive cardstock. Just an address written in bold handwriting and a time beneath it.
Tomorrow. Midnight.
No signature. No explanation. But I know who left it.
Alexei.
He expects me to come to him. To show up at some address in the middle of the night like an obedient little rabbit who can’t resist the hunter’s call.
The arrogance is staggering. The presumption that I’d even consider it after what he did in the garden… After he made me come apart and then walked away like it meant nothing…
I should throw away the note and pretend I never saw it. I should do anything except what my traitorous body is already planning.
“Ready to go, Miss Andreeva?” my driver asks as he waits at the door.
I shove the note back into my purse and follow him outside. “Yes.”
The cool night soothes my flushed skin as we walk to the car. Moscow stuns around us, beautiful and dangerous in equal measure. Just like everything else in my life right now.
I slide into the backseat and pull out my phone. Twenty-three missed calls from my best friend Anna wanting details about the wedding. A text from my academic advisor about next week’s presentation. Three emails about my thesis research.
Normal things. Safe things. The life I’m supposed to be living instead of obsessing over a man who finger-fucked me against a wall and then walked away smirking.
I pull up the note again and memorize the address before I can talk myself out of it.
This is insane. Going to meet Alexei would be the worst decision I could make. He’s dangerous and arrogant; everything I’ve spent years trying to avoid. Everything Papa wants me to embrace.
But I’m already thinking about what to wear, and planning what to say when he opens the door. Wondering if he’ll finish what he started in the garden.
Because Katya was right about one thing. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith.
Even if you’re pretty sure you’re going to hit the ground hard when you land.
4
Alexei
The man tied to the chair won’t stop begging—and it pisses me off.
“Please, Mr. Kozlov. I can get you the money. Just give me two more weeks.”
I cross my arms and fall back against the concrete wall of the warehouse. Grigory Belov. A mid-level enforcer who thought he could skim from our protection payments without anyone noticing. He’s wrong.
“Two weeks.” I check my phone like I’ve heard this script before. “That’s what you said three months ago. Then two months ago. Then last month.”
“This time is different. I swear on my mother’s grave?—”
“Your mother’s alive in Tver.” I take a slow step closer, letting him feel each one. “Try a better lie.”
