Page 48 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

If it comes down to it, I’ll die to keep him safe.

16

Dima

I fly into the parking lot, gravel kicking up in a cloud around the car, and shove it into park in front of the motel.

There’s another car here that wasn’t before, but it’s just a little green hatchback. Hardly something a mobster would drive.

Although, considering the hunk of junk I’ve been driving for two days, I can’t be so sure.

I reload and keep my gun in my hand as I run towards the door. There are no bullet holes in the exterior wall that I can see. Nor any signs of a scuffle or fight.

But that doesn’t mean shit.

Arya is hardly in a state to fight. Even if she was, she’s tiny. Any man could hoist her over his shoulder and carry her to the car with ease no matter how hard she tried to resist.

I slow down as I approach the door. Cock my gun. Control my breathing.

If whoever came is still in there…

They’d better be ready to fight for their fucking lives.

I reach for the doorknob slowly. But just before I lay my hand on it, I hear voices. It could be the television.

No—that’s Arya.

Through the thick door, I can’t make out her words, but she sounds upset. Scared. And there’s another voice I don’t recognize…

Fuck the slow approach. I’m going in guns blazing.

I wrench the knob and kick the door in. By the time it bounces off the wall, I already have my gun trained into the room and I’m roaring, “Who the fuck—”

My words die on my lips.

Arya is standing by the bed holding Lukas, a scrawled note clenched in her hand. Across from her, a blonde woman with bright red lips twisted in a deep frown stares at me.

“Mind putting the gun away, Rambo?” the stranger remarks saucily. “You’ll shoot someone’s eye out.”

I look back and forth between the women for a moment and then lower my weapon. Finally, my anger trumps my adrenaline.

“What the fuck is this?” I rasp.

The blonde snarls, “I’m a ‘who,’ thank you very much. And I go by Brigitte. You must be Dima.”

Arya steps forward, putting herself between me and the blonde. “Brigitte is my best friend. She came here to—”

I raise a hand to silence her. “How did she know where to find you?”

The man at the diner said he didn’t follow Gennady to find us. Maybe he followed this woman. This Brigitte. Maybesheis the weak link in my security measures.

“I called her and told her where we were staying,” Arya claims.

I may not know her well, but I can see the lie written all over her face. Her green eyes are wide and blinking and the tips of her ears have gone red.

I turn my attention back to the blonde. “How did you get here so fast? This isn’t exactly a vacation destination.”

She presses her lips together, not wanting to answer.

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