Page 3 of Brutal Loyalty

When Elena had initially tried to decline, her father had told her he understood. But then he began filling her head with stories about how terribly Viktor Sokolov was treating Alexandra. She worried about her friend—that she was in over her head, or possibly worse.

What if Viktor was hurting her? Elena wouldn’t put it past him.

When Elena had gotten back in contact with Alexandra, she’d felt guilty at how happy her friend was to hear from her. When she’d hinted that she needed to get away from her father, Alexa had been only too happy to help. But from the looks of tall, dark, and grumpy, she was going nowhere fast if she couldn’t get him on her side.

She hadn’t been prepared for this. When Alexa had told her that Viktor was sending a plane for her, she’d had no idea that she’d have to bully her way on board. She hadn’t been counting on Roman seeing through her BS.

Smart man, she thought to herself spitefully as she glared at him and waited for his response. Smart, and good-looking, but also a real pain in her ass. While Elena considered herself to be an outstanding actress—when she felt like it, of course—the more information she gave Roman, and the more questions she answered, the more potential ammunition he’d have against her if she wasn’t careful.

The truth was, she was terrified of her father. So long as she didn’t embarrass him and did what she was told, she had a good life. So, when Daddy-dear had told her to infiltrate the Sokolov mansion and find a way to take out Viktor, Elena had agreed because no one went against the Svodnik when he was in one of his moods. And what the Svodnik wanted from Elena, he got. Blood relation or not, bad things happened when you ended up on the wrong side of Anatoly Popov.

And anyway, if what she’d heard about Viktor was true, then her father was right—Alexandra would be far better off without Viktor controlling her life. Her mission would help both her father and her friend in one single move. But she obviously wasn’t about to let that puzzle piece spill from her lips.

“As I said before,” Roman reminded her, “I would like some answers. Straight answers instead of you throwing a temper tantrum and rolling your eyes at me.”

Roman’s eyes had narrowed slightly as he spoke, as if to convince her of his seriousness, but it didn’t change anything.

Elena rolled her eyes at him in retaliation and inwardly felt a bit of pleasure when she saw Roman’s frustration begin to shine through his poker face. His mouth pursed and his arms crossed more tightly; his nostrils even flared. At first, she’d wondered if he was a robot, cool and collected as he’d always seemed, but now she knew there was a real person under that well-tailored black suit.

“Fine. Ask away,” she sneered at him.

“You’re a defector?” Roman asked slowly.

Elena nodded, then scowled. “When I called Alexandra and apologized for missing her second wedding, she asked me how I was doing and…I broke down,” Elena said, softening her voice. She suspected that crying would be too much, but she kept her eyes down toward the ground in hopes that she could bring out a little bit of pity, at least. “I told her, my dad forced me to go to Russia, even though I didn’t want to. He said it was to keep me safe, but I think he was just being a dick. Controlling me.” She looked up suddenly, as if catching herself, and tossed her hands in the air in a show of frustration. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to me just because I don’t want to go along with my father’s schemes, and I don’t have anywhere else to go where he wouldn’t be able to get to me,” she finished, catching his eye as if to suggest she had nothing to hide. As if to suggest he could trust her.

“So, to clarify, you told Alexandra you were being detained against your will, and she offered you refuge?” Roman asked.

“Yes, that pretty much sums it up. And you’re making a difficult situation worse. So, can we please go now?”

“It’s been a while—a few weeks, if I remember correctly. Why now?” Roman’s dark eyes studied her face.

Elena decided to put on a show of her annoyance—perhaps he’d get so frustrated with her that he’d simply give in. She crossed her arms in a mirror of his posture and shifted her weight, pushing her hips to the side dramatically. She hadn’t ever met a man like him, and she was genuinely frustrated that she couldn’t manipulate him.

Past encounters had taught her that it was easy to make people underestimate her; most people took one look at her high-fashion style and her penchant for pink and assumed she was a bimbo. More often than not, she played it up.

She finally hissed in dismissal, when it seemed clear he’d wait as long as it took for an answer. “Roman, have you ever tried to make a personal phone call under surveillance? Seriously? It took a while before my father’s men stopped sticking to me like glue and I had the chance to call Alexa without worrying about some bonehead listening in while I spilled my guts. That’s why you’re here to pick me up instead of me catching a commercial flight, by the way. My dad would have found out about the plane ticket in a heartbeat and then I’d never have been able to get away from him.”

Elena had rehearsed her story over and over again until it had become second nature. The lie flowed as easily as the truth would have, and she couldn’t help being pleased with herself. When she tilted her head and studied Roman’s face, however, his reaction was impossible to gauge.

“Your father’s men…where are they now? How did you get away from them if you were under surveillance?” Roman asked slowly.

Elena gritted her teeth and glared at him. More questions? What a waste of time. “I slipped away from them and met one of Viktor’s contacts—check with your beloved boss if you don’t believe me—and he got me here. But I don’t know how long we have until they find me, and so, yeah.We. Need. To. Get. Going.” Elena huffed an irritated sigh and glanced behind her for effect, letting her eyes move around the hangar before she swung back to look at Roman. It was all a lie—she knew she wasn’t being followed. At least not by anyone who wanted to stop her. But adding pressure to the situation might persuade Roman to let up on the questions.

Obviously, there was no choice but to get over this hurdle as the first stepping stone to the rest of her father’s plans. Somehow, she needed to win Roman’s trust, get back to the Sokolov mansion, kill Viktor, and then get the hell out of there before she was executed in retaliation. The faster they got to Boston, the faster this whole ordeal would be over with, and then she could go back to her life. It would be just like old times, with the added bonus that her father would be thrilled with her instead of always grumbling about how much money she was spending. Plus, her best friend would have her life back—perhaps they could even take a trip together as soon as the dust settled, and make up for lost time.

“What is your relationship with your father like?” Roman asked.

Elena shook her head, frustration building. “I don’t know…fatherly? We were okay until he went off the rails. But, really, are you fucking kidding me? When are the questions going to stop? When is enough actually enough for you, huh, chaufferone? You could ask me three hours’ worth of questions—birthday, social security number, what I ate for breakfast, whatever—but no matter what I say, you aren’t going to trust me, are you?” Elena’s hands had balled into fists, and she trembled slightly as her irritation festered into rage that deepened with each second that passed.

When he didn’t answer, she walked over to him, glared at him, and picked up her suitcase from where it still sat at his feet—a not-so-subtle cue to get going.

“I’m not here in Russia because I want to be, you know,” she told him quietly. “I’d rather be at home—my real home, that I had to leave behind in Boston, not bumfuck middle of nowhere—drinking a mocha and flipping through social media. But I’m here, and you’re here, and you don’t trust me—which is okay; I get it, daughter of the family’s sworn enemy or whatever—but the more time you spend asking stupid questions, the more time youaren’tspending doing your job and flying me back to Boston. The longer we wait, the bigger the chance that my father’s goons could show up and break up both of our plans.”

This, finally, seemed to get through to Roman, if only a little. He studied her with dark eyes, their depths seemingly endless. Elena found herself looking him over, taking in his broad shoulders and high cheekbones, momentarily captivated by him. His unyielding manner seemed to hide a touch of darkness…but one he had under control. Elena would have loved to unravel him and see what mysteries lurked beneath—if she hadn’t also wanted to strangle him.

Roman exhaled slowly. “I still don’t trust you—”

“I know,” Elena interrupted. Roman held up a single index finger, and she tilted her head back with a throaty sound of exasperation.

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