Page 19 of Cruel Russian Monster
“Who are you supposed to meet and why?”
“I’m supposed to meet Ms. Vera Rykov.” His voice trembled. “She said she needed help getting back home, that she was in some kind of danger, but didn't want to involve her family.”
I pressed the gun further into his side. “Did she say what kind of danger?”
He swallowed hard. “N-no. Just that she needed my help.”
“Did you tell anyone else you were meeting her here?”
“No. She said it was important that no one found out she was back in Philly.”
Without another word, I yanked him off the stool, dragged him out back, and shot him in the head. I tossed his body in the dumpster and called two of my men to come clean up the mess.
Then I got in the car and drove home, fury boiling in my veins.
Here I was, thinking she was settling in, making my home ours. All the damn while she was planning her fucking escape.
And where the fuck had she dug up a coward like that? Was that scrawny piece of shit supposed to protect her if things got ugly during her little escape plan? He didn't even try to lie, to cover for her.
A short while later, my car screeched to a stop, and I hopped out and stormed through the house, straight to her room.
I looked around, and it was empty.
I searched the house from top to bottom.
She was gone.
Chapter 6 - Vera
I locked the car I stole from Jaroslav’s garage and made my way across the parking lot to the bar. I left the laptop and phone behind, because I knew he had them bugged.
It would have been foolish of me to think otherwise.
Over the past week, I used a retail site I’d relied on back home whenever I didn’t want Artyom knowing what I was up to.
The system was set up in a way that linked directly to my messenger account. I’d still receive the orders, usually small, harmless stuff. Some I kept, but others I gave away or donated. The real purpose was always the message. Codes hidden in item names, combinations, quantities, colors…I had it down to a damn science.
I’d never met the guy who passed along my messages. We got connected in college after I vented to a classmate about my overbearing, overprotective older brother. She’d laughed, then slid me the contact info of someone who specialized in message delivery with zero traceability. She smiled and said he was reliable, and that was all I needed to know.
But this time, I needed him to do more than just deliver a message.
It took three long days of negotiation to get him on board. He wasn’t easy to convince since he practically lived behind his computer, especially not with who I told him I was. But I was sure the hefty bonus I tacked onto the deal did the trick. Money always had a way of overpowering caution.
In the meantime, I played the part of a perfect Bratva housewife. I made him feel like he’d won, that I was softening and settling into his forced marriage.
All while planning my escape.
Once the messenger and I confirmed a place and time, I needed a way to identify him easily, hence the red cap and number forty-two shirt in my last message.
I thought I was done for when Jaroslav walked into the bathroom earlier. For a moment, time froze. After turning off the valve, of course, he did what he did best—he got under every one of my damn nerves!
I wasn't about to stand there and listen to his accusations, so I stormed off, or tried to. I slipped and was suddenly pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around me.
Then came the worst part.
He didn't remove his arms. He allowed them to linger on the small of my back. I saw the desire in his eyes, felt the soft growl in his chest as it rumbled beneath my fingers.
Our lips inched closer together, breath mingling…then his phone rang, bringing me back to my senses.
