Page 179 of Unorthodox
I tense, holding my breath.
“That’s okay. I’ve got a guy in St. Petersburg that can turn even the most stubborn woman into nothing more than a walking, talking, fucking doll.”
Fear immobilizes me with those words.
St. Petersburg.
Danik won’t find me there.
Max won’t find me there.
Max might be dead.
My father won’t come for me.
There, halfway around the world, no one will.
No one will find me.
Panic snakes through my limbs and I try to push away from the car again, try to throw Cade off of me as I scream. But his hand clamps over my mouth and something sharp pinches my skin, right below my ear. And before I can draw breath again, everything goes black.
“Max.”Mamie’s voice is faint as my head jostles against the doorframe of the Maserati. My eyes are closed, and the left side of my body has gone numb from the neck down. The other half feels like it’s on pins and needles—a dim sensation reminding me that I’m alive.Just barely.
“Max,” Mamie says again, her voice hoarse, “we’re here. My car—”
The sound of my phone ringing cuts her words off. It’s in the center console, but I can’t open my eyes. It’s all I can do to keep breathing, and I’m not sure how much longer that’s going to last, either.
Mamie sucks in a breath, but the phone stops ringing.
Silence fills the car.
Then a voice. “You’ll find your brother inMamie’strunk.”
The door to the car opens, heat flooding in. It’s Mamie getting out, and an anguished sob escapes her mouth as I hear something that sounds strangely like an airplane, gearing for takeoff.
There’s a low laugh through the phone. “Thank you, Max,” the man says, his words full of amusement. “I really appreciate the way you took care of my niece.”
Niece?I force my eyes open, look toward Mamie and the open door. There’s a runway, beyond the parking lot. Past Mamie’s white Honda.
Oliver is in there.
On the runway, a plane is lining up to take flight. A private jet emblazoned with a gold “J” on the side of it, against the black paint.
Addison is on that plane.
With herfucking uncle.
I fumble for the door handle, but I can’t pick my head up.
The weakness is like a blanket. A heavy, oppressive blanket that I can’t shake off.
“Mamie.” My voice is hoarse.Oliver.I force myself to think of Oliver. I think of his smiling face. His hair covered with worms. Cuddling on the couch with him, watching movies in our apartment.
The one he was taken from.
Eighteen years of misery.
“The car.”
