Page 101 of Dual
“We leave. Now,” I say, my voice leaving no room for argument.
I see the horror and pain in the mirror, and I don’t know ifit’s Anna or me, but then I ruthlessly cut off the connection to her and take full control again. Her stupid fucking emotions are a liability we can’t afford right now.
I move through the bathroom silently, grabbing the plush hotel robe and slipping it on. I don’t pack a bag this time—we’re on borrowed time as it is.
I just change quickly into a pair of jeans and shirt, then take my purse with the fake passport and a wallet stuffed full of money I’ve been stashing away for exactly this scenario. I leave my phone and everything else behind. I need to be untraceable, a ghost sliding through the world.
I’m quiet as a mouse as I exit our suite, closing the door so slowly there’s barely any click as it latches shut behind me. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else as I move down the hallway, placing each bare foot with calculated precision.
The resort is hushed at this hour, that peculiar stillness that falls over luxury establishments in the dead of night. I slide past the kitchens where a lone staff member is prepping for breakfast, head down, focused on dough. I make it to the concierge station, where I’m greeted by the friendly Mr. Arnaud, our French concierge who’s been seeing to our every whim all week.
“Ah! Miss Halston,” he says, his voice professionally modulated to the perfect volume—not too loud, not too soft. “Can’t sleep? Would you like the pool? Or a blanket for stargazing? Some herbal tea perhaps to help with sleep?”
I force my features into what I hope passes for a normalexpression. “Actually, can you call me a car? I need to get to the airport immediately.”
It’s clear what a consummate professional Mr. Arnaud is, because he barely blinks an eye before assuring me, “Of course, mademoiselle. I’ll have one of the drivers bring around a car at once, and they can take you anywhere you would like to go, including the airport. One of our many concierge services.” His eyes flick briefly to my empty hands. “They’ll be waiting out front if you need to go get bags...?”
“No,” I say, too quickly. I dial it back. “I’m ready now.” I give a tight smile, and again, Mr. Arnaud only responds with another polite nod.
“Then you may wait here in the lobby, and a driver will be with you shortly.”
I nod and go sit in one of the sleek chairs in the gorgeous but sparsely decorated lobby. The desert night presses against the floor-to-ceiling windows, a vast blackness pricked with stars. I try not to fidget, try not to look like I’m running, even though that’s exactly what I’m doing.
The car arrives with maddening slowness, but finally, I slide into the backseat, nodding for the driver to go even though I’m staring back at the restort. What will Donny think when he wakes to find me gone? I press a hand to the glass, my stomach twisting at the thought.
The vehicle purrs to life, but we’ve barely cleared the resort’s entrance when I feel cold metal against my throat and an even colder voice in my ear.
“How kind of you to separate from Mr. Callaghan,” avoice says, thick with a Belarusian accent. “We’ve been waiting to talk to you alone.”
Oh fuck. Shocked, I turn in my seat to find Pavel Reznikov sitting beside me, his bulk hidden in the shadows until now.
I feel the blade at my throat and know he’s not bluffing.
Pavel doesn’t bluff—it’s why he’s survived so long in this business.
“What do you want?” I breathe out, trying not to move a millimeter as the knife presses against my skin.
“To kill you,” he hisses out, his breath hot against my ear, reeking of cigarettes and something sweet—probably those disgusting candies he’s always sucking on.
I glare at him even as he presses the knife harder against my neck. But he’s shifted it so that it’s only the flat, and not the blade, that’s pushing into the soft flesh of my skin.
I meet his gaze, refusing to show fear. “I’d be dead already if that’s what you really wanted.”
He pulls back with a Belarusian curse, then points the knife back at my throat. “I have men poised right outside your fiancé’s bedroom. They’ll kill him at a single command.” He chuckles, noticing my eyes still on his knife. “Or if I fail to check in.”
Dammit. My blood runs cold at the thought of Domhnall, sleeping peacefully, vulnerable to whatever animals Pavel has positioned near him.
“What do you want?” I demand again, my voice steadier than I feel.
“You’re in luck,” Pavel says, leaning back slightly. “Someone is willing to pay me enough to forget how much I want your beautiful head as the centerpiece on my table.” His lips curl into something that might charitably be called a smile. “Instead, I’m just the liaison for a deal.”
“What deal?” The words scrape out of my throat.
“You do what my boss says, you and your pretty boy fiancé are left alone. You live in peace, and not me or any of the other blood-thirsty fucks out there hunting you will ever touch you. You’ll be under the boss’s umbrella of protection.”
“Who the fuck’s your boss?” I ask, mind racing through the catalog of enemies and dangerous players who might have found me.
Pavel laughs, the sound like gravel being crushed. “Why the fuck you think he hire me? He doesn’t want his face known. Or his name.”
