Page 97 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

“It’ll be fine,” I assure him. I take Zoya’s hand and then take his. “Come on. We need to bail before we’re spotted.”

The street traffic picks up away from the docks. I fix my outfit and brush my hair as best I can with my fingers before raising my arm into the air. I whistle loudly and flag down a taxi, practically shoving Zoya and Pavel into the back.

“Blaczak’s in East Village,” I tell the driver.

When the cab rejoins traffic, my stress eases.

And then panic slides into place.

How narrowly did we just miss our deaths for the second time today?

Pavel worriedly rubs my hands between his palms. We’re all stiff, but I can’t even sense the chill in the air. All I feel is a prevailing sense of danger.

The miniature digital screens on the back of the seats flash with breaking news.

Ongoing Manhuntscrolls across the bottom of the screen.

My mouth drops open in horror as the anchor says, “We’ve just received somegrislydetails of a terrible shootout on the FDR. Pavel Sergeyevich Suvorov and Liya Bernadetti, wanted by the NYPD for kidnapping Zoya Malinsky, are suspected to have been involved.”

Photographs of all three of us splash the screen. I shut off the televisions as quickly as I can, hoping the cab driver hasn’t heard a thing. By the look of the Bluetooth piece in his ear, he doesn’t seem particularly interested in us.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t become interested soon.

Then, an alarm blares from every phone in the car. We all pull out our devices—driver included—only to see a text outlining the breaking news we just saw on the screen.

Pavel grabs my hand.

I glance out the window and notice we’re just a few blocks off. I reach into Pavel’s inner pocket, grab a wad of cash, and toss it at the driver. “Here’s fine. Thanks!”

I yank Pavel and Zoya with me, heading in the direction of my old job. It was practically myfirstjob, depending on who’s defining the words. But I don’t think that really matters right now.

City streets expand with life, appearing far too normal for how hard my heart is slamming inside my chest. The usual crowds of NYU students in East Village, waiting for happy hour, have started streaming in. A few more steps put us inside Blaczak’s—and it looks exactly the same.

I mean, why wouldn’t it? It’s not like I’ve been gone that long.

But honestly, it feels like ages.

Janine stands behind the bar with a lollipop in her mouth and her eyes glued to a television.

Where my face is all over the screen.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

Pavel slides his hand over my upper back. “No running this time?”

I almost laugh until Janine turns around and whitens.

She looks like she’s seen a ghost.

I close the distance between us with my hands up. “Hey, don’t panic, okay?”

Her eyes flicker to Pavel, Zoya, and then back to me. She plucks the lollipop from her mouth. “What do you want?”

“I just need a place to lie low for a few minutes.”

“And?”

I shake my head. “That’s it. I swear.”

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