Chapter 2

Okay, so I must be the most naive person ever. After all that life has thrown at me, the allegro of ups and downs and the tempo never stopping, the pirouettes of pain—not knowing my mom, knowing my dad was evil, loving him anyway, wishing I could hate him—after all this, I still thought the Sokolovs had reached their happily ever after.

Now, this strangely handsome man is driving me through the desert. I'm sitting in the back, no bindings on my hands, no gag in my mouth.

"This doesn't feel like a kidnapping," I murmur. My voice sounds distant. It feels like it belongs to somebody else somehow. Maybe this is how I will deal with this—from a distance.

"You can call it what you want," he says.

It's like he's trying to make his tone mean, low, and cruel, but it doesn't sound right.

"You don't seem like a criminal."

He makes a pfft noise, and I immediately know what he's thinking.

"I might be a kid in your eyes, but I've been around enough Bratva to be able to tell."

"Go on then," he says with a sarcastic note of indulgence. I think he's almost smirking as I study him in the rearview. "Why don't you tell me who I am, Ania."

It's not a question. It has the quality of a command like he'll make me do things anyway. Silly, crazy thoughts grip me as I think that—the sort of thoughts I shouldn't allow into my head about this kidnapping stranger.

"Military," I tell him.

"Too many rules," he growls.

"Ex-military, then."

He glances at me in the mirror, surging down the dusty, lonely road. "Hmm."

"Hmm? Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a hmm."

"You're a very well-spoken person. Has anybody ever told you that before?"

It's easier to hide behind humor. I need to be careful not to feel too proud when a smirk twitches his lips. He wipes it away like he's ashamed, grimacing at the road, but I saw it. I felt that flutter of warm something in my belly.

"You seem more well-spoken than me," he says.

"That's what happens when you spend your life dancing and reading." A voice whispers in my head. I think it's Dimitri saying, Don't let him fool you. You're too trusting. The first chance you get, run. I tried to run when he first appeared like magic, and where did that get me? He felt so strong and possessive as he looped his arm around me.

"Hmm," he says again.

"Is that your catchphrase?"

"It's easy to remember."

Now I'm the one who has to wipe away a smile. I hide it behind my hand. I can't let him think that my coping mechanism is how I really feel. I can't let him believe he has the right to break into my home, take me, and then, just like that, everything's okay.

"So I assume you're working for another big bad Bratva," I say, my voice cracking. There's panic in there somewhere beneath the numbness.

"I don't work for anybody," he grunts.

"That can't be true," I tell him. "There's no other reason anybody would take me."

"Hmm."

"Hmm," I echo. "Hmm, hmm, hmm. Do you think that makes you cool and mysterious? It just makes you annoying."

Another glance into the rearview, another smirk he seems guilty about, then, "Hmm."

I shake my head, wondering if this is what flirting feels like. It's a crazy thought, but smiling suddenly feels much easier. "You know who my brothers are, though."

"Mikhail and Dimitri Sokolov. Of course."

"You know they won't be happy about this."

"I don't place much stock on the opinions of criminals, Ania."

"They're not criminals," I snap, only realizing how ridiculous that must sound once the words are out of my mouth. He doesn't reply; he keeps driving with that subtle smirk. "I mean, fine, but not like how you're making it sound."

"They draw the line at trafficking. Let's give them a medal."

"They don't hurt people."

"Everybody hurts people," he growls.

"How poetic."

"We don't have to talk," he says.

"Then maybe you should gag me." I fold my arms, staring a challenge at him.

"Don't tempt me," he says, eyes flitting to me in the rearview. He says it with a huskiness that makes me think those silly thoughts again. I seriously need more experience with men, except the idea of getting experience with anybody other than my kidnapper seems disgusting to me. What the hell? That's weird, isn't it?

"You're hurting me by taking me away from my brothers. We've had a crazy couple of weeks."

"I know," he says.

"What, you've been watching us?"

"No, just you."

"Why?" I snap. When he doesn't reply, I say, "At least give me your name. Your real name." My voice gets louder, panic entering it. "You can't just take me and?—"

"Aiden," he cuts in.

"Aiden," I repeat, as though it makes any difference, and knowing his name will make this any easier. My chest is getting tight. The world is moving fast, and suddenly, I'm about to be sick. "Pull over."

"Ania—"

"I'm going to puh-puke!"

I cover my mouth with my hand. Then Aiden pulls over, and I burst from the car, keeling over at the side of the road as watery vomit spews from my mouth. The world is spinning too fast, making me feel like I do when I wake from sleepwalking.

Aiden stands nearby, watching me with his hand on his hip.

"Getting ready to shoot me?" I say bitterly.

"That isn't going to happen. Ania, this is a good thing."

I turn to him, pathetically self-conscious about the vomit clinging to my lips, but it doesn't matter. He must be around Mikhail's age, and he kidnapped me. Why am I even worrying about what he thinks?

"A good thing," I repeat.

"I'm not part of a rival Bratva. I'm not part of any criminal organization. This has nothing to do with your brothers."

"What do you want with me, then?" I manage to say, even though my throat feels like it's about to close.

I want to grab you again. I want to kiss you. I want to stroke my hands down your body and own you.

Shut up, stupid voice.

"I'm going to take you to your mother."

When he says the m-word, my vision blurs, and I rush to him, driven by some insane instinct. I try to slap him, but he catches my wrists and holds them like it's the easiest thing he's ever done.

"You're a vicious piece of filth," I hiss. "You're a disgusting pig. What a sick thing to say! My mother never wanted me!" I'm crying, ashamed of myself, but I can't stop. "She never … never …"

"Your father lied," Aiden replies, letting me go. "He beat the living hell out of your mother, took you, and left her for dead. She's been too terrified to find you all her life, but Konstantin is gone now."

Goneis a civilized way of saying he blew his brains out as a final middle finger to my brothers and the Bratva.

"If this is about my mom, why not just reach out to me?"

He looks at me like I'm nuts. "You think reaching out to the Bratva is a good idea? Politely asking them if you could meet your mother? Ania, if your brothers wanted to find your mother, they could've done it a long time ago."

"That's a lie," I tell him flatly.

"With all their resources? With all their money?"

There's a tense standoff, Aiden staring at me, hand still near his hip. Part of me wants to push him so that he has to do something. I can't let myself believe anything he's saying.

"Give me proof, then," I tell him. "Call my mom right now."

"She doesn't know I'm doing this."

"Why?"

"She'd disapprove of my methods. Nice, civilized people always think the world is nice and civilized, even people who should know better, but it's not. It's an evil, ugly place. It's poisoned right down to the base layer. Every atrocity you can think of is happening somewhere to the most innocent people, all at the same time." He grits his teeth, letting out a shaky breath. "My stepmother is a nice, civilized person."

"Your … stepmom?"

"Your mother married my father," Aiden tells me. "It was rocky at first, but it's going well. In fact, they've just had a baby. That's why I'm here. I'm taking you to your real family."

A "little girl" sort of hope flutters into me, reminding me of my early childhood when I'd write stories about some dashing prince coming to rescue me and taking me to a new family. Then the Bratva instincts kick in. He's given me no proof. I've got no reason to believe him.

"I'll just take your word then, shall I?"

"Hmm," he says, with that captivating smirk. No, it's not captivating. "It's good that you're not easy to trust. Most people your age are very naive." He nods at the car. "Get in, Ania."

"What if I don't, Aiden?"

"Then I'll have to make you."

He walks right up to me, emphasizing just how big he is. Being around Mikhail and Dimitri means I'm used to being around huge, towering people. Yet there's something different about Aiden.

What other choice do I have? I feel lightheaded and sick, panic constantly trying to mess with me. That's what I tell myself as I climb into the car. I have no choice.

The truth is, part of me hopes this is real. I'm going to meet my mother.