21. Chapter 21

21

Clara

W hat the fuck is up with today?

All I want is to see Mitch. But instead, I’ve gone Chanel shopping, endured a car chase that would put “Fast the corner of his mouth curves into a crooked grin before he drags me out of the car faster than I intend to.

The sidewalk’s cold under my feet.

“Such a fucking gentleman,” I mutter.

“Just. Follow. Me.” He strides ahead.

I trail behind, half-rolling my eyes and trying not to feel like a stray being pulled along. A bell chimes as we enter—because apparently, every shitty tech shop needs a bell. Two guys look up from ancient computers. One’s got tattoos crawling up his neck like ivy. The other’s sporting a beard that could house small wildlife.

“Boss.” Beard-guy scrambles up, nearly knocking over his energy drink. He hurries to a shelf packed with dusty hard drives and punches something into a hidden panel.

The shelf slides sideways.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Problem?” Leonid’s hand finds my lower back.

“Other than this being the most cliché secret entrance ever? Nope.”

“Would you prefer a trap door?”

“I’d prefer my other shoe.”

Tattoo-neck and Beard-guy disappear behind their screens as Leonid guides me through the entrance.

And holy shit.

The shelf slides shut behind us with a click that sounds way too final. Darkness swallows everything except a strip of blue light stretching into forever.

Perfect murder spot. No witnesses, no body, just another dumb broad who trusted the wrong Russian.

I frown at the endless tunnel. “Are you serious?”

“Having second thoughts?” Leonid’s breath hits my ear.

I spin around; my nose wrinkles. “About following a murderous mob boss into a dark tunnel? Never.”

His hands land on my waist, turning me back around and pressing me forward. The heat of his chest burns through his clothes, and fuck, he smells like gunpowder and expensive cologne.

My body betrays me, leaning back against hard muscle.

I clench my jaw.

Get your shit together, Clara.

“Move.” His grip tightens, thumbs pressing into my hip bones.

My lips curl into a sneer, even though he can’t see it. “Bossy.” But I step forward, trying not to let my apprehension show.

His hands don’t leave my waist. I let him be.

The tunnel stretches forever. Blue lights pulse along the floor like something out of “Resident Evil.” My bare feet slap against steel grating—because apparently, carpet is too mainstream for secret mob tunnels.

“How deep does this go?” My voice bounces off metal walls.

“Worried?”

“About being trapped underground with you? Yes.”

Another thirty steps. Fifty. A hundred. The tech shop might as well be in another zip code.

“Wait.” Leonid’s arm shoots out, blocking my path. A red laser grid sweeps across the floor ahead of us. Because of course it does.

“Seriously?”

“Security measures.”

“No shit.”

The grid disappears. A section of wall slides open—I’m starting to sense a theme here. Behind it is a glass chamber big enough for maybe three people.

“Ladies first?” Leonid’s got that smirk again.

“After you, princess.”

He steps in. I follow, trying not to think about all the ways this could go wrong. The chamber seals with a hiss.

“Identification required,” a robotic voice fills the space. Blue light scans us from head to toe.

“You guys really committed to the whole evil lair aesthetic, huh?”

“Says the woman who just spent ten grand on shoes.”

“Nine and a half. And at least I can walk in them.”

The chamber descends. My stomach lurches—we’re moving fast. The walls around us turn transparent, revealing…

“Holy fuck.”

We’re dropping through the center of what looks like a massive silo. Except, instead of missiles, there’s floor after floor of medical tech that probably costs more than the GDP of several small countries. Operating rooms with robots. Labs full of equipment I can’t even name. People in hazmat suits moving between steel tables.

“This is how you’re hiding from the feds? An underground hospital?”

“Among other things.”

The chamber slows. Through the glass, I can see a long corridor lined with doors. Each one’s got a keypad, a retinal scanner, and probably a blood sample requirement.

“I’m starting to think you guys have trust issues.”

Leonid’s hand lands on my back as the chamber doors open. “You’re one to talk.”

A doctor in scrubs hurries past, tablet in hand. His footsteps echo off steel walls. Everything smells like antiseptic and money.

“This way.” Leonid steers me left. “Try not to touch anything.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll steal your secret formulas?”

“Afraid you’ll set off another alarm. The last one gave me a headache.”

Three more security checkpoints. Two more sliding doors. Each one needs Leonid’s fingerprints, retinal scan, or firstborn child to open.

Finally, he stops in front of a door marked “High-Security Wing B.”

“Ready?”

“To see Mitch? No. To get out of this sci-fi nightmare? Hell, yes.”

The door slides open with a hydraulic hiss.

My feet freeze on the threshold. Every muscle locks up.

This isn’t a medical wing. This is fucking “Star Trek.”

Pristine white walls curve overhead into a dome of glass panels. Holographic screens float in mid-air, displaying vital signs in 3D. Doctors in what look like hazmat suits made of liquid metal glide between beds that hover—actually hover—three feet off the ground.

“What the actual fuck?”

A robot rolls past, carrying a tray of instruments that probably cost more than my house. The air smells like nothing—too clean, too pure, like even germs are too poor to exist here.

And at the far end…

“No way.” The word comes out half-laugh, half-disbelief.

Mitch is propped up in what looks like a floating cloud of light, wrapped in monitors that pulse with his heartbeat. He’s wearing what seem to be silk pajamas, watching something on a screen that’s literally floating in front of his face.

And he’s eating caviar. Actual fucking caviar.

“Welcome to the future,” Leonid murmurs behind me.