29. Charlotte

29

CHARLOTTE

W hen I wake up the next morning, despite the danger still hanging over us, I feel like I've had the first real night's sleep that I've gotten in weeks.

Ivan insisted on sleeping on the couch in the other room, so I had the king-sized bed all to myself. After we ordered room service—mushroom truffle burgers and the crispiest fries I've ever eaten—I couldn't stay awake much longer. I passed out in the middle of the bed, and when I wake, I smell waffles.

There's a breakfast tray next to the bed, waiting for me. When I sit up, blinking sleepily and pushing my hair out of my face, I see Ivan in the living room, a plate in his lap as he eats his own breakfast. I lean back for just a moment, stretching luxuriously as I savor the feeling of waking up on soft sheets and a plush mattress. For one brief second, I let myself pretend that I actually am on vacation, and not in a strange limbo between lives, wondering if the people who want me dead will show up any minute.

Ivan looks up as he hears me stirring, and I see the small smile at the corners of his mouth. "Sleep well?" he asks from across the room, and I nod.

"What about you?"

He shrugs. "Better than anywhere I've slept recently. This couch is more comfortable than my bed at home, I think." He says it casually, but I catch the slight twitch in his jaw when he says home . He hides it well, probably because he doesn't want me to realize it, but it hurt him to leave his home behind, too. That house meant a lot to him; I know that after what he told me the night we camped out.

What does it matter if it hurt him to leave it? It's his fault.

I push the thought away. After everything he's done to keep me safe, it feels unnecessarily mean and cruel. But at the same time, isn't it true?

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before reopening them and reaching for the tray of food. I'm too overwhelmed to sort through that right now. And I'm also starving, smelling the food.

The breakfast that Ivan ordered is poached eggs with Hollandaise, a waffle that's perfectly soft and crunchy in all the right spots, crisp bacon, and a glass of what is definitely fresh-squeezed orange juice. I let out a small sigh as I take a sip, letting the deliciousness of the food take a little of my tension away. It's been a long several days, and even if I can't relax all the way, I deserve a little bit.

"I was thinking we could go down to the pool this afternoon," Ivan says casually. "There's an outdoor one, but also one inside that's absolutely gorgeous. The outdoor pool isn't anything that different from ones you've probably seen before, just bigger, but the indoor is something special."

I immediately debate the wisdom of letting him see me in the bikini I purchased. I don't know if it's wise for me to see him in just swim trunks. The sexual tension between us has been simmering ever since that night in the tent, and Ivan is the one who stopped us last time. Will he stop me again, if it goes that far? And should he?

But if I tell him no, he's going to know exactly why. And my cheeks heat just at the thought of Ivan knowing that I'm so skittish of the tension between us that I can't even put on a swimsuit.

"Sure," I say bravely. "I think I'm going to take another shower after breakfast. And then I'll change, and we can go down."

Ivan chuckles. "It's brunch, really. Look at the time."

Glancing over at the clock, I realize I slept just past noon. I'd known I was exhausted, but I hadn't realized just how much.

I shovel down the rest of my food, before slipping out of the bed and going to the dresser to get my clothes. I'd bought a long, loose shirt to sleep in yesterday, and I see Ivan pause with his fork halfway to his mouth out of the corner of my eye, his gaze flicking to my bare legs.

If he's that distracted by my legs, I'm reconsidering the wisdom of wearing the bathing suit. But I grab it anyway, retreating quickly to the bathroom.

When I've changed, I look at myself in the mirror, biting my lip. It's been a while since I've had a reason to wear a swimsuit. I've lost weight since the last time, and not entirely in a good way, but there's still a curve to my chest and my hips. The royal blue bikini that I picked out, with a faint turquoise sparkle to the fabric, still clings to me more enticingly than is probably wise.

I grab the turquoise coverup that goes with it, throw it on, and wrap the tie around my waist. At the very least, it's better if Ivan doesn't see this until we're out in public.

I feel jittery as we head out into the casino. Even at this early afternoon hour, there are still people on the casino floor, pulling slot machines, throwing dice, and playing cards. They call New York City the city that never sleeps, but from what I've seen, I think that could be applied to Vegas as well. I follow Ivan down the stairs and to another section of the hotel, the scent of the chlorine hitting my nose before I see the pool area. And when I do, I stop in my tracks for a moment, staring at it.

It's incredible. A huge, shimmering circular pool filled with dark blue water is the centerpiece of the room, with a seashell-topped gazebo at one end, large golden lights hanging from the ceiling, and gold velvet curtains pulled back on either side at the center. The tile under my feet is a slick midnight blue, and surrounding the pool are gold and dark blue velvet couches. There's a bar at one end, and the entire thing is a picture of such exotic opulence that all I can do is stare for a moment.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" Ivan asks, and I nod, still taking it all in.

Especially after the time we've spent on the road, this feels like the most luxurious thing that I've done in a long time. Ivan orders us two fruity drinks from the bar, and I dip my feet in the cool water before untying my coverup and slipping it off.

The moment I do, I catch Ivan's eye. His mouth opens for a brief second before he shuts it again, dropping down to sit on one of the couches near the pool's edge. He seems momentarily speechless, and I slip into the water, letting it cover me up to mid-chest in an effort to ward off any awkwardness.

But it isn't awkward. Not really. That's not the feeling that's crackling in the air between us as Ivan looks away, seemingly trying to regain his composure.

I swim away from the pool's edge, letting the cool water wash over me, trying to slow my racing heart. The tension between Ivan and me is palpable, and I can feel his eyes on me even when I'm not looking at him. I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of chlorine and tropical flowers from the nearby potted plants.

"The pool is great," I call out to him from where I'm standing, a more comfortable distance between us now. "Are you going to come in?"

Ivan hesitates for a moment, then seems to realize that's what we're here to do. "I suppose I should," he says, and there's a rasp to his voice as he says it, standing up as he reaches for the edge of his shirt. I look away instinctively, but I can't keep my eyes off of him forever, and I catch a glimpse of his muscled chest and abs, the black ink swirling over his skin, as he slips into the water. The bruises on his torso have started to fade a bit, yellowish-green in the golden light from the chandeliers.

"Won't anyone think it's odd, if they see the bruises?" I ask, glancing around to see if anyone is staring at us. Some other guests are starting to filter in to the pool area, and I feel a flicker of tension. We've been trying to stay out of sight for so long that it feels odd to have that restriction loosened now. But I don't see anyone who looks suspicious, or either of the men we're trying to actively avoid.

"Nah." Ivan leans back against the pool's edge, and I have to once again try to tear my gaze from his chest. "They'll just think I'm an MMA fighter or something. Plenty of fights are hosted here."

"Oh. That makes sense." I trail my fingers through the water, lingering for a moment longer before I push myself up out of the pool, trying not to think about how clearly I can feel Ivan's eyes on me as I walk over to where our drinks are waiting.

Screw it , I think, as I take a long sip of the fruity, vodka-laced cocktail. If we're going to be here for a few days, I want to enjoy it if I can. And I can't do that constantly worrying if I'm stoking the embers of the attraction that Ivan and I have for each other.

I take another sip of the drink, and stretch out on the velvet couch. The fabric rubs pleasantly against the backs of my legs, and I close my eyes, letting out a long, slow breath. I feel some of the tightness seep out of my shoulders, and I think I might drift off into a doze, because the next thing I know, I feel a damp palm against my shoulder.

I jolt back to consciousness, on the verge of scrambling back when my eyes open, and I see Ivan sitting on the edge of the couch next to me. It takes me a moment to see the worry in his eyes, and I go very still, watching him warily.

"What's going on?"

"There's someone who's been inching closer to where you're sitting." Ivan's voice is low, barely audible. "I've been watching him. I need you to get up, and we'll go together up to the hotel room. Slowly, as if nothing's wrong." His voice tightens, and I see him glancing over to one side, presumably where the man who's been trying to get closer to me is.

Slowly sounds like an impossibility in this situation. But I've learned to do a lot of things lately that have felt impossible.

I try to look normal, as I sit up. My heart is racing, but I force myself to move casually, wondering the whole time if that's somehow making it even more obvious that I'm trying to make myself behave naturally. I slip my coverup back on with shaking hands, standing up as Ivan stands with me.

We start to walk towards the exit, and I feel the heat of Ivan's hand against my back, his fingers tense against my spine. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder, to see if someone is following us.

As we reach the hallway to the stairs, I hear footsteps behind us, quicker now. Ivan's hand presses flat against my back, as if to push me forward, and we both walk faster. The elevators are to our right, and I can hear the footsteps getting closer.

"Elevators instead," Ivan says sharply. "Run!"

We bolt for the elevators. Ivan has his keycard out, and he flashes it at the car, the doors mercifully opening immediately. As I dart inside, I see a man behind us reflected in the mirror—a large, muscled man with black hair and a firm set to his mouth. He doesn't look angry or vengeful, just—focused. Like he was hired for this.

Ivan is already on his burner phone. "Yes," he says as the car shoots up, his voice taut and clipped. "One man. No idea. Okay. We'll do that. Meeting time is the same. Yes. More money, I understand. It's no problem."

He shoves the phone back into his pocket, and I look at him confusedly. "More money?"

Ivan shrugs, as if that's the least of his concerns. Maybe it is. "If there's active heat on us, that's more danger for my contact. Puts heat on everything he's doing, too. So the price goes up."

"And you're just…fine with that?"

Ivan shrugs again. "That's how this world works. Mine, anyway. I'm not worried about it." The elevator reaches our floor, and he walks out first, keycard in one hand and the other resting near the pocket of his swim trunks, where I feel sure there's a knife. Probably the switchblade he gave me when I went into the grocery store alone. "Come on."

We hurry down the hall to our room. The minute we're inside, Ivan goes straight to the dresser and yanks out clothes, tossing them on the bed.

"What are you doing?" I frown at him, confused, and he glances back at me.

"We have to go. I got instructions from my contact on what we should do. Change into something and grab the rest of your stuff. Five minutes, Charlotte. We've got to get out of here."

His voice has taken on the tone that he gets when he's focused. He starts to strip out of his clothes without another word, and for once, there's no tension to the moment. Just the absolute need for us to get out of here, moving with a quickness that tells me he's not thinking about anything else. I throw on my jeans and t-shirt, panic rising rapidly in my throat.

Is this how it's going to be forever? Days and days of running, of being safe for just a few brief hours and then panicking again, are compounding to the point that I'm not sure how much longer I can take it. This is all supposed to end when I have a new identity, but with every close call, I'm having a harder and harder time believing that day is going to come.

Ivan grabs a backpack that he must have bought when he got the first set of clothes, shoving what's on the bed into it. "Let's go," he says, giving me a sympathetic look. "I'll flag us down a cab."

Well, at least we don't have to steal another car. It's a weird thing to cling to, but it's really all I have as Ivan grabs the backpack and leads me to the door, glancing out into the hallway before stepping out. "Follow me," he says tersely. "Don't slow down, don't look around. We're going straight out the front. Stick to the crowds if you can, it will be harder for him to grab you."

My heart is in my throat as we head for the stairs. When we walk out onto the casino floor, moving at a quick clip, I think I see a glimpse of the black-haired man. But it could be anyone. I can't be sure it's him.

I follow Ivan, my heart pounding in my ears as we walk quickly downstairs, into the marble lobby, the brightness of the trees over the archway swirling in my vision as I try to stay calm. I can feel my breath hitching in my chest, and I press one hand against it, willing myself to remain calm. To not panic.

The warmth of the afternoon outside, hitting me in sharp contrast to the chill of the indoors, clears the fog from my head a little bit. Ivan links his arm through mine, tugging me forward towards one of the cabs waiting at the curb, and he yanks the door open, nudging me inside as he hands the driver cash, giving him the name of somewhere I'm not familiar with.

I don't ask Ivan where we're going. I'll find out soon enough, and I don't trust myself to speak right now. I feel like if I open my mouth, I might scream.

The cab pulls away from the curb, and I sink back into the seat, my heart still racing, my throat tight with nausea. Ivan's hand finds mine, and he squeezes it gently, a gesture that's meant to be comforting, but I yank my hand away, my panic suddenly transmuting into anger. I'd let myself stop thinking about his part in all of this, but now it comes back into sharp relief, and I press my lips together tightly. I look over at him, seeing the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes keep darting to the rearview mirror.

"Are we being followed?" I follow his gaze, even though I'm not sure what I would be looking for.

Ivan shakes his head. "I don't think so. But that doesn't mean they aren't still working on tracking us."

"Who?"

"Bradley. Lev. Lev might have hired others to help him. There's no way to know for sure."

The city blurs past, the huge signs and towering casinos somehow dimmed. Yesterday, it looked thrilling. Today, it feels looming, like the city is closing in around me. I try to focus on breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly, as the cab speeds out onto the freeway. The panic recedes a little, but I remember the wreck all too well, and every time a car seems to come a little too close to us I jolt again.

"Where are we going?" I finally ask tiredly, leaning back in the seat.

"Another hotel." Ivan looks out of the window. "A smaller town, outside of Vegas. A place to hide out for a couple of days. My contact has some guys there, they'll help keep an eye out for us."

"More money?"

Ivan chuckles. "Yeah. But it doesn't matter to me." He glances over, his jaw tightening for a moment, as if he's considering whether he should say what's on his mind. "I'd pay any amount to make sure you're safe, Charlotte," he says finally.

And then he turns his gaze back out to the window next to him, going silent once more.