5. Charlotte

5

CHARLOTTE

" W here are we going?" I ask him, as he pulls out onto the highway. "What's this plan of yours?"

Ivan is silent for a long moment. "If I don't answer, is the next question going to be, are we there yet? " he asks finally, that same hint of bitterness still in his voice, and I flash him an angry look.

"I'm not a child."

"You listen like one." His hands tighten on the steering wheel, all of his earlier desire and humor gone. He feels remote now, cold, and I wonder if I could reach him now at all, if I wanted to. I wonder who usually sees this side of him, and I have a feeling that I don't want to know.

That what he said was true—that I don't know the half of it. I doubt I ever will.

The small flicker of disappointment, of sadness that I feel at that thought, startles me. I shouldn't feel that way. I shouldn't want to know anything more about him. All that I already do know should be enough—he's a criminal, a man willing to kidnap a woman under the guise of rescuing her, a man who will fuck a woman even though he knows it's wrong.

You knew it was wrong too, I chide myself as I stare out through the windshield, at the rapidly rolling empty fields and highway ahead of us. You can't pretend he was running the whole show.

"I'm listening now." I knot my hands together in my lap. "The uncertainty is killing me, Ivan."

Saying his name seems to get through to him. He lets out a heavy sigh, glancing over at me before returning his attention to the road. "I told you that I've been working for the FBI as an informant. Helping them try to catch my father. I'm going to ask them for help keeping you safe. I already have, as a matter of fact—that was the call I made. They've already helped another woman my father targeted—a daughter of his rival. The woman you saw me with at the gala," he adds, and I blink, startled.

"Your father wanted to?—"

"Kidnap and sell her? Yes. He and her father are longtime rivals, fellow pakhans who have tried to bring each other down for years. My father decided revenge was best served through punishing his daughter for her father's sins."

I can't even speak for a moment, as I process that. "That—that's horrible," I manage finally, and Ivan nods.

"It is. And it's far from the worst of the things my father has done."

"And you?" I ask the question before I can think better of it, and I see Ivan's hands tighten on the wheel again, hard enough that his knuckles whiten slightly.

"They helped her," he says finally, ignoring my question. That, in and of itself, feels like an answer, and I feel that cold sensation slither down my spine again. "They'll help you."

The way he says it almost sounds as if he's trying to convince himself, and that cold, shivery feeling intensifies. I wrap my arms around myself, afraid to ask the next question, but I want to know. I need to know.

"What does that mean?"

Ivan lets out another heavy breath. He doesn't answer at first, and I squeeze my arms around my waist tighter, a feeling of dread starting to build in the pit of my stomach. "Ivan."

"They'll talk to you once we get there."

"You know something," I insist, chewing on my lip. "You wanted me to listen. Fine, I'm listening. Just tell me the truth. What does ‘helping me' mean?"

Something tells me that it doesn't just mean taking me home. Ivan's hesitation and the look on his face is enough for me to know that.

"They put Sabrina in witness protection," he says finally. "Or at least that's what I was told that they would do. I imagine they will likely do the same for you."

For a moment, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. "I'm not—witness to anything," I manage, that protest feeling like my best chance of explaining why this solution can't possibly work.

"I don't know what else to call it." There's a tinge of exasperation in Ivan's voice now, his hands still gripping the steering wheel hard. "What they do to keep people adjacent to criminals who need protection safe. It's the same thing, I think. Basically."

"Criminals like you."

His mouth forms a thin line, and I can tell that I've hurt him. But he doesn't deny it. I almost feel bad for saying it, but I can't. Not entirely, because if what he's saying is true?—

"No." I shake my head. "No, that can't happen. That means—my entire life would be erased, Ivan. A new name, a new place to live…I can't do that. I'd lose everything. Not just my job and my apartment, but my friends. Jaz, Sarah, Zoe—they'd never know what happened to me. I?—"

"I know what it means, Charlotte." Ivan's voice has never sounded heavier. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. It will be easier hearing all of this from them?—"

"Do you really believe that?" My voice is rising, angry and loud in the small interior of the car, and I see Ivan wince, but he says nothing in response. "Do you really think that hearing this at any time would be easier?"

He still says nothing, and somehow, that makes me even angrier. "Last night, everything was fine!" I shout, twisting around to look at him. "I went out to dinner, and I hung out with Jaz, and I was looking forward to another date with you, and you were just a normal guy, and?—"

Ivan's hands twist back and forth on the steering wheel. "I was never a normal guy, Charlotte," he says quietly. "I just hadn't told you yet."

I slump back into the seat, tears pricking hotly at the corners of my eyes. "Were you ever going to?"

His silence tells me all I need to know. And deep in my chest, I can feel the first cracks starting to make their way across my heart.

—

We drive like that for what feels like a long time, in silence. Ivan doesn't look at me, and his hands never unclench from the steering wheel, not until he turns into the parking lot of a small motel. I'm not even sure it's still operating—the parking lot looks empty, except for a black car with tinted windows parked on the far side. I glance over at Ivan, fear suddenly curdling my stomach as a new, horrifying thought occurs to me.

He said he was taking me to the FBI so that they could help me, but what if that, too, was a lie? What if he's handing me over to someone to take me away for something even worse? What if all of this, all along, was a ruse?

"That's going to be Agent Bradley," Ivan says, gesturing towards the other car. There's a grim look on his face, tinged with what looks like hurt, as if he knows what I was thinking. "Let's go."

I open my car door myself, not waiting for Ivan to come around and do it for me. I stand up, feeling a little unsteady, and watch as Ivan comes around the car to stand in front of me. The way he's standing partially blocks out the sun, making it so that I can see his expression clearly, and I can't quite read what he's thinking on his face.

"I want to tell you I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I wish I could say that. I should say that, because you're right. Your life is never going to be the same after this, and that wouldn't have happened if I'd just left you alone. But?—"

Something about the look on his face, the hurt that I see there, softens something inside of me. I'm terrified, angry, and confused, but there's still the part of me that cares about him, that thought that there was something between us that could have become so much more. The memories of laughing with him and picking apples and baking a pie, of sitting in a movie theater, of his mouth and hands on me, all of those things are still there, and even if it's all tangled up in so many lies, I know at least some of it was real.

And it's all about to be over.

"What about you?" I ask hurriedly, as I see one of the doors to the black car on the other side of the parking lot open. "What happens to you now? You said you weren't on good terms with your family, and if I've gotten away?—"

"Don't worry about that," Ivan says tersely. "All that matters is that you're safe, Charlotte. Everything else is secondary."

The utter sincerity with which he says it makes me go very still, staring up at him. There's no trace of anything else in his voice, nothing to make me think he isn't telling the truth. And the way he dodged my question suddenly makes me afraid for him. "Ivan?—"

"Mr. Kariyev. Ms. Williams." A sharp, businesslike voice cuts through the air, interrupting, and both Ivan and I turn at the same time.

A man is walking towards us, one that I can only imagine is Agent Bradley. He's wearing ordinary clothes, jeans and a polo shirt, and yet he screams cop . Or, I guess, in this case, FBI agent . There's a smirk on his face, but it lacks the charm of Ivan's. There's no humor in it—he just looks satisfied, like a cat who's caught a particularly irritating mouse. And the way he's looking at Ivan—as if Ivan is the mouse—instantly makes me feel uncomfortable.

"I don't want to go anywhere with him," I say quietly, under my breath. Staying with Ivan isn't— can't —be an option, either, but right now, all I know is that I don't trust this man. I don't want to get in that car with him. And I don't want to entrust him with wiping away my entire identity and giving me a new one.

"He'll help you," Ivan insists. "No matter what, you'll be safe, Charlotte. And that's all that?—"

He breaks off as the back door to the black car opens. And my heart feels as if it falls out of my chest as I see the man who slides out, straightening in the afternoon sun stiffly and looking across the parking lot at me with that same self-satisfied smirk that's on Agent Bradley's face.

"Nate?" His name spills out of my mouth before I can even fully register what I'm seeing. "What are you doing here? What?—"

Bradley's smirk deepens. "Well, that's the thing, Ms. Williams. It seems that your little boyfriend's criminal activities haven't been limited to the vast and varied world of the Bratva's jobs for him."

"He's not my—" I start to say, but Bradley keeps talking over me.

"He apparently has plenty of time for extracurriculars, too. For instance—" He motions for Nate to hurry up and get to his side. The moment Nate is standing next to him, Bradley turns and hooks a finger in the v of Nate's t-shirt, yanking it down so sharply that Nate winces.

There, across his chest, is a bandage. And because of the text that Nate's brother sent me, I know what's under it.

Keep your mouth shut.

It seems that Nate didn't do that.

"Ivan?" I whisper, looking over at him. Ivan doesn't glance at me, doesn't take his eyes off of Bradley for a moment, and that's when I know with that still-sinking pit in my stomach that Ivan did, in fact, have something to do with it.

And he doesn't look guilty. He doesn't even look upset. He looks angry .

"I need you to get her out of here," Ivan says, ignoring Nate as he speaks directly to Agent Bradley. "Just like you did for Sabrina. We talked about this, just a little while ago?—"

"Of course we did. I'll deal with Ms. Williams shortly. I'll need to know everything that she knows about you, of course, although I imagine you kept most of those secrets close to your chest." Bradley smirks, and Nate winces. I can't stop looking between the two of them, feeling dizzy and shell-shocked, unsure of what's going on. Between everything I found out after waking up this morning, and now this, I'm not sure how much more I can take.

I want to drop to the ground, cover my face with my hands, and not get up for a long time. I want to sleep for a day, or more, maybe. And more than anything, I want everyone around me right now to disappear. Even Ivan.

Maybe, after everything I've learned today, especially Ivan.

"Mr. Taylor here," Bradley looks over at Nate, "was wise enough to go to the police after his assault. Or, at the very least, his brother was, just before Mr. Taylor was taken to the hospital. The local police were quite unable to determine who the assailant might have been, but they contacted the FBI, since there was a possibility of linking it to one of the criminal organizations in the city. We, of course, are well aware of Mr. Kariyev's connection to you, Ms. Williams, and your former connection to Mr. Taylor. All put together, and with some simple tapping into your phone, we were able to put together that Mr. Taylor had recently sent you some unsavory messages. We were also aware that Mr. Kariyev had been tracking your phone and laptop activity. He must have been aware of Mr. Taylor's—shall we say, threats to you, and engaged in some good, old-fashioned vigilante justice. Which, of course, we disapprove of, being the law."

"You were what ?" I pivot, looking at Ivan, my mouth dropping open. But he still won't look at me. He's staring directly at Bradley, never flinching, and the expression on his face is near-murderous. For the first time, I can see the man that Ivan says he is, clearly, in his face. I see a man who could work for an organization like the one he says he's a part of. I see a man who could do what he seemingly did to Nate. And it terrifies me.

It also makes me wonder, in some small, wicked part of my mind, what it would be like to have a man like that in love with me. Protecting me. Keeping me safe, forever, from men like Nate. From men like Bradley, who I still don't trust. Who I maybe trust even less now, after everything he's said. Some deep, instinctual part of me says that I shouldn't go with him. But I'm trapped, and I don't think I'm going to be given a choice.

Bradley's smile broadens as he finishes, but it still never meets his eyes. "Now, Mr. Kariyev, we have you on assault. Your information has been useful, but not useful enough. So you'll also be brought up on kidnapping and trafficking charges, for the abduction and attempted trafficking of Ms. Williams?—"

"That's not what happened!" I burst out, but once again, Bradley continues talking over me.

"If you don't want to die within a few days of being sent to a supermax facility, Mr. Kariyev, you'll give us more information than you have thus far. Of course, that information won't buy you your freedom any longer. It will, at most, buy you your life. In solitary, of course. But that's life, at least."

"And you're coming home with me," Nate interrupts, looking at me. "Charlotte, I've had enough of all of this. I get that you were pissed about the cheating, but I've explained myself already. There's no reason to throw away five years of a relationship over it. You've gotten me back with this trash—" he looks disparagingly at Ivan, then back at me. "It'll be hard for me to get over the fact that he's touched you, but I'm sure in time?—"

Before Nate can finish his sentence, Ivan shoves himself forward, putting his body in between me and Nate. " You'll touch her again over my dead body," he spits, and this time, Bradley's smile does reach his eyes.

"That can be arranged, Mr. Kariyev," he says smoothly, and I feel Ivan tense.

"Charlotte, get in the car," Ivan says, his voice low, and Nate almost immediately interrupts him.

"Charlotte, come here . What you saw in that piece of trash, anyway, I'll never understand, but we can talk about your little rebellion later?—"

"I'm not a child!" I snap, lurching around from behind Ivan to glare at Nate. "I'm not going to let you talk to me like that. And I'm not a dog, for you to whistle at?—"

"Enough," Bradley snaps. "You're coming with me , Ms. Williams, for questioning. And then?—"

"She's not going anywhere." Ivan's hand comes up, and I feel all the blood drain from my face as I see a gun in his hand, one that I have no idea where it came from. "Except with me."