Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Charlotte Mitchell

M y pulse thunders in my neck as I make my way down the small hallway toward the women’s restroom. I may have made it past the man Anya was with undetected, but I still have to confront the woman herself, who didn’t seem to have any interest in my questions at the gala. She seemed consumed with her situation, and I can’t really blame her. I would be, too, even if I didn’t know the full extent. Making friends would be the last thing on her list, but I’m going to change that for her.

I have to.

There’s a drive in me to try to save her, even with Nix’s warnings to let it go for the sake of the bigger picture. But she’s here, and right now . . . she’s alone.

I’m going to give her Mile’s number and hope like hell she gets herself out of this. I don’t know if she has a phone, but she could steal one or sneak one or something . People can be resourceful, and I have every hope that she has enough common sense to be the same.

The door makes a whoosh sound as I push my way through it, and at the same time, one of the toilets flushes. I shimmy my way toward the wall and lean against it with the napkin in my hand. And once she opens the stall door, our eyes connect.

I give her a small smile. She pauses mid-stride when she recognizes me. It isn’t hard. I’m dressed in the same clothes as I was last night, and I’m told I have a memorable face anyway.

“You,” she says, her Russian accent thick. She seems to shake off my sudden appearance and heads toward the sink. Turning it on, she begins to wash her hands.

“Hi, Anya,” I whisper as cheerfully as I can because I know, if she doesn’t take my napkin and dial those numbers, this could be the last time I see her.

“What are you doing here?” she asks while looking at me in the mirror. Her voice is so soft and full of defeat that it nearly breaks my heart.

“I have something for you,” I murmur back to her.

When I hold out the napkin, she’s drying her hands and staring at it like it might bite her. “What is it?”

“A phone number.”

She finally meets my gaze. “What for?”

Taking her now-dried hand, I gently set the napkin into her palm and close her fingers around it. “I know the situation you’re in. Call the number if you want to get out of it. Please, Anya. Please call it.”

Her eyes fly wide, and she glances down at my hands cupping hers. She pulls away but doesn’t drop the napkin. I frown at her as she wildly looks around and whispers, “I can’t.”

“Why? ”

Her eyes narrow angrily as if I’m the one who took her against her will from her country. “There are people who need me to be here.”

“What are you talking about?”

She squeezes her fist and crumples the napkin into a ball. “I have family. They’re taking care of them, but only if I stay here and do what I promised.”

I take a step in her direction, but she backs up to keep her distance. “If you call that number, they can help your family.”

She nearly growls. “You don’t get it!” she spits. “They’ll help them with money while I’m here, but if I stop, if I disappear, they’ll . . .” She looks down at her feet, both in seemingly shame and anger.

“They’ll kill them,” I say with understanding in my tone. “Andre, right?”

Lifting her gaze back to mine, she grits out, “He’s the man who told me so, yes. But it isn’t him who is in charge.”

“I know,” I grumble. I bite the inside of my lip, wondering how far I can push someone who is so stressed. “Do you know who it is?”

She shakes her head and snorts in an unladylike fashion. “No, but I heard them talking on the phone once.”

Excitement bubbles in my chest. “Did you get a name?”

“No,” she declares firmly, regretfully almost. “They just talked about things I didn’t understand.”

“That’s okay, Anya. I’m . . . I want to get you out of this.”

“Why? You’re not a hero. You’re just like me. Stuck in it too.”

“Not in the same way you are.”

She chuffs and makes a sound that’s close to a laugh. “So you think. ”

I pinch my eyebrows together. I can get out of this any time I want. Right? “You do know that, if you stay, you’re going to die, right?”

With all the fake humor gone, she looks to her left and studies her reflection in the mirror. That’s the only answer I get, and it’s enough.

I step toward her again, holding out my hand pleadingly. Thankfully, she doesn’t move away this time. “Let me help you.”

Sighing, she makes to move past me, stuffing the napkin into her pocket as she does. “No one can help me. Don’t bother trying.”

And with that, she exits the bathroom, and I’m left dumbfounded in the spot that I’m in. Is she really so terrified of what will happen to her family that she won’t trust my word that I can protect them? Protect her?

What did they tell her? What were the exact words they used to describe what would happen to her family if she should fail?

I run a hand through my hair and rip through the knots frustratedly. They must have told her everything she feared most. And damn it, it worked. I can only hope that she changes her mind and calls Miles before it’s too late.