26. Chapter 26

twenty-six

Clara

R ight, kidnapped in a velvet-lined trunk—because, of course, if I’m going to be abducted, it might as well be in style.

The velvet lining is so soft, it’s like being swaddled in a cloud. Which would be great if I weren’t trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, my eyes and mouth covered, hands and feet bound with cable ties.

The car makes a sharp right, and I roll with it, my body slamming against the side of the trunk. Ouch. That’s going to leave a bruise. I’d curse, but the cloth in my mouth muffles any sound I make.

Fucking perfect. I finally track down Leonid Kuznetsov, the man I’ve been hunting for years, only to end up as his captive.

How did I let him get one over on me like this?

No. How did I mess up so badly?

Some super-assassin I turned out to be.

Elijah’s face flashes through my mind, his gap-toothed grin, the way his little arms wrap around my neck when I tuck him in at night.

“I’ll be back before you know it, baby,” I’d promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Mommy just has to take care of some business.”

Right. Business. What a joke.

I should be home, reading my son bedtime stories and sneaking him extra cookies when Pam isn’t looking. Not playing Nancy Drew with the most dangerous man in the city.

What the hell was I thinking?

I’m starting to regret everything—why did I even think I could outsmart Leonid Kuznetsov?

Pam’s probably worried sick. She’s been my lifeline these past five years—my hired nanny who became so much more. Stepping in to care for Elijah when I couldn’t, she’s the reason I’ve managed to hold it together this long. I don’t know what I’d do without her. The thought of leaving her to raise my boy alone, with no explanation… it’s unbearable.

The car hits a pothole, jolting me out of my pity party. I need to focus, dammit. Wasting energy on regret won’t get me out of this mess.

Think, Clara, think!

The Ravens are ruthless; everyone knows that. If I want to survive whatever Kuznetsov has planned, I need to keep my wits sharp.

I strain against my bonds, testing for weak spots. But whoever tied these knew what they were doing. The plastic bites into my skin, unyielding. Fucking great.

Okay, new plan.

I close my eyes behind the blindfold, try to map our route in my head. Judging from the turns and the fading sounds of the city, we must be heading into the countryside. Somewhere remote, hard to trace.

The sour taste of fear coats my tongue.

Think, Clara, think hard.

There has to be a way out of this. You’ve been in tighter spots. Remember Istanbul? Cartagena? If you could wriggle your way out of those clusterfucks, you can handle one pissy Russian with a grudge.

I just need to stay calm. Bide my time. Wait for an opportunity and seize it with both fucking hands. For Elijah. For the truth about what really happened to Jake.

The truth that Leonid Kuznetsov holds the key to if the rumors are to be believed.

The squeal of brakes snaps me out of my dark thoughts as the car jerks to a stop. Oh, shit . This is it. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to break free, run far away from whatever fresh hell awaits.

But there’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. I’m trapped, completely at the mercy of a man who has none.

The engine cuts off, plunging the world into eerie silence. I hold my breath, my nerves crackling with anticipation. Any second now, the trunk will open. Rough hands will pull me out, drag me kicking and screaming to my fate. Maybe a bullet to the head, if I’m lucky.

Oh God, Elijah. I’m so sorry. Mommy loves you more than anything, baby. More than her own life.

Okay. I fill my lungs with air, trying to calm my racing heart. The trunk reeks of Leonid’s cologne, a dizzying mix of bergamot and sandalwood that makes my head spin. Or maybe that’s just the panic setting in.

Focus, Clara, I scold myself. This is no time to go weak at the knees over some fancy man-stink. You’re in deep shit here.

Deep shit. Understatement of the fucking century.

I force my mind to clear, to push past the fear clawing at my throat. I need a plan. Multiple plans. A whole damn flowchart of plans if I want to make it out of this alive.

Master Plan One: Stay calm. Especially you, vagina.

The last thing I need is to be dripping all over Leonid’s plush velvet trunk like a bitch in heat.

Master Plan Two: Deny every accusation.

They can’t prove shit if I don’t crack. I’ve spent years perfecting my poker face. Time to put it to good use.

Master Plan Three: Lie through your goddamn teeth.

They want to know who I am, what I’m doing here? I’ll spin a tale so thick, even I’ll start to believe it. Clara Caldwell? Never heard of her. I’m just a lost little lamb who took a wrong turn on the way to church. Bless my heart.

Master Plan Four: Use your feminine wiles.

Bat my eyelashes, pout my lips, wiggle my hips. Men are suckers for that crap. If I can’t dazzle them with brilliance, I’ll baffle them with bullshit.

Master Plan Five: Run like hell.

First chance I get, I’m booking it faster than a toupee in a hurricane. Fuck Leonid, fuck the Ravens, fuck this whole cursed mission. I’ve got a little boy waiting for me at home, and I’ll be damned if I let these bastards make him an orphan.

I hold my breath, feeling the car shake slightly as the doors open and close, heard clearly from the trunk.

I brace myself. Any second now, the trunk will pop open. They’ll drag me out, rough hands bruising my skin as they haul me to whatever grim fate awaits.

A dank cell, a rusted chair bolted to the floor. Pliers, needles, a tray of wicked-looking blades. And at the end of it all, a gun barrel pressed to my temple. One last prayer, a single tear. Then… nothing. I shut the door to my thoughts.

Nope, I’m not going down without a fight.

But seconds tick by, each one an eternity. I picture Leonid standing by the bumper, savoring the anticipation. The sadistic fuck. He’s probably getting off on this, knowing I’m squirming like a worm on a hook, completely at his mercy.

Joke’s on you, asshole. I’ve been in tighter spots than this. I’ve looked death in the eye and spat in its face. You want to play games? Bring it on.

I clench my jaw, steeling myself for what’s to come.

Nothing happens.

I wait, barely breathing. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty.

Still nothing. No voices, no footsteps. Just the rapid thump of my own pulse roaring in my ears.

What the actual fuck?