Chapter Two

H ard fingers bit into Shiloh’s elbow as William yanked her through the door of what she could only call a McMansion.

Damn, when did he get so strong? He was always fit—unfortunately she recalled the lines of his body far too well—but he wasn’t one of those musclehead men who hit the gym daily.

She blinked to force her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting inside. When they drove up, she noted every detail about the huge home with too much square footage that Americans were so fond of owning. She noted the wrought iron fence surrounding the place and the mean-looking dog pacing the fence line. She noticed everything except the house number and the street she was on. Every house on the block looked to be a slightly different version of this one.

The first thing that hit her was the heavy, old-fashioned scent of furniture polish. The next was the long shadows cast along the floor, created by curtains that spanned over tall windows. As the door slammed behind them, air currents rustled the curtains, shooting slivers of sunlight through the shadows like darts.

William wrenched on her arm to drag her forward, and she barely managed to bite back a cry. She’d already learned if she resisted, his tough fingers would only bite deeper into her skin.

She took a breath, pushing down her building apprehension.

Why had he brought her here? Was he going to kill her? Why did he need to bring her all the way out here to do that?

When he shoved her toward a black leather sofa, her knees decided it was time to give in to her fear and she plunked down helplessly onto the seat.

Trying to compose herself, she folded her hands in her lap, precisely overlaying her fingers, and looked William in the eyes. “Why did you bring me here?”

She didn’t see anyone around, but distant noises from another part of the house alerted her that someone was here besides the two of them. That someone might be her only hope, an ally if she could appeal to their sense of humanity.

William ran his fingers through his hair. The action rearranged the mussed loose curls into a perfect coif. Damn him for still looking so poised.

“You know exactly why I brought you here.”

“Whatever illegal activities you’ve been involved in, I am not part of them. I don’t know why you sought me out since you made me sign the company non-disclosure agreement.” The dark stare he gave her had her gripping her fingers tighter.

“You and I both know that if you were subpoenaed by the feds, you could say plenty , Shiloh.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been out of this for so long. I haven’t said anything in six months. Why would I now?”

He narrowed his eyes in one of those cutting glares he was so good at giving. The kind that sliced through a person and made them shiver in the face of the power he could wield. When she made her escape from him, that look had been the last he’d given her.

She’d hoped to never, ever see it again.

“I’m not taking any chances.” He looked up at the doorway.

She followed his gaze to see a tall man standing there. His shoulders took up the entire frame, and for a heartbeat, she thought it could be the man on the street that she’d asked for help.

Her heart leaped, then fell as the man stepped in to the room and she realized he was tall and pale-haired, unlike the dark-haired man on the street.

William waved a hand as if everything was all settled. “Russia is perfect for you. There’s no extradition policy. Once you’re there, you can’t be forced back to the States to testify against me.”

Panic was a wild beast beating at her ribs. She battled for poise.

When she tilted her head, her long hair tumbled over her breast. William’s gaze tracked the movement. He had a thing for her breasts, but she always thought her long, toned legs were her best feature. That difference of opinion wasn’t the only reason for their failed relationship.

That was it. She could appeal to the man who’d once wanted her.

“Breakups are hard, William. We had our whole lives planned. We thought we were getting married…”

He shot to his feet. “Don’t worry, Shiloh. You’re still getting married. You can honeymoon in Siberia.” He waved at the big guard. “Take her to get ready.”

Ready? For what?

Dread stretched its icy fingers through her body. The man stalked forward, and for a blinding flash, the urge to cower in the corner of the sofa took hold.

Instead, she took the upper hand and pushed to her feet under her own power, using her full height to her advantage to meet the guard’s stare.

A lot of good that did—she was tall, but the guy was enormous . Well over six feet.

When he spoke to her in Russian, she didn’t even blink in surprise. After all, she knew who William cavorted with. There was no doubt they were Russian-born; whether they were mafia or an extremist group was the only real question left to ponder.

She had enough evidence of her ex’s actions to get him life in prison. But like she told William—she hadn’t talked. Every dotted i of that information was locked up in a file.

The guard reached out and curled his fingers around her elbow, over the bruises that were already put there by William’s grip.

She wrenched away. “I can walk.”

He understood her English and gave her a nod. As he led her through the house, she took in every single detail that she could. She was in New Jersey, on an estate, by the looks of it.

They turned a corner, and she saw how big the house really was, extending in several directions. Through one glass door, she spotted a pool with beautiful manicured trees.

So private.

Now that was really concerning.

Nobody’s going to find me.

William’s cultured voice carried to her from some other room in the echoing mansion. “You wanted her as part of the deal, Vanya. I did as you asked. I brought her.”

Deal? Oh god . Was she going to be…trafficked?

Her mind went haywire, and her vision dimmed for several endless heartbeats. When the spots before her eyes cleared, she saw a massive man was standing in front of her, this one less blocky than her guard but no less terrifying for the wild look in his eyes.

William was there too, watching her far too closely.

“Vanya, meet Shiloh. You can give her any name you want, though.” William chuckled at his own joke. “You wanted my castoff. Here she is. Good luck with her—she has a sharp tongue.”

Vanya stepped up to her. His fingers cupping her jaw weren’t harsh like William’s… which terrified her even more.

“I have ways of silencing my women.” Cigar-scented breath washed over her face as he spoke every word with emphasis. “I only get screams when I want them.”

The man released her. Dizzied by what was happening, and with no way of figuring it out right now, she was grabbed by the guard again. His hard grip left more bruises, and she bit off a cry as he dragged her away. William’s smirk flashed past her vision.

She was shoved through a doorway. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she evaluated her surroundings in a nanosecond. This space was just as massive as the others in the house, yet was filled with very little furniture, as if nobody actually lived here and the property was only staged for real estate photographs.

There was a single white leather sofa with a marble side table. On it sat a vase filled with real flowers. A woman was standing by a window, and she turned at Shiloh’s abrupt entrance. The door slammed shut behind her.

She must be an employee. At last! Someone Shiloh might be able to persuade to help her escape.

Then the woman pointed at a metal bar like she’d seen used backstage in fashion shows in the corner. On it hung a long, white gown covered in feathers.

“I’ll help you dress.”

“Dress? Why? In that ?” It looked like…like a…

Had William called her his castoff? And Vanya said that he knew how to silence his women…or make them scream.

Oh god. Was she supposed to—the bile rushing up her throat made her gag—marry the Russian?

She looked at the dress and fought off a sob.

Some weddings have doves.

I’m the dove.

* * * * *

Oaks followed the black car at a discreet distance down the winding road. He stayed back, wishing he could ditch the moving van and find a much less conspicuous vehicle.

He didn’t know where he was, but he kept his eye peeled for escape routes at every turn. The military taught him to always have a plan in place. He just didn’t know what that was right now.

At a gap in the well-manicured trees lining each house on the long street, the black car turned right. He braked and guided the van off the main path, choosing a spot in the shadows.

Good thing he had perfect vision too—it enabled him to see the brake lights on the car. It idled at the entrance of the driveway for a brief minute.

There was a gate to get through.

Shit. He could meet with all varieties of trouble when he approached that gate, yet he didn’t have a choice. The fear in that woman’s eyes was real. It compelled him to give chase.

He was a Malone. A former SEAL. He was no quitter.

The brake lights blinked as the driver let off the pedal. Then the vehicle disappeared from Oaks’s sight.

After waiting for an appropriate amount of time, he put the moving van in gear and headed in.

He approached a wrought iron gate. Two burly guards in black stood at the ready.

Oaks paused at a call box, sifting through his brain for how to handle this. That woman’s life—and his—depended on his next steps. One mistake and he’d be tossed off the premises. That wouldn’t deter him, only delay him, and his gut told him that there wasn’t much time to spare.

One of the guards twisted his head toward the van, giving Oaks a brief view of his throat and a tattoo marking it.

The position, the shape…both revealed the man’s origin.

The Russian language flowed like water to Oaks’s lips. In fluent Russian, he announced that he had a delivery for the man of the house.

Both men exchanged a look, then directed their attention back to Oaks. He was glad now that he’d ditched the cowboy hat that so easily became a part of his identity back in Wyoming but made him stick out like a sore thumb in the city. His dark hair and the coarse beard sprouting on his jaw couldn’t pin him on any map, which was why he was so damn good at being a SEAL.

Rough Russian words projected through the speaker on the call box. One guard waved for him to enter as the other moved to a small shed and opened the gate. There wasn’t even a creak of hinges as the gates swung open.

Oaks breathed a little easier. Step one complete. He’d gained access.

As he drove at a slow pace past the guards, he nodded to them in acknowledgement, making sure to look closer at the tattoo on the guy’s neck.

Definitely a gang symbol used in the Russian mafia. And the guy had spent time in prison too. The cathedral design had four towers—one for each big kill.

Oaks snorted to himself. They might be hired guns for whoever occupied the estate they guarded, but they weren’t much for security if a little of their native language could get someone by them.

A mansion sprawled out before Oaks. The black car was parked in the driveway, and he didn’t bother trying to conceal the moving van. He parked behind the car and walked right up to the front door.

A new plan filled his head as he stabbed the doorbell with a blunt fingertip.

As soon as the door opened, he walked straight in like he owned the place, hand outstretched toward the guy who admitted him.

Fluent Russian bubbled off his lips while he gave the guy a bone-crushing handshake, as was the custom.

The guy withdrew his hand, dropping it to his side, where he rubbed his fingers together as though to regain the blood that Oaks just mashed out of his veins. “What do you want?” he asked in Russian.

“I have a shipment. For the man in charge.”

“And who would that be?” Suspicion lit up the man’s gray eyes.

“They don’t tell me such things. It’s below my pay grade.” He laughed at his own ineptitude.

Rule number one: Act like you own the world.

Rule number two: Play to your weaknesses. They often get you further than placing spotlights on your strengths.

“I have a big shipment.”

The man’s eyes flickered with recognition. Oaks had hit upon some truth. They received shipments here often enough that he understood the man in charge would take interest in the matter.

“This way.” The man tilted his head for Oaks to follow. As he did, he took in the man’s size. The way he looked suggested a certain region in Russia, but his accent in another. Likely his descendants had moved around, probably during wars. Not many people would recognize these inconsistencies, but he prided himself on knowing his shit.

Quickly, he was guided to a study. A man dressed in a gray suit swung toward him, hands lifted to adjust his tie. Irritation flashed in his eyes.

“Who the hell is this?” he spoke to the guard in their own language.

At that moment, a door across the hallway opened. Oaks glanced over his shoulder and froze for a full heartbeat.

The woman from the street stood inside, stripped to her bra and panties, visibly shaking.

As she turned her head toward the door, she spotted him. Her eyes widened. Pink splotches rose into her too-pale cheeks.

Suddenly, a shorter woman walked back into the room she’d vacated, along with another female who could be a relative considering the similarities between them. The kidnapped woman bowed her head, breaking eye contact with Oaks, and the door shut.

Spinning back to the men, his plan shifted. He needed to work faster. He had no idea why that woman wasn’t wearing clothes or what the hell was really going on within these walls, but the clock was ticking for both of them.

The guard who’d led Oaks to the man in charge threaded his fingers together and flexed them. His knuckles popped. “She’s going to be a handful in bed, Vanya.”

Amusement rippled through Vanya’s eyes. “See that she’s ready on time.”

Oaks latched on to the name, and the mention of having her in bed was the key that unlocked all the doors.

Vanya was dressed in his wedding best.

In a bold move, Oaks stepped up to Vanya. Speaking to him in quiet tones excluded his thug underling from the discussion and pumped up his own importance.

Oaks told him about a shipment he had for him.

“Shipment of what?” he responded in return.

Oaks flicked his brows up and let them fall, in universal man code for “something too important to say out loud.”

Vanya eyed him. Oaks could see him leaning toward wanting to buy the bullshit he was selling, but the man wasn’t all in.

Running totally on gut instinct, Oaks dropped a name. “Yegor Egorov.”

He felt Vanya go still.

“You know him,” Oaks coaxed.

Vanya nodded.

Oaks moved in for the kill. “I want in on this deal. I’ll give you half a million dollars in crypto right now to fund your cause…if I can have her.” He jerked his head toward the closed door across the hall.

All was silent within.

Vanya’s eyes narrowed. “Half a million.”

He dipped his head in a single nod.

“For the woman.”

He nodded again. “Your friend here said she’s going to be a handful. I like paying for a taste of such things.” He dragged out the words with a quiet flair that he knew would bring Vanya one step closer to making the deal.

His gaze flicked to the closed door, and then back to Oaks. “All right. I’ll bite. On one condition.”

He waited for that condition.

“You have to marry her now to prove you’re legitimate.”

He held out his palm and shifted it toward his pocket. “Coin is more valuable than words, but I can prove I am who I say I am. Mind if I get my wallet? I’d like to prove I’m sincere.”

In a slick move, the man next to him withdrew his weapon and trained it on Oaks.

He’d been on the other end of a barrel more times than he could count, and he didn’t even blink at the threat. He withdrew his wallet and flipped it open. Swiping a finger into one of the pockets, he picked out the exact ID he needed.

Without glancing down at it to ensure he pulled the right one, he held it out to Vanya with all the confidence that he employed in the days of special ops missions.

The name on the ID brought a wolfish smile to Vanya’s face, and no wonder. Oaks had spent months cultivating that identity to use in cases just like this.

The man on the ID had a dark reputation and a darker past. It also carried enough weight to get what he wanted.

And what he wanted was the woman.