Chapter Twenty-One

The green phone symbol on my iPhone was adorned with a red ninety-nine missed calls circle.

Mom.

Dad.

Texas Landline.

I tucked the phone back into my pocket, continuing to pack. I didn’t know where I was going; I just knew I had to leave. This life I lived wasn’t mine. Every minute I shared with Ransom was making it harder for me to say goodbye to him. And I was going to have to say goodbye to him. Soon.

By the time he got back, he wouldn’t find me here.

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It said three in the afternoon. Two out of my four Ransom-less hours had passed. I was almost finished packing. I was proud of myself for not crying. I wanted so badly to sob into my pillow. Ransom sleeping with this horrible woman was the last straw in a disastrous month.

Terrible, and yet so predictable. You knew he was a soulless man.

What stopped me from hating him all the way was the revelation of what he’d been through years ago. That boy. I knew he carried it in his heart every day, the burden of his sin making it hard for him to breathe.

He was wrong. He wasn’t a lost cause. He did have a soul. Maybe even a good one. But he buried it so deep inside, I’d come to terms with the fact I couldn’t pull it from the ruins of his tragedies. Only he could do that for himself.

Turned out the old cliché was right all along—only we had the power to better ourselves.

I heard the door whining open downstairs. My jaw clenched.

“I thought we agreed on four hours, Random,” I lamented, loudly enough for him to hear.

Footsteps pounded up the stairway. One…two pairs.

Why were there two pairs? Who was he with?

My heart rattled against my ribcage.

I let go of the clothes I was holding and crawled under my bed. It was my safest bet. The only escape route from my bedroom was the balcony, and last time the Russians paid us a visit, they parked directly in front of it.

The footsteps grew closer, louder. I sucked in a breath, lowering my head to try to peek through the curtain of linen hiding me from view.

I saw two pairs of smart shoes. They entered my room with purpose, speaking briskly between themselves in Russian.

Shit, shit, shit.

One waltzed into my closet, kicking the half-full suitcases aside. The other approached my window, probably to see if I jumped through it.

Window Guy told Closet Guy something in Russian. They both laughed. They walked out of my room, filing in and out of rooms on the second floor. They knew I was here somewhere. They’d heard me.

I contemplated trying to take out my phone and call Ransom, but decided against it. My phone was a mini, so small I’d tucked it inside my waistline. It could easily slip and make noise.

Closet Guy trudged outside my home gym, growling. He and the other man met in the hallway again. Their hushed voices didn’t sound so smug now. My heart beat so hard I was surprised they didn’t hear it.

Were they going to leave? Ransom was their main objective. He clearly wasn’t here. No way he could hide under any piece of furniture. He was massive.

One of them began making his way downstairs. I drew in a lungful of air. Almost out of the woods. Then the other pair of shoes turned in my direction, swiftly lurching forward.

No. No. No. No.

The feet disappeared in my periphery. I couldn’t follow his location without shifting around and making a noise. Everything was quiet. I didn’t dare to breathe. Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed my ankles from behind and dragged me out from under my bed. My fingers automatically clawed onto the rug.

I jerked forward, bumping my head against the bedframe in the process.

Kicking his hands off in an attempt to fight back, I started screaming. The man flipped me onto my back, grunted in annoyance, and pressed his palm over my mouth. My teeth dug into his skin. The metallic tang of blood exploded in my mouth. He didn’t relent. In fact, he laughed.

Laughed and laughed and laughed.

He’s not Craig. He’s not going to hurt you like that. Pull yourself together.

The man’s face came into focus, as I blinked the white dots of adrenaline away. Even without ever meeting him, I knew it was Kozlov himself. His face was scarred in deep, purposeful slashes. Knife wounds. His eyes were very small and very black. Two raisins full of hatred.

With a swift bark in Russian, he made the person next to him pull me up to my feet. The man patted me down for devices and weapons. Dizzy on my feet, I prayed he wouldn’t find my phone. Halting on my pockets, the man took a step back and shook his head.

I let out a ragged exhale. He’d missed it.

Glancing around the room, I tried to look for something to attack the two men with. Kozlov’s assistant, in the meantime, brought together both my arms behind my back and bound them with thick black tape. I wanted to throw up. I’d never felt so helpless in my life.

You had to send your bodyguard away, didn’t you? All because you were jealous and petty and childish.

Although, it was also true that he brought trouble right to my doorstep, and if I made it out of this alive, I should destroy his career, for that alone, as punishment.

Kozlov turned on his heel and made his way down the stairs. This was my chance to try to take down his assistant. The man shoved me from behind toward the stairs. I complied, hoping he’d loosen his guard on me. But when we got to the edge of the stairs, I managed to slam my body into his, pushing him down. He gripped the bannister quickly with one hand, using his spare to sink his fingers into my hair. He tugged violently, lurching me toward his mouth. My scalp burned.

“Behave, little girl,” he commanded in a thick accent. And I didn’t know why, but hearing him speak in English made everything so much more real and frightening.

Chances were high, I wasn’t getting out of this alive.

On our journey downstairs, I noticed all of my Nest cameras had been covered. Kozlov had cased the house beforehand, probably when Ransom and I were in Texas. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be familiar with their locations.

“I don’t know where he is,” I groaned when I noticed Kozlov standing by the door, waiting for his soldier and me. “I’ll be no help.”

Kozlov smiled serenely, half-patting half-slapping my cheek. “He’ll come for you. You mean something to him.”

Jesus. How closely did they follow us?

Black cloth wrapped around my eyes from behind, secured firmly in a double knot. I was shoved outside, into a car—not a spacious one by the feel of it—where I sat quietly while three voices conversed in Russian.

Sorting hysterically through my jumbled thoughts, I tried figuring out what they wanted from me. I was obviously a means to an end. Something to lure Ransom into their territory. Then again, I doubted they’d spare my life if things went sideways.

The drive was excruciatingly slow, but I didn’t know if it was because they’d taken me far, or on account of my nerves being shot.

When the car finally came to a stop, I didn’t know whether to feel relief or renewed fear. The door to the back seat flung open. The person who sat next to me got out first, pulling me along. Since I sat in the middle, I felt the person behind me poking my back, egging me on.

“Where are you taking me?” I hiccupped. “I’m President Thorne’s daughter. If you think you’ll get away with this, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Even to myself, I sounded like a weak side character in a slasher film, destined to die quickly and painfully to move the plot along.

I heard Kozlov chuckling near me. “Relax.”

“Are you serious right now? You want me to relax?”

He didn’t answer.

We went up a flight of stairs. Each step I took felt like I was nearing a death sentence.

The place smelled weird. A mixture of dust, food, and old wool. I wondered where we were. How close we were to civilization.

“When will you take my blindfold off?” I tried to keep my voice calm. Keep the conversation going. Remind them that I was human, and innocent.

“Soon.” Kozlov sounded almost cheery.

“You don’t expect him to come here, do you?” I asked. “He doesn’t know where this place is.”

“I don’t,” he confirmed. “I plan on dangling you in front of him somewhere else. Once I decide on the details.”

“And if he doesn’t take the bait?” My voice echoed in an empty, dank room. A shove to my shoulder made my ass meet a hard wooden chair. Someone behind me untied my blindfold.

Kozlov stood in front of me, chuckling as he opened his arms. “Then I suppose the bait would become useless to us.”

No need to tie me down. I was in no danger of escaping. A big, bald man stood by the door of the small back office. Kozlov was right in front of me, holding a gun, and his assistant was sitting behind a desk, awaiting instructions.

The phone tucked in my waistband burned my skin, demanding to be used. I could ask to go to the bathroom and see if I had service. Whatever I chose to do, it needed to be done before my battery died.

Kozlov strode toward me, tugging at his dress pants before crouching slightly to bring himself to my eye level. “Miss Thorne, here is what’s going to happen. I’m going to ask you questions about your employee, and you are going to answer them truthfully. If you don’t, you will be thrashed. If you refuse to cooperate, you will be thrashed. If you lie, you will be thrashed. Am I understood?”

I nodded. Though, shockingly, I had no desire to share anything about Ransom with him.

It made no sense at all. The man had brought this disastrous situation upon me singlehandedly. I should be singing about him, volunteering any piece of information I had.

Kozlov grabbed a chair and positioned it in front of me. He sank into it.

“One—where does Lockwood keep his weapon?”

That was an easy one. I didn’t even need to lie. I had no idea. I shook my head. “Don’t know.”

“Miss Thorne.” Kozlov smiled regretfully, as if he was on my side. The good cop. “I really wouldn’t like to hurt you more than absolutely necessary. Answer my question.”

“I would love to,” I said, my eyes leveled with his. “But I don’t know the answer to your question. Not sure if you noticed, but he’s a pretty secretive guy.”

The whip came from behind. At some point, his assistant must’ve stood up and taken off his belt. My back was protected by the chair, mostly, but it licked the nape of my neck, burning like a thousand fires.

I let out a soft moan, but didn’t cry. I couldn’t let them win. These people, who trafficked women in and out of the country. Who murdered, and raped, and put weapons into the hands of criminals.

“Question number two,” Kozlov announced, standing up and waltzing the room nonchalantly. “Are you fucking him?”

“How is that your business?” I thundered.

“Everything he does is my business,” he said quietly. “He killed my son.”

“It was an accident!” I blurted out. I knew it was the wrong thing to say before I even finished the sentence. Knew it, because even as I heard it, I realized how miserable it sounded to the ears of the father of that baby.

All Kozlov did was look past me, give a little nod, and turn around, his back to me. I sucked in a breath, bracing myself for what I knew was about to come.

The belt hit my shoulder first.

Then the back of my head.

Then the back of my knees.

I choked on my screams, swallowed down my tears, and refused to break down. My head hung limply on my chest. I was sweating buckets. I couldn’t take it anymore. But I couldn’t tell them anything about Ransom, either.

I found out I was a loyal, trustworthy person…only to waste those traits on a screwed-up man who had no feelings and twice as many issues as me. Typical.

“Now let’s try again, Miss Thorne. And this time, with a little more cooperation…”

In the corner of my eye, I saw Kozlov advancing toward me. My whole body flinched. He raised his hand, no doubt with intentions to hit me. I sucked in a breath.

“Stop.”

The voice was deadly calm. My heart stumbled all over the place, ping-ponging inside me. I looked to the door at the same time Kozlov did. Ransom stood inside it with his arm wrapped around the bodyguard’s throat, his gun to his temple.

I wanted to cry out in relief, but my throat was choked with sobs.

Kozlov turned fully toward him, looking amused more than scared.

“How did you find us?” he inquired, almost politely.

“My client carries a mini iPhone, and I track her whereabouts constantly.”

Kozlov’s gaze flew to his assistant, who recoiled beside me, knowing he would pay dearly for the mistake.

The Bratva soldier was completely still in Ransom’s headlock, aware that my bodyguard had no qualms about putting a bullet in his head if the situation demanded.

“What’s the plan?” Kozlov smiled. “Finish the job you started with Yefim and kill all of us?”

Yefim. The boy’s name was Yefim. I saw Ransom’s jaw harden, his nostrils flaring. He knew that. Of course he knew that. I bet he relived that moment every hour of his life.

Kozlov’s assistant pulled a gun from his waistband, pointing it at Ransom.

Fuck. Could my life get any messier with this man around? And to think this all started with a nip slip.

“Because,” Kozlov smiled indulgently, “if you kill me, it looks like you’ll be killed, too.”

“Nice deductive abilities.” Ransom shoved the bodyguard forward, treading deeper into the room. “I have no immediate plans to kill any of you, as tempting as it is.”

“Right,” Kozlov said. “So how do you see this playing out?”

“Simply.” Ransom let loose one of his signature, devil-may-care smiles. “This restaurant is crowned with an entire SWAT team, twenty LAPD cops for backup, a helicopter, the DA, and an unholy amount of security vehicles. You killed an FBI agent, dipshit. You can surrender yourself quietly—my least favorite option—or you could go out in a blaze of glory and let me kill you. This, I like better, since I’d get to make it slow and painful, for how you treated Miss Thorne.”

It never occurred to me, until he said it, that I looked like a mess. But I’d been roughed up by Kozlov and his assistant, and I’m sure all those thrashes had left marks.

“If we both go down, I would have no regrets,” Kozlov said quietly. “You killed my son.”

“I hate myself every day for it.” For the first time since I’d met him, Ransom’s voice broke. “I think about that boy more than I think about the parents who left me. More than I think about my own goddamn life. But I had no idea. None at all. You put him right in front of me. In harm’s way. What kind of bastard father does that?”

“So…you should be forgiven?” Kozlov huffed, looking resigned. His shoulders drooped, and he seemed fed up and tired all of a sudden.

Both men looked broken.

“No,” Ransom said. “You should trust in my pain. Because I feel it. Every. Single. Fucking. Day.”

Behind Ransom’s back, SWAT team members gathered. Ransom let go of the bodyguard, pushing him forward. He staggered toward Kozlov.

“Game over, Kozlov. Either you come out of here like a dog or in a body bag.”

“Was all this planned?” Kozlov demanded. “Did you want me to kidnap her?”

The mere suggestion made my blood turn to lava. It was possible. Totally possible. Which made me furious.

Ransom shook his head. “I would never do that to her.”

“I don’t believe you have any limits,” said Kozlov.

And, sadly, I shared the sentiment.

Kozlov closed his eyes. All he did to show his submission was a curt, barely-there nod to his bodyguard and soldier in the room.

Ransom stepped aside. The SWAT team stalked in, handcuffing Kozlov and his crew. My eyes followed the men who’d kidnapped me. I was afraid if I blinked, they’d be on top of me again, wrestling me to the floor, hitting me.

“You’re safe now.” His voice seeped into my ear, so close his hot breath caressed the side of my neck.

“You tracked my phone,” I said tonelessly.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I was, and always would be, just another job for Ransom. Perhaps one with perks, but ultimately, I was a notch on his belt.

“I couldn’t chance you getting hurt.” He worked quickly to untie my hands from behind.

I turned to look at him. The anger made my eyes burn. I was shaking with rage.

“I’m officially relieving you of your duties, Mr. Lockwood.”

All around us, feds and SWAT team members were unplugging computers, confiscating documents, tearing down the room.

He searched my face, his own expression rigid and defiant.

“Look, you didn’t give me time to explain.” He helped me stand up, taking special care not to touch me where I’d been whipped. “This shit with Anna…yes, I did sleep with her. But it happened in college. She found me at a hole-in-the-wall a few weeks ago. Tracked me down and tried rekindling something in exchange for information about you. I cut her off. We had a few drinks. She spiked one of mine, I think. Then I stumbled out and caught a cab, cursing at her the entire time. I didn’t touch her. I swear.”

Raising a hand to stop him, I shook my head. “You think I care about you and her?”

He blinked, confused. “Yes?”

Throwing my head back, I let out a laugh.

“Oh, Ransom, you really do think you’re God’s gift to women. I couldn’t give two shits about what you did with Anna.”

That wasn’t exactly the truth, but I had more pressing matters to tend to.

“I care that you had me tracked without telling me. I care that you put my life in danger. That you knew people were after you, that I could get hurt, and still, you put yourself first. I wanted to run away from you in the four hours you gave me to ‘self-reflect’.” I said the last words with air quotes. “You’re not only a terrible human, you’re also a terrible bodyg—sorry, close protection officer.” I rolled my eyes, on a roll now, thinking about all the different ways he was cruel and callous to me. I couldn’t let myself stop now. Or cave in. Allow him to stay. He had to go. He had to. For the safety of my heart. “You’re just awful all around. It’s true, what Dorothy Parker once said. Beauty is skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.”

It killed me to say all of this to him. Especially after he’d confided in me about what he’d done to Kozlov’s son. But I couldn’t allow for mercy to have a place in my heart. He was going to destroy me if he stayed. I had to make him leave.

I snatched my arm away from him, realizing that he’d tried to touch me during my little speech.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said levelly. “You’ve just been through one heck of an ordeal. You need to give a brief statement, and then we’ll get you home.”

I stepped back from him, putting more room between us. “Let’s get it over with.”

I woke up with a start.

My head throbbed. The yolky slivers of the setting sun seeped through my bedroom window, warming my skin.

My body hurt. My head hurt. Everything hurt.

Blinking away sleep, I angled my face toward the clock on my nightstand. Seven o’clock in the evening. My guess was I’d slept through most of yesterday and was waking up to a new day.

Next to the clock was a pack of Tylenol—the extra strength ones—a bottle of water, and what looked like a doctor’s prescription. My phone was there, too.

Reaching for it, I felt my back muscles straining, my neck screaming in pain where I’d been beaten. The skin was going to peel off soon, I knew without even looking. I was going to feel the aftershocks of what happened to me for weeks to come.

Grabbing my phone, I sifted through the last calls. Mom. Dad. Hera—that was a new one. Keller called a few times, and so did NeNe and Tara. I couldn’t imagine myself relaying everything that had happened to me in the last forty-eight hours to anyone, if that’s what they were calling about.

Had news leaked yet?

About the kidnap? About Craig and sexual assault charges? About Ransom and me, via Anna?

Only one way to find out.

Unplastering myself from the bed, I dragged myself into the shower. At first, I turned the water too hot. Then, realizing my mistake, how wounded and raw my skin felt, I quickly twisted the shower diverter, opting for ice-cold water. It was a quick affair, followed by patting myself dry carefully. Putting a robe on was too painful. I walked over to my bathroom mirror and lifted my hair up, inspecting the back of my neck and shoulders. The welts looked angry, purple, and deep. Tears filled my eyes.

He could’ve prevented this.

He could’ve given the job to Max.

His grandiose, self-centered, Napoleon complex wouldn’t allow him not to finish something he’d started.

Well, he’d finished me, all right. I had nothing left to give.

And yet, for the first time in my life, I knew what I should do with terrifying clarity.

After lathering my back and neck with aloe, I slipped into my most comfortable pair of pajamas and popped two Tylenol. I made my way downstairs. Ransom sat on my couch, going through his iPad, laptop, and phone simultaneously.

Yup. News broke, all right. The dirty laundry had been aired.

He stood when I appeared in the stairway, as if summoned by a queen.

“Your parents came by earlier.”

I smiled noncommittally. “Of course, they did. Word must’ve gotten out that I’d been kidnapped.”

“It’s all in the news,” Ransom confirmed, looking awkward for once in his life. “The Bratva, the arrests, Craig was taken into custody. All of it.”

Papa Thorne simply couldn’t stomach passing on the photo-op. And if he couldn’t get a picture of him hugging his Sugar Pie, then at the very least, paparazzi snaps of him and Mom embracing one another as they landed in Los Angeles, braving the tarmac winds on their way to their private car.

“I’ve no plans to see them.”

“Figured.” Ransom licked his lips. “I told Anthony it wasn’t a good time.”

“I also don’t think it’s good for me to see you,” I finished.

He arched an eyebrow. “If this is about the Anna article, no one’s buying it. All your friends have denied it publicly. Keller. Tara. The other one with the weird name.”

One less shit storm to worry about, but I knew it didn’t make any difference.

I pushed off the bannister. “Sit down.”

He did. I took the seat as far away from him as possible, knowing how hard it was going to be. If too much of his scent met my nose, if too much of his green eyes touched my soul, I’d cave and let him stay. I’d crack and settle. I’d take a temporary arrangement, even though I wanted happily-ever-after.

Worse still, even if Ransom wanted something serious with me, he was right. I had too many obstacles to overcome. I needed to face the Craig trial alone. I needed to get a job alone. I needed to go through therapy—alone.

“Ransom,” I said, businesslike. “The way I see it, you have two choices. Either you leave here now without putting up a fight, and I don’t make the fact your recklessness almost made me lose my life a public matter.” My assertiveness surprised me. So did the serenity in my voice. “I will not involve Tom, or the police, or my parents. I will not tarnish The Robot’s pristine reputation.”

“Are you threatening me?” His voice was ice-cold.

I shook my head. “Just stating the chain of events, as they will happen, if you don’t evacuate this house yourself. Because the second choice—if you stay…”

I didn’t have to finish the sentence.

He knew I meant business, because he sucked in his cheeks, fighting to keep calm.

“What about your safety?”

“I’m safe enough,” I insisted. “You were never supposed to keep me from harm’s way. You were supposed to babysit me and scare the living crap out of me from making mistakes. Now that Kozlov is locked up, along with the top men in his organization, and you will no longer be here in Los Angeles, the Bratva won’t have a reason to get anywhere near me.”

“What about my babysitting duties?” he spat out.

“I don’t need a babysitter anymore.”

“Your father will not consent to this.” Ransom stood up, puffing his chest. One last-ditch effort to assert his power over me. I stood right along with him, taking a few steps forward.

Toe-to-toe.

Nose-to-nose.

Our heartbeats, however, were out of whack. Mine was racing, trying to claw its way out of my chest. Ransom’s, as always, was slow and steady.

He was who he was. A dark horse who’d made it against all odds—without pedigree, without a name, and without a soul. He wasn’t malicious, no. Simply careless. And I could no longer afford to surround myself with people who didn’t care about me.

“You’ll convince him.” I tipped my chin up.

“You’re making a mistake.” Ransom caught the tip of my chin between his fingers. I swatted his hand away.

“Stop telling me what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking, what I’m doing. Stop gaslighting me. Just leave. Right now. And never contact me again.”

“Do you truly mean it?”

I closed my eyes, the pain too much to bear. “Truly.”

And I knew in that moment he’d never contact me again. That he was too proud, too fucked-up, to ever concede. Bow down. Show weakness.

I forced my body to step back, feeling like my legs were made out of concrete. Turning away from him, giving him my back, was the hardest thing I’d had to do.

He was, after all, my protector.

The man who taught me so much about myself.

The man who made me laugh.

Who made me live again.

Who made love to me, when I’d thought I would perish under the touch of another.

“Princess.” His voice made me stop at the foot of the curved stairway. I didn’t turn around. Didn’t trust myself enough. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I know.”

“You’re doing the right thing.”

“I know that, too.”

He’d wanted to say something else. I could feel it. But in the end, all I heard was the soft click of my door as it shut.

For the first time ever, I allowed myself to let go, collapse on the stairs, sobbing into my arms, letting my whole body break, and not just my heart.